a/n: Every time I rewatch MIB, I end up writing another crossover... But come on, how can you say no to the idea of Agent H?
It turned out that the RK800 model's charging port was an accidental de-neuralyser in the making.
Laying on the ground with a singed beard, Hank absentmindedly imagined how the world would freak out to the news of extraterrestrial lifeforms if they couldn't even accept the sentient beings they created themselves.
Genocide part two, probably. Except with less pacifism, because Robo-Jesus was a one-of-a-kind sort of peaceful that no one could find elsewhere in the galaxy.
Would fucking serve humans right.
Deviants were harmless compared to some of the shit out there. Not that Connor's doe-eyed, kicked puppy-dog gaze didn't have the same persuasive power as being threatened with acid spit.
"-ank? Hank!"
Speak of the devil.
There was a quick pattering of footsteps and a solid thunk as Connor dropped hastily to his knees beside Hank's prone form.
Hank groaned, stirring at last, lest the android fell into full-blown panic. "'M fine, I'm fine," Hank muttered, swatting off gentle hands.
As it was, Connor's LED whirled a constant yellow. "Lieuteniant, I must insist. You've just been electrocuted with a high current. Are you experiencing visual or audio problems? Paralysis? My sensors detect dsypnea and irregular heartbeat. It would be best to contact paramedics-"
"Kid, shut up."
Hank didn't need medical personnel invading his home ass o'clock at night.
That's what he got for finally deciding to be productive for once and attempting to clean the house. He should've just let the mess be.
Unfortunately, Connor made it his habit to tidy around now that he was living with him, and Hank felt guilty for not helping the kid every now and then, because Connor was not his housekeeper android. Hank may be getting older, but he was still spry, dammit. He didn't need anyone picking up after him.
It didn't stop him from being a grumpy old man, though. "What did I tell you about leaving your shit lying around," he groaned, cutting Connor's worried rant short. His tongue felt numb in his mouth.
"I- I'm sorry, Hank. I'm certain my charging cord was coiled and stored away this morning," Connor said with a frown.
"Huh," Hank mutter, and waved off the unnecessary apology. He wasn't about to go around doubting the android with perfect memory; if Connor thought he stored it away, then he likely did.
There was more than one troublemaker in this household.
Hank pushed himself up with Connor's help and eyed Sumo. The St. Bernard whined and trodded towards him, planting a wet nose against his bare arm.
"You dumb thing," Hank said exasperatedly, flapping Sumo's ears.
"Sumo!" Connor gasped, and stared at the dog in betrayal, "I thought you were a good boy."
Sumo barked innocently back.
Hank snorted to himself. Oh, Sumo was a good boy alright. He was lazy, overweight, and could accidentally de-neuralyse his owner. What more could anyone want in a pet? Hank should be grateful at least his stupid dog was actually a stupid dog, and not some Remoolian in disguise.
The existence of aliens made everything so much more complicated.
Expending far too much effort, Hank managed to eventually roll back onto his feet. He dusted his hands in a futile attempt to shake off the lingering tingles, before shuffling his way out of the living room. The damp washcloth he'd been using laid abandoned on the carpet, soaking a stain Hank really couldn't care less about. Out of sight, out of mind - hell if he was going to dwell on his embarrassment.
"Next time," Hank declared, dropping breathlessly onto the kitchen chair, "I'm not touching this crap with anything but the fucking duster." He paused. "Better yet, let's forget cleaning entirely. I was fine living in a pigsty before you came along."
"It is unhygienic and deleterious to your health," Connor refuted disapprovingly. "I'd detected various strains of Salmonella and Campylobacter, to name a few, on the first day I stayed over."
"That's what you get for going around licking my walls."
"I did not!" Connor said, indignant. His LED was still yellow, but the bantering seemed to calm him down.
Hank would've felt more for the kid, if his head wasn't still spinning from the influx of information. He kneaded a palm against his temple, useless as the motion was. All the while, Hank wondered how he never realised just how hollow his life had felt up until now.
He'd always written off the abnormal fuzziness in the memories of the former half of his life as a result of old-age. Neither had he thought to question how mundane and stereotypical his false past had seemed, obviously the result of some MIB agent's lack of creativity when it came to creating replacement memories. Retrospectively, the hints were obvious. Just like his frequent impulse to sit in Riverside Park at night to stare blankly into the starry sky.
Hank reminisced, full of stories that would sound eccentric and delirious to anyone else.
Connor made another sound of worry to his silence. "Are you certain you are alright, Hank?"
A smile quirked the corner of his lips as he chuckled breathily. "Yeah, just knocked some memory loose." He made a vague gesture. "One hell of a headache. Not as bad as a hangover, though," he added optimistically, not that Connor saw it as such.
His LED spun a circle, then he was up beside Hank, ushering him to his bedroom. "I contacted Captain Fowler and acquired a sick day for the both of us tomorrow."
