A/N: Thanks everyone who reviewed! This chapter concludes the first arc of the story, so the next one might take a while. Until then!
"Do you want me to dress more appropriately for a domestic servant?" Connor asked in a perfectly neutral voice.
Hank was visited by a brief vision of Connor waiting on him on hand and foot while dressed in a black tailcoat, with a silver tray in one white-gloved hand.
"No," he said resolutely. "You can wear whatever you want, I don't care."
"The fact that we're here at all suggests otherwise," Connor pointed out.
"Just pick something already, I don't wanna be here all day," Hank urged him, choosing not to rise to the bait. "When you pick something, go try it over there. I'll just wait here by the registers."
For a moment, Connor's LED light flashed yellow, but then he gave Hank a single nod and headed for the men's section.
Hank took out his phone and started idly scrolling through his newsfeed, not really seeing the words. Just another bizarre situation that could've been easily avoided. He could have just made Connor buy some clothes on the Internet, the way he had ordered the groceries. But he had a few hours to waste on a sunny September afternoon, and taking his android out to a mall seemed like a better option than wasting himself, which was what he usually did.
His android. Hank stopped the mindless scrolling, for a moment freezing completely. For better or worse, it seemed like Connor was becoming a permanent fixture in his life, and that thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
He tried to concentrate on anything else, like the two women furiously debating bra sizes just a few feet on the left from him, but it was no good, he was getting a revelation in fucking H&M, and had no idea how to deal with it.
At that instant, his panicked thoughts were interrupted by a light tap on his shoulder. He jumped at the touch, swearing under his breath.
It was of course Connor, who was now wearing a pair of rather subdued dark blue jeans, paired with an extremely garish Hawaiian shirt that mixed together shades of bright yellow, vibrant green and dazzling magenta. He turned around for Hank, who raised his eyebrows.
Strangely enough, this outfit looked good on the android, but well, that happened when you looked like a goddamn model. No, Hank had an entirely different issue with Connor's choice.
"Really? Out of everyone on Earth, you chose to copy my style?" he asked dubiously, thinking of a similar, if a little less loud shirt in the back of his closet.
Connor smoothed down the fabric of the shirt and gave him a slightly defiant look.
"Well, as I've seen far from 'everyone on Earth' yet, and from the people I did see I've spent the incontestably greatest amount of time with you, you were the most logical choice."
Hank contemplated the hyena-like laughing pineapples on the shirt and thought that 'logical' was probably the last word he'd use here, but whatever. It was still a lot better than what he had been kind of expecting – for Connor to try to emulate his original outfit. You couldn't get all that wild in the H&M's men's section, but the android had already proven himself full of surprises.
He could just leave it at that, let Connor buy several more similar sets and be done for the day. However, something prompted him to ask:
"Do you even like this shirt?"
"I do find the design cheerful," Connor replied.
"I guess there's that, but do you think it's, I dunno," Hank was grasping for the right word, "something made for you?"
Connor looked at him with his LED light spinning rapidly.
"We are in a retail store, so nothing in here is tailor made," he said after a few seconds, clearly uncomprehending.
"No, I meant, whether this," Hank jabbed his index finger right into a laughing pineapple's face, "feels right for you? And I don't mean the right size," he quickly added when he saw the android open his mouth.
Connor promptly closed it again. His LED light turned yellow.
"I don't understand," he confessed after a moment. "I do not have feelings, so there is no way for me to 'feel' anything regarding these clothes, or anything else for that matter. Can you please rephrase the question?"
"Forget it," Hank muttered with a pang of disappointment. But really, what was he expecting? He should keep himself in check; forgetting Connor wasn't human wouldn't do him any good.
"Just go change back, grab a few more shirts and pants in same size and I'll pay for it," he said tiredly.
The android did as Hank said without a word. Soon afterwards, he returned with three pairs of pants and three shirts, and Hank took those from him, equally silent.
