Hank was not a graceful person.
And Connor knew it.
Still, facts did not dissuade him from stuffing his pristine knowledge to Hank's complaining joints.
"Again." Connor declared, while the human panted, back in a slouch and hands on his knees.
Hank glared, breathing heavily. "I'm not sure," he panted, "that all this fancy-ass dancing is necessary."
Connor bent down to retrieve a bottle of water from the floor.
"This is only the basics," he replied matter-of-factly, tossing the bottle to his partner.
Hank gulped it down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand with a sigh. He debated on telling off the condescending attitude, but knowing his partner, the insufferable brainiac would only make matters worse with rational retorts and mature arguments. For someone who had no concepts of mortality, Connor certainly had the ability to make him lose all sense of maturity.
So instead, he exhaled. Oddly enough, the water actually felt refreshing. "Hm. You never know the importance of something until you lose it... or some philosophical shit Kamski says. Anyway, I need a water break- say... 60 minutes."
The android barely blinked. "You don't even like water." He did not budge, not even when the human threw him a look. "I believe humans typically taunt each other with aggression or insults for coercion, as response to peer pressure. So Lieutenant," he cocked his head to the right, hair falling out of place and with a peculiar grin, "are you foul poultry?"
Hank felt amusement, but did not want to give his partner the satisfaction of seeing him smile or give in. He opted to roll his eyes. "The expression's actually: are you chicken? and that only works on insecure teens. Christ, are you even online? Is there a better source of information for you than Human 101?"
Not sure what to make of that: insult? teasing? Connor simply ignored the statement and changed tactics. "My reading says that your body is not even at half of its limits, although your resistance is preventing you from utilizing your physical capabilities. May I suggest that you observe first for an outside perspective? A demonstration might be adequate."
Hank had no objections. "Knock yourself out." If it meant pausing the ordeal while watching his partner attempt to dance, then by all means. He finally let himself sink to the floor, the cold marble of the rarely used interrogation room a welcome distraction. The usual table and chair had been pushed to one side, though he couldn't be bothered to walk there, not when he had already spent enough time trying to follow a certain someone's inane instructions.
Connor's LED swirled from a glowing blue to yellow, then back again. The small speaker gave no indication that it's connected. But without so much of a movement, he has turned the music on; and the flowing, sensual strings of a waltz filled the small space of the room.
Hank watched his partner tap his foot lightly to the floor, although he doubted that Connor needed to know the rhythm of the song. Knowing him, Hank could bet his next paycheck on his belief that Connor already knew the song by heart- or its closest equivalent, anyway... his impenetrable memory.
His partner raised his hands to the air, leveled straight as if hugging something unseen. His hips swayed with unnatural precision, face devoid of emotion. "Left foot forward, angle your partner slightly..." Hank tuned the instructions out. None of it interested him, only the prospect of solving what might be the biggest drug bust of the century... if only there was a way to identify all the key players, the main manufacturer and sellers.
If things go well, there might be.
After tracking down small time dealers and placing them behind bars, a small lead appeared- purely by accident, or luck. An invitation- an online trail just begging to be traced. A mass invite to some party, encrypted and corrupted almost within less than a minute of sending. An invitation that Connor saw to be suspicious, since with a little interception he found that it seemed to be calling to people known to be offenders of various crimes... all who walked free. Smart enough to cover their tracks, hence the secrecy. Perhaps it was money or influence, but considering that Connor only caught the invite after trying to find a lead on Red Ice, scouring black markets on the internet and other sources…
A gathering, or a coincidence? The odds were too blatant. Perhaps the lord dealers didn't anticipate that a walking, talking computer would be part of the Detroit Police District. A few years back and he wouldn't believe it either.
Funny how humanity destroys itself over and over, Hank mused to himself. Human nature…
He turned his attention to something that kept bugging him. Now, the undercover part didn't deter him. Gathering evidence was something he'd done for years. Yet a nagging, small part of him kept thinking that his partner was going into the lion's den- not that Connor can't handle himself. A part of him that he does his best to drown.
Crazy. That's the word, right? For Hank to grow attached to a synthetic life form, one that he hated in the beginning. One that can never truly die. So why does he feel like he might lose something... someone?
