A/N: Part one of a two-story challenge, in which you pick a prompt and write one gen and one shipping story.
[Written on and off between 11-22-18 to 12-15-18]
Tags: Snowed In, Snowmen, Family Feels, Mentions of Cole, Pre-Christmas, Post-Pacifist Best Ending, One Shot.
"Snow Breach"
Mellow jazz music played behind him as Connor stood at the window, his gaze roaming over the thick layers of snow that carpeted the lawns of the neighborhood and beyond, painting every available surface white. While Connor had to admit it made for a picturesque setting, it was also a hindrance in many ways.
"Connor, you've been standing there for five minutes now. What are you doing?" Connor glanced back at Hank who was sitting on the couch, idly sipping a glass of whiskey, Sumo's head on his lap.
"I'm analyzing weather patterns. This snowstorm should have passed Detroit by. The weatherman was grossly mistaken in his prediction of a cold clear day. There must be a fault somewhere in one of the news station's instruments."
Hank laughed under his breath. "Take it from someone who's been around longer, the weatherman is always wrong. You want an accurate forecast?" He gestured to the window in front of Connor. "Use your own damn eyes."
Connor minutely shook his head as a light sigh dropped from his lips. Crude as Hank had been, his suggestion held merit. True, no human could fine tune and read all the present weather conditions and accurately interpret the data as well as Connor, but there was something to be said about instinct.
Underneath their laws and hard-pressed civility towards each other, humanity was still nothing but an animal. Their species wouldn't have survived so long if they couldn't conquer the elements and being able to read the weather had to be part of it. Connor gave credit where it was due.
"If you're sulking because we couldn't get the car unstuck and go to work, I swea-"
"I'm not," Connor interjected, then realized the statement wasn't entirely true. Part of him would have preferred going into the station to the unexpected respite.
People all over in the city were in the same situation. Nearly a foot of snow dumped on them overnight with no warning whatsoever. The streets were a mess, salt trucks and snowplows just beginning to organize and do their work, yet not reaching the crucial areas of the city. Everything had effectively ground to a halt.
"Uh huh," Hank replied doubtfully, pinning Connor down with a knowing look. "You are such a machin-" He stopped, realized his gaffe and started again. "A workaholic. You see that snow and all you can think of is the missed opportunities at work."
Connor turned away from the window completely, meeting Hank's gaze. "What else is there to do? The house is relatively clean, and you and Sumo have eaten."
Hank scratched at his chin. "What's the temp right now?"
"It's 34 degrees outside."
"Right, okay," Hank said, putting aside his glass of liquor as he stood up. He switched the turntable off before heading to the closet next to the front door and reached into its depths.
"Now I must ask what you are doing," Connor said, tilting his head when Hank held out a thick winter coat to him. He took it uncertainly, perplexed by the sudden change in circumstances.
Hank smiled as he shrugged into his own coat, Sumo excitedly leaping to his feet and getting off the couch. "I'm going to show you that snow, even mounds of it, isn't the end of the world. Because we are going to build a snowman."
Connor finished buttoning the coat, looking doubtfully at Hank. "For what purpose? It's simply going to melt once the temperature rises again."
Hank blew out a heavy breath. "Connor, have you ever made one before?"
"No." It was the first winter season he'd ever experienced in his life. Of course he hadn't.
"Then stop thinking about Frosty's eventual demise and follow my lead." Hank stopped before Connor, placing a hat upon his head, then handing him some gloves. Despite the fact that Connor's internal systems maintained and adjusted to almost any external temperature he experienced. "Besides, all work and no play makes Connor a dull boy."
Connor put the gloves on as Hank finished his own winter prep. He gestured to Sumo who trotted over obediently, Hank taking a small tin can from the shelf in the closet and applied what looked to be a thin layer of salve on the bottom of each of Sumo's paws.
"Good boy. " He patted the dog's head, then opened the door, Sumo bounding out and jumping into the nearest pile of snow, only his head showing out the top of the snowdrift, making the dog look like he'd been decapitated.
He didn't seem to mind his surroundings, merely running through more of the snow, panting happily. Hank whistled for Sumo and he barked, returning to his owner's side as Hank rounded the corner of the house, heading to the backyard.
"The Shining," Connor said. "You misquoted it."
Hank stopped in his tracks, glancing back at Connor. "What?"
"The novel by Stephen King. It reads as follows, 'Jack Torrance though-'"
"No, I obviously know it. How do you though?"
"I read books for pleasure while experiencing downtime," he explained, glad CyberLife had seen fit to equip him with such knowledge. "I find it a very worthwhile activity."
Hank knitted his brow. "But wouldn't it take seconds for you to process a book?"
Connor shook his head. "I take my time."
"Really?" Hank crossed his arms. "How many books have you read since your activation?"
"23,409."
"Unbelievable. It's only been…," Hank silently did the math. "Four months. You're going to run out at that rate."
He pursed his lips, thinking Hank raised a good point. Perhaps Connor would set a daily limit from now on. "Anyway, forget that for now. What we have before us is a blank canvas."