He made a few steps towards the nearest register, when he was stopped by Connor's voice:
"This. I want this one," was what he said while pointing at something that looked like a baseball jacket, with a steel blue front, black sleeves, a black breast pocket and a mandarin collar.
Hank looked at him in surprise.
"What, d'you like it?"
"I have realized I need something warmer than a shirt. Your house is rather chilly and the weather will turn cold any day now."
"Makes sense," Hank nodded, and moved to take the jacket from the racks, but Connor wasn't done.
"Also, the design is…" he began to say but stopped without finishing his sentence, for once not finding the right word in his vast vocabulary.
"I would say familiar," he ventured after a beat of silence. "Yet, I have no memories of any such article of clothing so that cannot be correct. I have no frame of reference for this. But I'd ask you to purchase it anyway."
Hank gave him a long, considering look. The jacket actually looked similar to something he'd seen some other androids wearing, but he couldn't remember what type. Definitely not pleasure droids, though. Never mind that; anything was better than Connor's original outfit.
He made Connor try it on, and it fitted him perfectly; steel blue seemed to be his color.
In the end, they bought two more white shirts then went well with the jacket, and some socks and underwear as an afterthought.
They walked through the mall, passing shops with mostly human visitors and android employees surrounded by a considerable amount of potted greenery. The building was originally an old factory, with an enormous vaulted glass roof that let enough sunlight inside that artificial lighting was not necessary during the day. Hank hated most malls, but this one was almost bearable, so he used to come here relatively a lot.
This is what he realized when they passed a children's playground full of painted dinosaurs, and he was assaulted by an onslaught of memories. Because it was at this very playground where he played with Cole on numerous occasions while Cole's mom went shopping.
Fuck, he was stupid for coming here.
Hank felt that his lower lip was starting to tremble, so he picked up the pace. Connor copied him while throwing him a worried glance.
Hank didn't say anything. Thankfully, Connor didn't ask.
They left the building, walking silently side by side. The sky was turning red, with gentle crimson clouds floating weightlessly towards the horizon. Hank didn't feel like returning home just yet. He considered stopping at his usual bar, but then he realized it had a no androids allowed sign stuck to the door.
A change of venue, then, he thought and looked around for a suitable place. He found it soon after they entered a mostly residential area with identical brick semi-detached houses. At the end of one row of such buildings, there was a distinctly different one-story house, painted light blue, with a small front courtyard.
A big signboard that read 'NIRVANA PUB' was hanging above the rounded entrance door. Another, smaller sign located on the door proclaimed that 'All Beings Under the Sun Were Welcome', and Hank was starting to get the picture of what kind of establishment this was.
Just a few days ago, Hank would have avoided this place like the plague. Yet here he was, entering the little garden with Connor in tow. Despite the light breeze brought on by the falling dusk, the evening air was still pleasantly warm, enough for Hank to forgo the opportunity to inspect the inside of the pub, choosing instead to stay in the courtyard.
All iron wrought round garden tables were empty, except for one occupied by a lone man intently staring at his touchpad. Hank sat down, naturally selecting a table in the corner overlooking the street.
A human waitress came to take their order. When Hank looked her in the eyes, he felt a shiver of revulsion running through his body. The irises were blood red, and the silver pupils appeared distinctly metallic, with a neat circle of little dark holes fringing the rim.
Those were no contacts; it was definitely an example of human augmentation, and probably illegal. What the hell was it even supposed to do, see in the dark? Get data from looking at things the way androids could? Suck human souls? Hell if Hank knew, and he had zero intention to ask.
"Hello, what can I get you?" she said in a perfectly normal voice, as though she wasn't looking at him with demonic eyes, and Hank was forcefully reminded of why he usually stuck to his bar.
"A beer, whatever's on tap," he replied flatly.
"Some thirium for your droid?" she asked, in a manner people inquire whether you need water for your dog.
Hank gave Connor a quizzical look.
"D'you want that stuff?"