Hank winced, took another swig of water, and wished for something stronger.
"Lieutenant," The human snapped from his thoughts. "Would you like to try know? Repetition seems to be the only things that gives us progress."
Hank shook away any other lingering thoughts, leaving them for another day. "Yeah, yeah." He could feel the android's gaze following him as he stood. "Don't get your wirings in a twist."
When he straightened, the android's passive eyes met his. Not for the first time, he found his mind wandering. The goofy face, the unnatural stillness around Connor- when did it stop being creepy? When did the sharp look that unnerved him, turned to be somewhat of a comforting presence?
But his instincts noticed something different. Something that warned him... the yellow LED of his friend? "Okay, how do I do this?" He mustered as much fake enthusiasm as possible, trying and failing not to sound awkward.
Connor held out his hand, and Hank begrudgingly took it.
"Hang on, Lieutenant."
"What are you-" His wary complaint faded into surprised gasps, and the resistance to keep everything he ate inside his stomach.
Connor, the little asshole, dragged him, using his hand into a series of fast twirls, which Hank literally can't resist. He was forced to follow, and if there was one thing he was absolutely sure of in a long, long time, was that Connor enjoyed it. There was smugness emanating from his friend that can only be detected by a human. And damn everything to hell if Connor wasn't amused.
Connor used his hand on Hank's back to push him towards the direction he wants. He sidestepped, carried on his one sided trot, his grip the only thing that kept his partner from bolting. Hank let himself be pulled, but that's about it. Connor's grip was unyielding, so he stopped resisting, making himself as heavy as possible, a dead weight.
Only, the android used this to his advantage, physically maneuvering him like a rag doll to the intended slides and pace.
It was a sight to behold. Manhandling from the android, while resistance from the human- a few years back and Marcus would call it irony.
Then Connor gripped the human on both sides, his feet no longer touching the ground.
It was the sheer force of will that got Hank his exit. "Did you just fucking lift me?" He broke free, incredulous. He contemplated a swift punch, only to disregard it. The satisfaction is not worth a bruised wrist, especially when the android would not even register the pain.
"This is ridiculous." Emasculating. "Is there no other way to infiltrate the party? And even if we absolutely need to blend it, dancing? Really?" He crossed his arms, tone like a petulant child. He knew better than anyone that there was no such thing as fair in the world, and there are a lot of things a person needs to do that they won't agree with. But whoever said that Hank wasn't a hypocrite?
Connor barely blinked. "We have no time. The safest route would be to lay low inside and gather information. Picking the perps one by one when we've identified them would be better than a direct attack, not when we'll be overwhelmed and surrounded. There are also the innocents that may be harmed."
"That's great, Sherlock." Sarcasm thickened his dry tone.
"My name's Connor."
"Ha. Funny." Hank rubbed his eyes.
A moment passed.
Connor waited for the other to speak. None came. "Can we proceed?" He had no idea why the other kept resisting.
"Fucking dance." Hank muttered, softly. It did not matter. Connor caught it.
"If I may be frank, the last time we were pressed with time, we lost the case." Connor said. A cloud of solemnity seemed to settle. Hank couldn't decide if it was a warning or a reminder. "It might be in our best interest to avoid being in that same situation."
For the most part, Hank agreed. "But if we had actually solved that case in time, who knows. Androids might be extinct, and I wouldn't have the shitty partner I have now."
And just like that, the settling grip of doom dissipated.
"I take offense to that, Lieutenant. I thought we are friends." But his lips were quirked.
"Ugh, friends with an android. What happened to the machine I had with me? Oh wait." Hank tilted his head. "Deviant." His voice grew soft, affectionate.
Connor gave a quick smile, then returned to his default face. Scratch that, Hank detected something: a frown?
"Would you prefer handing the case over to Detective Reed?"
"What? Oh fuck no. Don't even joke about that."
They shared a look of conspirators, the petty rivalry nothing more than a joke. The mood lightened immensely.
Finally Connor broke the pause and held out a hand. "So Lieutenant Anderson, shall we?"
With a faux sigh, Hank grabbed. "Go over the fucking box movement again. Slow down, try not to be a crappy teacher or I will step on you."