The backyard was a simmering blanket of white, pristine and untouched in its beauty until Hank and Sumo came plowing into it, shattering the serene setting.
"I can look up blueprints if you wish," Connor offered helpfully a couple feet behind Hank, finding it hard to navigate the thick clumpy snow. He trooped through it, telling himself he was doing it to please Hank who was in a strangely good mood despite the inclement weather. Almost like he enjoyed it.
Connor wondered how hard he'd tried to unstick his car, suspecting Hank's efforts had been more halfhearted than anything else.
Hank waved a hand. "No need." He leaned down and grabbed a pile of snow, rolling it along the ground. Unlike the powdery precipitation that had fallen thus far during the winter season, the recent snowfall was thick and sticky. Perfect material for molding into other shapes. "I'll get us started."
"Stage one is the bottom layer," Connor said to himself, surveying his data banks for the best strategy to employ. The structure was simple, comprised of three ascending layers. Accessories were added after further refinement.
Hank gave out a grunt, pushing at the ball of snow he'd managed to get up to his upper legs. Connor took a place beside him, their combined strength enough to roll it a bit more times before Hank called it done. He started smoothing down the right side of the uneven ball, Connor taking the left one.
"I haven't done this in years," Hank admitted quietly, moving to the front of the snowman after a few minutes.
Connor glanced up from his own work, taking in Hank's somber expression. "Cole?" It wasn't a subject Hank brought up often, but Connor always made sure to encourage discussion about Hank's son. It was healthy and necessary to truly get over the loss.
One corner of Hank's mouth rose. "He loved winter," he said, patting down the same area of the snowman without really seeing it over and over, lost in memories. "Any time there was a speck of white floating in the air, he wanted to go play in it as soon as there was a layer on the ground, however thin. The one time it didn't snow much around Christmas, he was miserable."
Hank paused after they'd managed to transform the lopsided square into a round ball. "We must have made five of these things every winter."
Connor stepped closer and laid a hand on Hank's shoulder, smiling lightly. "I'm happy to continue the tradition then."
The shadow that had crossed his features fled, Hank responding in kind. "Yeah, it's kind of nice." He shrugged off his downer mood. "Okay, let's start the next layer. Honor's all yours, Connor."
Nodding, he knelt down, the snow crunching loudly around him. Hank had made it look relatively easy and he copied the man's exact movements, digging his fingers deep into the snow until they hit the ground.
Connor lifted his hands and a thick patch of snow rose with them, unwieldy and jaggedly-shaped. He pressed hard and it tumbled forward, snow gathering around it, growing thicker in size. A couple more rotations and it was nearly as big as the first ball of snow they'd made.
Together, Connor and Hank heaved it on top of the other one, dividing up the shaping process between them afterward, the misshapen lump soon becoming as close to a circle as it could get.
The head was the easiest part, Hank grabbing an armful of snow and shaping it in his hands. He plopped it down on top of their structure, glancing at Connor.
"Are you having fun?"
"The initial idea didn't seem appealing at first," Connor said, Hank seeming disappointed. "But I must admit using my own two hands to create something together with you is quite satisfying. Even if the design is very simplistic in nature."
"You don't mess with perfection, Connor. Besides, what could possibly make it better?"
Connor stepped away from the nearly completed snowman and began rolling a new ball, much larger than the bottom half of the snowman. He started marking the basic shape, the legs and head, slowly bringing the image in his mind to life.
Hank caught onto his design halfway through and grinned, even as he grumbled, "Show-off." He added more snow to the seams of the snowman, strengthening it.
Connor completed his work shortly and stepped back for a better vantage point. It was a fairly accurate approximation of a Saint Bernard, its head tilted upward to look up at its larger companion. The inspiration for the sculpture stopped next to it, sniffing the snow dog until Sumo licked its face.
Hank laughed. "I guess he approves. Good job."
It was rare to get a compliment from Hank and Connor basked in the warmth that grew in his chest in response. "I'll be back with the finishing touches."
Connor surveyed the scene they had made together, realizing something was missing. It wasn't something he could casually mention to Hank, Connor vowing to fix it later when he was otherwise occupied.
Hank returned to the backyard with a small canvas bag draped over his arm. Connor stepped forward and took the bag from him, allowing him to more easily don gloves again.
Pulling out a long carrot, Hank handed it to Connor. "You know what to do, right?"
"Of course." Connor pushed the carrot into the middle part of the head, Hank adding what looked to be two large buttons a few inches above it. "What about the mouth?"
Hank looked around the backyard, his gaze alighting on something nearby. He fetched it, holding a thin stick in his hand. After using a finger to make an indentation on the lower part of the head, he snapped the stick into two. He stuck them into the designated space, making a rough mouth, one side tilted upward, making the snowman look like he was smirking.
