The tattoo has been marked on Hank's left chest, right above his heart, since the day he turned thirteen. It appeared suddenly on his birthday, just the same as every other kid turning the corner from adolescence to teenager. But it wasn't a name there on his skin, not like the others his age - it was strange conglomeration of letters and numbers. Hank was so puzzled by it he never showed anyone, even though his classmates were all curious about each other's "chosens". He wore a t-shirt in the swimming pool and wouldn't shower in the locker room after gym class. For a kid his age, the tattoo was a rite of passage, of trying to imagine what your true soulmate would look like, would sound like, of trying to guess if it was maybe the girl or boy in your class with that same name or if fate would play its own card and had someone completely different in store for you decades down the line.
But Hank never bought into all that flowery shit. He had always been skeptical about his mark - it was like the universe was playing some big fuckin' cosmic joke on him; it wouldn't be the first time in his life he got the raw end of a deal, would it? He'd had a rough childhood already and it seemed like everyone got their happily ever after but him.
RK800. Those were the letters and numbers tattooed across his skin. Not in the scrawling or even beautifully scrolling pattern of the typical tattoo's distinctive handwriting of your soulmate. No, Hank's was a frank, calculated stamp of the most basic font. Bold, uncharismatic, blunt. It had to have been some sort of mistake or maybe someone was trying to tell him something. Hank began to think it was a sign that he wasn't suited for anyone.
After graduation, and while on a promising track for the police academy, Hank decided to get his tattoo covered up with an extensive ink piece. What would be the harm anyway? Anyone with the name RK800 had some serious issues and Hank was not about to deal with that shit. Besides, he wouldn't have to try to explain his bizarre soulmate mark to the people he might share a bed with up until that point, if RK800 ever manifested themselves anyways. The less questions the better in the long run. The new tattoo was beautiful - taking up most of his chest and stomach in a classic garland harkening back to the military's glory days. It covered his mark so well, Hank eventually forgot about it… mostly.
Androids didn't make their big debut until Hank was nearing thirty-four years old. It had literally been that long since he'd thought about it. But it was unmistakable by that point: Hank's soulmate was some goddamn, fucking plastic asshole android. Even though he couldn't see the mark on his chest anymore because of the ink over it, Hank remembered. RK800 . The realization that it was not a goddamn name but a fucking android serial number struck him like a sucker punch to the gut.
It was then Hank really did think the universe was playing the biggest fucking joke imaginable on him. He had yet to meet the actual RK800, but he knew well enough that anything that started with letters and ended with numbers could never be trusted. Besides, had there ever been an actual documented case of a human bonding as a soulmate to an android? Hank certainly had never heard of such a thing, and felt more and more positive this whole thing had to be an elaborate prank. And so he vowed to do absolutely nothing about it. He would continue on with his life, get married, start a family, and never think about RK800 ever again.
Fast forward twenty years and one failed marriage and one unbelievably tragic accident. Fast forward until Hank's life came to a crashing halt and all the prayers and sympathy cards and sorrowful well-wishes turned into missed work and hangovers and regrets. Fast forward to Jimmy's bar and the night Hank met Connor and his life changed drastically, not for the first time and not for the last.
"Lieutenant Anderson, my name is Connor. I'm the android sent by Cyberlife."
Those two sentences drug Hank from the haze of too much whiskey. He looked to the sound of the voice, and fell right into the strong pull of deep brown eyes. Hank's gaze dropped to the android's chest, zeroing in on the glowing numbers printed on his impeccably pressed blazer. RK800. Hank's heart damn-near pounded right out of his ribcage. His stomach twisted up and he plastered a look of disgust on his face. He looked away, back to his liquor, his mind racing. There was no way in hell this was happening.
He'd heard people talk of the way it felt to finally meet your soulmate. Affirming. Satisfying. Gratifying. Uplifting. Hank could say without a doubt he felt none of that. It was more like dread settling heavy in his gut. After almost four decades of running from this exact moment, Hank was suddenly face to face with it.