"Eh. Can androids even get sick?" Hank said skeptically, but didn't resist. He was too tired to complain. He could never do much to change Connor's mind when he was an android on a mission, anyways. He never failed his mission, or some shit like that. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that letting Connor manhandle him into unnecessary rest was the last push for Connor's LED to flicker back to an even blue. The tight crease between Connor's eyebrows finally smoothened out to a delicate expression Hank much more preferred to the distress. "And here I thought you were aiming for a gold star attendance sticker."
"Since you insisted against the hospital, you will need someone present to ensure there are no lasting effects from the electrocution," Connor replied.
Hank was rather pleased with the lasting effects, thanks.
"Yeah, yeah. Just say you want to skip work. I'm a bad influence on you."
"I cannot deny you are a bad influence," Connor said softly, fondly, even as he tucked Hank in.
"Well, took long enough to corrupt you," Hank chuckled. He watched Connor fidget by the foot of his bed, before undoubtedly remembering Hank's multiple complaints about him standing around like a looming statue and giving him heart attacks in the middle of the night, and moved to lean against the window instead. "I supposed I should probably corrupt you with something more meaningful, huh? Have you ever stargazed, Connor?" Hank continued impulsively, staring past him, through the blinds, and into the endlessly flickering abyss in the sky.
"Can't say I have."
"You would love it," Hank said. "It's a fucking huge world out there. Full of mystery and wonder and all that fun stuff. You'll never know what you'll find."
Hank couldn't wait for the day Connor understood exactly what he meant.
Hank really didn't expected his life to be any different.
He remembered the existence of aliens, sure, but he was no longer MIB - not his jurisdiction. Navigating DPD politics was hell enough, and with the Detroit evacuation still affecting the workforce, he was overworked, sleep-deprived, and already sick of dealing with both human and android related cases. He didn't need to voluntarily add alien related cases to his busy schedule.
He retired for a reason.
And then Gavin Reed had the brilliant idea to go head-to-head with a suspected murderer, who was not only twice his size, but also high as a fucking kite on Red Ice.
The kid had a death wish.
To be fair, Gavin hadn't explicitly gone out of his way to look for trouble. Gavin had stormed off to the second story of the house once he realised he had to share his crime scene with Hank and Connor. Turned out the first officer hadn't done a good job securing the scene and the suspect was still inside.
Hank swore the moment he heard the loud bang above them, hand on his service weapon.
Connor spun sharply from the dead body. "Detective Reed!" the android said needlessly, staring overhead.
"Yeah. Stay back," Hank murmured lowly, leading the way up the stairs. Stealth was unnecessary as Gavin and the perp - Martin Schein, born March 23 1999, criminal record involving multiple accounts of assault, property damage, and possession of Red Ice with intent to distribute - barreled into the hallway. They grappled uncoordinatedly, slamming backs and limbs into all obstacles in their path.
Then Schein was at Gavin's back, arms wrapped around him, held tight to hold Gavin from reaching around.
"Freeze. DPD. Hands in the air," Hank barked.
There was a slam as Gavin backed Schein into the hallway bookcase with a heavy shove. For a quick second it looked as though it was all over at last, until the fucker reached for a hidden pistol from behind the shelf and held it to Gavin's temple.
"Don't fucking move," Schein roared. "Back off! Or I'll shot his brain out!"
He swung an arm around Gavin's neck, pulling him close and tight until the veins in Gavin's throat throbbed as he struggled for breath. The gun dug deeper into skin.
"Christ. Yeah yeah," Hank said pacifyingly. "I got it. Backing off now."
Hank lowered his weapon and shot a glance to Connor who shook his head minutely. Damn, what could he do if even the most advanced prototype couldn't move without putting Reed into more danger.
He needed to buy more time. "Why don't you lower your weapon? No one needs to get hurt here," Hank tried to reason. Even before Connor's LED flickered yellow, Hank knew he'd messed up. Should've left the talking to the programmed negotiator, who, most likely had been in the middle of calculating the best route before Hank opened his big fat mouth.
"Get hurt?" Schein laughed, warbled with an unstable shrillness. "The only ones getting hurt are you fucking shitholes." Gavin grunted as the man jostled him. "You can't touch me! I can do whatever I want," he declared boldly.
The gun shook in Schein's hand from the high, or excitement, Hank couldn't tell. But that twitchy finger of his was much too close to the trigger for his liking. He was acting more and more unhinged by the second from his perceived victory over the police.
Connor's LED blinked red once.
"And what is it that you want, Martin?" Connor asked quickly, calm - too calm, really, because Hank hadn't lived with the kid this long without being able to tell he was feeling distressed from whatever his preconstructed simulations showed him.
Everything happened too fast.
"Don't pretend you care!" Schein screamed, eyes blood-red. The muzzle jammed into Gavin's face. Connor's LED cycled red once more as he rushed forward, trying to prevent the inevitable. Hank's own reaction time was only a minute slower, but he already knew it was a futile attempt.
And then something darted between Gavin's legs.