Knowing Hank would need them, Connor held out two medium length sticks he'd found as Hank turned to him, saying, "Now the arms, Co…oh, thanks." Taking one of them, Hank moved to one side of the snowman while Connor took the other. There was no resistance as he pushed the stick in, angling it upward so the snowman was waving. Hank put his own stick in straight, then took the bag from Connor.
He produced a long red scarf that had seen better days, weaving it around the snowman's neck. Hank put a hand on his waist as he retreated a few steps, Connor taking a position at his side. "That's not too bad."
"The eyes are uneven," Connor observed, examining the snowman closely. "One is two centimeters higher than the other."
Hank shot him an exasperated look. "Yeah, so? It gives him character." He watched Connor for a moment. "It's driving you crazy, isn't it?"
He nodded, ignoring the antsy feeling that tugged insistently at him. The near constant need to attain perfection at everything he did. His hand twitched at his side, Hank sighing. "Go ahead and fix it then."
Connor resolutely shook his head. "If I've learned anything of late, it's that imperfection is not an inherently bad quality. In fact, it should be celebrated at times. Such as now."
Hank patted him on the back. "Well said, Connor."
While Hank was slow to remove his winter gear back inside the house, Connor slipped away into the kitchen. He retrieved a pot from one of the cabinets, then a collection of ingredients Hank probably didn't even knew he had. Though Connor was making an effort to instill better eating habits into Hank, it was slow-going. Old habits died hard and it wasn't surprising when Hank stopped and picked up fast food when work ran late.
As he waited for the main part of the recipe to come to a boil, Connor leaned out of the kitchen door, finding that Hank was seated on the living room floor, using a large towel to dry Sumo off. "Such a good boy."
Connor found himself smiling as he returned to the stove. Of course Hank had plenty of the last item he needed to complete the recipe. The variety of his collection was vast, Connor spending some time minutes delving into the complexities of flavor notes that would be the best match for his purposes. Idly he wondered if one day he could understand what appeal Hank saw in it.
Hank yawned as he walked into the kitchen, Connor immediately proffering the end result of his work. Looking confused, Hank took the mug and looked down into it with a raised eyebrow.
"You made me hot chocolate?"
Connor nodded. "We spent a good amount of time outside in the elements, it's only natural to drink something that will assist in warming the body up."
"Listen, Connor, no offense, but I'm a bit old for this type of thing."
"Try it before dismissing it out of hand, please."
Looking skeptical, Hank took a small sip and slowly brought the mug down. He put a hand up to his mouth, eyeing Connor in shock. "You spiked it."
"Yes," he replied. "Is it satisfactory?" He worried he might have used too much bourbon, but as Hank started to drink again, he seemed more than satisfied.
"Oh, yeah." Hank chuckled. "Somehow, you never cease to surprise me."
As soon as Hank retired to bed for the night, Connor waited until he could hear light snoring from the bedroom. He moved to the closet silently, Sumo raising his head and watching him from his bed in the corner. Connor put a finger over his lips and the dog sighed, but remained quiet. He put on his winter clothing from earlier, then went outside, returning to the backyard.
Connor stood before the snowman and its canine companion for a moment, realizing the mire he was plunging himself into by proceeding. Still, he felt the reward outweighed any potential risks.
Drawing on the image he'd seen once, he knelt down on the ground and began building from the bottom up, the snow still thick and wet enough that it kept its shape without any trouble. Connor worked for two painstaking hours until it was finally complete, hoping Hank would take his addition to the wintry scene well.
The next morning, Connor expected to see Hank pouring himself some coffee as he walked into the kitchen. Instead, Hank stood before the window, looking out at the backyard.
Suddenly nervous since he hadn't expected him to notice for a while, Connor fidgeted, pulling the end of his shirt through his fingers in an endless loop as he stared at Hank's back. When the silence lingered too long, the atmosphere far heavier than he preferred, he asked, "Is it okay?"
Hank remained silent, Connor fearing he'd taken it too far. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to overstep my bounds on the subject, but I thought maybe if in some form…Are you upse-"
"It's perfect," Hank interrupted, his voice low and thick. He lowered his head, shoulders shaking ever so slightly. "For a second, when I looked outside, I thought he was really there."
As Hank turned, unblocking the view of the window, Connor could see the figure of the young boy he'd crafted from Cole's likeness out of snow remained intact, sunlight glinting off the white surface. He was standing by the snowman, reaching up for its face, a smile on his face.
There were tear tracks shining on Hank's cheeks, his eyes red, his nose dripping a bit, but he looked anything but upset. Though Connor knew humans cried not just out of sadness, he was still worried despite the lack of anger on Hank's part.
Connor walked forward and reached out to touch Hank's arm, meaning to do so as a show of support when Hank pulled him into a rough hug. He took a shaky deep breath. "Thank you, Connor."
The words were heartfelt and appreciative, Connor melting into the embrace, resting his hands on Hank's back. "You're welcome, Hank."
Outside it began snowing again. Connor wondered whether or not they would get another day off from work if it continued into the night and early morning, the weather refusing to release its iron hold on Detroit.
Somehow, the prospect didn't seem so bad this time.