Looking at Connor, it didn't seem the android was having the same existential crisis Hank himself was. Of course not. Hank was the one freak in the world whose "chosen" was a goddamn machine - just the same lifeless, unemotional, unfeeling piece of shit robot who did nothing while his world fell apart three years ago. They were all the same. So why would RK800 be any different? Why would Connor know anything about soulmates or what it felt like to meet yours?
Then dawning realization broke through Hank's anger like the sun dissolving fog. If Connor knew nothing of soulmates and was most certainly not ever assigned one, then the only one who knew about Hank's chosen was Hank. He could still keep the whole thing to himself and no one would be the wiser.
Satisfied, Hank accepted the shot Connor bought for him and gave Connor a smug grin as he knocked it back. Forgetting about the mark hidden under his tattoo wasn't as easy as it was before though - not now that they'd met. Deep, deep down Hank could feel the pull, the tug, of his heart reaching out to his chosen.
Clearing his throat, Hank stood up from the bar stool. "Did you say homicide?"
The next few weeks were rough for Hank. The holidays were already hard for him since he'd lost his son, but with the ever insistant draw of his mark to Connor, Hank was more short tempered than usual. Connor began to take notice.
The two were driving back to the precinct on Christmas eve night after wrapping up a case. Hank was forcing himself to focus on the road instead of looking at the shape of Connor's lips, the fall of his hair, the curve of his throat, which he found himself doing more and more these days. Slushy snow pelted the windshield as he flexed his fingers over the steering wheel and drove on.
"Lieutenant?" Connor asked.
Hank wouldn't let himself glance over at him. "What?" He practically barked the word.
"Have I done something to upset you?"
Hank sighed and scrubbed a hand down his bearded cheek. "No, Connor. It's nothing. Just don't worry about it."
Hank felt Connor's eyes on him, could sense the concern in his tone. "Are you sure? I can adapt my programming if you -"
"Just drop it! Okay?" Hank raised his voice, coming closer and closer to breaking. He wanted just a touch, just one kiss and then that would hopefully be enough to satisfy his mark forever or at least just quiet it for two goddamn seconds. But he knew that would only cement the fact that his soulmate, his chosen, was an android. And Hank was not ready to admit that, even if he was only admitting it to himself.
Connor fell silent and from the corner of Hank's eye he could see him looking down to his hands in his lap. He didn't say another word the whole rest of the trip and Hank felt bereft for it.
After parking his car, they headed into the precinct so Hank could finish typing up his report. The place was almost entirely deserted for the holiday except for a couple officers at their desks and the usual handful of androids at the charging stations. This was the one night in December Hank hated the most. The last few years he'd spent Christmas eve here alone and this year was no different, except now he had Connor. The colorful Christmas lights hung around the cubicles and workstations and the big artificial tree twinkling with silver garland standing in the corner of the big empty room felt like a sad parody of a real Christmas eve, but Hank would rather be here than home. Being at home was just too painful, but at least being at the station helped to dampen that sorrow somewhat.
Hank set his badge and gun on his desk then made his way to the kitchen with Connor following him the whole way. He could feel Connor behind him and he repressed a shiver as he went about making a cup of coffee. Maybe a jolt of caffeine would take his mind off wanting to grab Connor by the lapels and slam him up against the nearest wall for a soul-shattering kiss. He doubted it, but a guy could hope, right?
"Connor?" Hank asked over his shoulder, dumping creamer into his coffee.
"Yes, Lieutenant?" Even the timbre of his voice, which Hank had initially thought of as strange, sent warmth straight to his stomach.
"Can you maybe go stand somewhere else?"
"Certainly." The fade of his footsteps back toward their desks had Hank easing up a bit. He stirred his coffee then closed his eyes and took a sip with a sigh. But then his mark seemed to pulse against his skin, calling to him, and he realized Connor was standing behind him again, closer this time.
"Hank, I just wanted to ask -"
Hank couldn't take it anymore. The sound, the sight, the scent of his soulmate was driving him out of his mind. Soulmate. Goddamnit, he couldn't think of Connor that way. Hank growled and slammed his mug down onto the counter, hard enough for some of his still hot coffee to slosh over the side and splash onto his hand.
"Fuck!" he sputtered, holding his hand to his chest.