"My thirium level is 5.4% below optimal, so yes, please," Connor said.
"You heard him," Hank said to the waitress, whose hand was poised expectantly over her touchpad, which made her and her blood-red eyes finally leave Hank's field of vision.
Thirium, huh. Hank knew it was the blue stuff androids had instead of blood. He didn't know they could drink it, too, given that one of the precious few things he did know about androids was that they didn't eat or drink, period.
The fact they drank their own 'blood' was kind of – not exactly gross but definitely weird in Hank's book. But that was androids for you.
He glanced at his companion, who was inspecting an ornamented drink coaster in front of him. A lock of windswept hair kept falling in his eyes, and Hank had to resist the urge to brush it off for him.
Hank let out a barely noticeable sigh.
He really didn't know jackshit about androids, and his carefully cultivated state of ignorance was obviously unsustainable, if he were to coexist with one.
"What do you need for, uhm, optimal functioning?" he asked Connor.
Connor's long fingers stopped retracing the mandala pattern on the coaster and he raised his eyes to meet Hank's.
"Regular thirium replenishments, depending on my activity level. An access to a docking station, but I can use a public one."
Hank thought of all those androids motionlessly standing in rows on the streets.
"No, I'll buy one for the house," he said decisively.
"I have to warn you that it's rather expensive," Connor told him.
"If I cared about money that much, you think I'd buy a fucking Saint Bernard? Can you imagine how much dog food he eats in a month, and how much that costs?"
Connor's LED light spun for a few seconds, before he spoke up:
"Well, the Internet tells me that it should be about 24 kg of food, and when I multiply it with the current price of the brand I saw at your home, it would be 128 dollars. The docking station, however, costs over two thousand."
Hank frowned. Two could play this game.
"We're talking about just one month, and you're excluding all the nutritional supplements I gotta buy for Sumo's joints. That makes quite a lot over the years, and this docking station of yours is a one-off expense, isn't it?"
"Not exactly; you're forgetting the additional expense it will cause for your monthly electricity bill. Given there is a perfectly serviceable docking station within a walking distance from your house, I don't see how-"
"The point is I said I'll buy you the damn thing!" Hank interrupted him, his temper flaring. "Why are we even arguing about this?"
Connor opened his mouth to say something, but was prevented from doing so by the arrival of the waitress bringing their drinks.
At least the service here's fast, Hank thought as he took a sip of his beer, eyeing Connor's thirium drink, which came in a cocktail glass, complete with a straw and a little yellow paper umbrella.
Connor sipped through the straw, looking at Hank with half-lidded eyes. Hank swallowed and hastily took another sip from his own beer. And then he felt something lightly touching his ankle.
Connor had, unbeknownst to Hank, removed one of the shoes they had purchased prior to the clothes, and was now slowly sliding his socked foot up and down Hank's denim-clad leg, from the ankle to the knee.
Hank knew he should put a stop to this right at this instant, remind Connor of the rules he had set. But he found himself frozen to the spot, unable to articulate any objections.
There had been rumors, recently, about some androids going rogue, even mauling their owners. This behavior was called 'deviant'.
The way Connor was looking at him intently while sipping at his thirium, one foot lightly caressing Hank's calf while his temple light stayed clear, unperturbed blue, now that was what Hank'd call deviant. Hank had to wonder why Connor tried so adamantly to seduce him. His original programming must have been deeply ingrained.
He should remind Connor that this was not what Hank wanted from him, right on the contrary. In a moment, he told himself.
For now, he just let his eyes fall closed and focused on the sun and breeze that in turn warmed and cooled his face, and on the impossibly gentle touch of the android sitting in the chair opposite to him.
For the first time in God knew how long, he felt alive.
A/N: Here's a picture of Bryan Dechart for this chapter: vrakobor (d o t) kvalitne (d o t) cz (slash) bryan (d o t) jpg
Just imagine thirium in his glass instead of wine ;)