Schein yelped and toppled. The gun went off inches from Gavin's cheek, searing a thin red cut instead of the anticipated splatter of brain juice. Gun forgotten, Schein scrambled into the wall in fear.
Connor grabbed the man and twisted his arms behind his back, cuffs ready.
Schein didn't even appear to register him.
"What the fuck. What the fuck, man. What the fucking hell was that?!" Schein tugged against the restrictions, backing from Gavin as much as he could, but Connor's hold on him kept him in place. "Get him the hell away from me. He's a freak! There was something there - a fucking tentacle or some shit-"
"Alright, shut him up, tin can. He's as high as fuck," Gavin said dismissively.
Connor tightened his hold. "You have the right to remain silent," he began professionally.
"Listen to me! He's not human," Schein scrambled to say. "Didn't you see-" Connor tilted his head. He was unmoving, and his facial expression only creased slightly into a frown, but the LED on his temple betrayed his churning mind.
Gavin snorted, "Then what am I, android? No, that's the plastic detective hauling your ass out of here. You're blind as well as hallucinating out of your damn mind, huh."
"You-"
"Just how much Red Ice were you smoking?" Gavin sneered. "Give a good reason not to chuck you in the drunk tank for a few hours."
"Connor, take him away," Hank interrupted.
For a moment, the android looked hesitantly between Detective Reed and the raving criminal, showing no desire to comply. Hank raise a brow pointedly. "Understood, Lieutenant," he said at last with a look of his own, and Hank wondered what to tell Connor when he inevitably pressed for answers.
What he wouldn't give for a neuralyser.
Hank let out a long, exhausted sigh. Once Connor was out of sight, Gavin turned to stare suspiciously at him, unnaturally stiff.
Hank rolled his eyes. "Well, that happened. S'hat why you hate androids?" he asked candidly, with the dismissive air of someone so done for the day. He gave zero fucks to being subtle. "You can hide your freaky extra appendages by convincing humans we're crazy, but androids are basically goddamn video cameras on legs."
Connor was probably reviewing the footage as they spoke. Fortunately for Gavin, Connor had been entirely at the wrong angle to see anything discriminating. Not Hank, though.
"The fuck are you talking about. You honestly think I have⦠tentacles?" he snorted like it was the stupidest thing he heard. Which, to be fair, probably was.
"Of course not," Hank said, then paused unnecessarily. "But I do know a Phukilian tail when I see one."
Gavin startled. The spiteful humour on his face drained out as quickly as it came. Hank was strangely satisfied. "What-" the Detective shot a glance towards the stairs, to confirm Connor was earshot away, before turning back. "How do you know," he demanded.
"About Phukilians or aliens in general?"
Gavin glowered. His tail was present once more, swinging threateningly behind him, awaiting Hank's answer. It was a reptilian looking thing, with sharp edges and more muscle strength than anything Hank could muster. Probably faster too. Did Hank mention he was retired? Why did he still have to deal with this alien bullshit?
"Calm the fuck down, Reed," Hank said, eyes following each sweep of his tail. "I was part of the organisation that issued your license and human passport when you arrived on Earth."
The skeptical scowl he received was entirely uncalled for. "You're ex-MIB?" Gavin said doubtfully. "Really."
"Why is that so hard to believe," Hank groused.
"I thought they neuralyzed the shit out of you guys when you left."
True enough.
Hank shrugged noncommittally. Hell if he would tell Gavin he electrocuted himself on Connor's charging port like an idiot, though. Connor knowing was mortifying enough.
"I can't imagine you in a suit," Gavin added insolently, eyeing the colourful hippy shirt he had on. Despite his words, his tail coiled up and out from sight behind his leather jacket, and he visibly relaxed. Hank would feel more insulted if he didn't already know his clothes were the bane of all fashion.
Hank said wirily, "It was the last suit I ever wore."
Meanwhile, outside, the sound of a car rumbled from the house, transporting Schein in whatever cruiser Connor decided to throw him in. Which meant Connor was on his way up again. Gavin tensed once more.
If Gavin wasn't such an asshole on a daily basis, Hank would've felt worse from seeing him in this constant state of agitation, so worried to be found out. As it was, it served him right, and probably gave the unfeeling bastard a sense of how the androids felt during the android Revolution.
Karma and all that.
Gavin whipped towards him urgently. "Does he know?" he demanded, eyes trained on the stairs for signs of brunet hair and glowing LED.
Hank shrugged, but answered truthfully. "Connor? The kid can barely deal with being deviant. I don't need to spring aliens on him as well."
Gavin nodded, mostly to himself, as if trying to find reassure in the words. Then slowly the arrogant stance Gavin typically adopted edged its way back into existence. "Like it's even legal," he scoffed, and with his alien tail hidden, if Hank didn't know better, this would've seemed like any other scathing interaction between the two of them before the shocking revelation. "Aren't there rules against revealing alien existence to the general public?"
Sure. Also rules like being neuralysed once retired. Clearly Hank was above rules now.
"Who's going to tell?" he said with a smirk.