Connor reached for him before Hank realized what he was doing and he didn't have enough time to react. "Let me see," he said, grasping Hank's wrist gently. Their first skin to skin contact was too much and not enough all at once.
Connor's eyes shot up to Hank's, his eyebrows raised as if he was suddenly realizing something. Hank jerked his hand from Connor's grip, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. "I-I need...a fuckin' drink," he muttered harshly, then abruptly stormed out of the precinct.
He was halfway across the snowdriven street, heading to the bar on the corner, when he felt Connor's hand on his shoulder. A rush of pent up desire, heavy with need, flooded his nerve endings and he spun around on his heel, ready to slap the hell out of Connor or kiss him senseless, he didn't know which. And when he turned to face him he still couldn't decide.
Snow was falling lightly between them, catching in Connor's hair, as he looked up at Hank. His LED was whirling and Hank waited for him to say something, anything. But Connor remained silent. Instead, he took a step closer and laid his right hand on Hank's chest, directly over his covered-up tattoo. Hank sucked in a sharp breath, feeling the mark instantly warm under Connor's touch. It felt like coming home, like he was exactly where he was supposed to be after all this time, and it nearly brought tears to his eyes. He simply could not deny it any longer; he was tired of trying to fight it. Connor was his soulmate.
Connor took another step closer, keeping his eyes locked on Hank. Then he reached out and grasped Hank's right hand and brought it up to his chest. Hank flattened his palm, still a little tender from his coffee burn, over the glowing triangle on Connor's jacket. The connection was immediate and breathtaking.
"Have you known this whole time?" he asked Connor on an exhale.
Connor shook his head, awe shining in his eyes. "Only with the skin to skin contact. I have had a barcode imprinted on my chest since the day I was made but I never knew what it meant. But now… now I know. You, Hank, are my chosen."
Hank brought his free hand up and settled it on Connor's hip, drawing him closer until they were flush against each other. Snow continued to fall all around them on the deserted street, but Hank hardly noticed; all he saw was Connor. "I tried to pretend it wasn't true. I tried to cover it up, literally." His voice broke over the last word, but he still dipped his head down closer to Connor.
"Why, Hank?" Connor asked. His lips parted and his eyes searched Hank's face.
Hank swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. He couldn't lie to himself anymore and say it was because he was embarrassed about being paired with an android or that he thought the whole thing was a big fucking joke. He knew deep, deep down what the truth really was.
"Because I never believed I deserved a goddamn soulmate in the first place, Connor."
Connor tilted his head to the side, his brows drawing together with a tenderness Hank had never known. "Oh, Hank."
He brought his hand up to Hank's jaw, his other still resting over Hank's mark on his chest. He coaxed Hank's head down until their lips were only the barest breath apart. His eyes, still open, never left Hank's. All the while, his LED pulsed softly.
"You have always been deserving of any soulmate you might ever have been paired with. I am unbelievably honored to be yours. You are deserving of unconditional love, Hank. In any form, in any light."
Hank shook his head and blinked the burn of unshed tears from his eyes. He fisted his hand into Connor's suit jacket at his hip. He still didn't believe it. He hadn't had that kind of love since Cole, and certainly not before then. Besides, what had he ever done to earn it?
Conner squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against Hank's. "The reason you don't see why is exactly the reason you deserve it so much. Hank, every life you've saved, every person you've touched." Connor paused, bringing his lips closer to brush just barely over Hank's. "There is a reason we are each other's chosens. Please, let me show you why. Let's discover it together."
Hank pulled in a deep breath, feeling a tremor of release quake through him as he slowly nodded… and finally accepted the path fate had chosen for him.
Their lips met for the very first time that snowy Christmas eve and Hank wrapped both arms around Connor's waist, pulling him in close, holding him tight, vowing to never let go. He kissed Connor with a reckless abandon, heart full to bursting and mind marveling at the fact he'd found love - he'd found his chosen - where he'd least expected to: right in front of him.
I listened to the song "I found" by Amber Run nearly the entire time I was writing this. Please give the song a listen if you get a chance! It will give you all the feels! This fic was written as part of the DBH Secret Santa gift exchange for cinnamintae on Tumblr! I hope you enjoyed it!