Mostly, Connor was left alone to his own devices while Kamski disappeared through the same door he entered with Chloe.
He took a moment to look around the open room, richly upholstered in masculine colours and hard, shiny leathers. There were sparse paintings by Carl Manford and some sculptures by Reina Flouret who was one of the Cyberlife aesthetic designers. Everything was either glass, stone, wood or leather.
It was a far cry from Hank's house, which was a mish-mash of battered, cheap furniture and pictures of family, friends and coworkers, music that varied from Jazz to Heavy Metal and clothes strewn about in ways that Connor seemed to be endlessly tidying. He'd managed to deep clean it semi-regularly to remove the hair that Sumo shed, but he supposed because the house was so full of movement and life all the time, it frequently got messy.
Connor preferred it to the clinical cleanliness of Kamski's house. Before his deviancy he would have figured the opposite - but now the empty home was indicative of an isolated life, far removed from the world.
He wondered if Kamski was lonely, or if he preferred the silence. Since escaping the mind-palace of Amanda's AI world, Connor never could stand the quiet.
And, he supposed, he had been purpose-built to integrate into teams and partnerships. Solitude did not appeal to him.
Chloe dropped by momentarily to reassure him that Kamski would not leave him to wait long, but she didn't stay, and briefly Connor was a little disappointed. While she did not show any signs of deviancy he still wanted to ask her views on it.
He thought the better of going into standby mode, not wanting to leave himself vulnerable, and felt his Thirium pump start to speed up as his excitement began to build at the idea of his request being fulfilled.
Hank would not be pleased if he learned of how, but, he supposed, Hank would not need to know. If he was willing, and Connor had an idea that he might be, the benefits far outweighed the potential threats. If he was truly supportive of Connor making this decision with his body and he wanted to pursue something on a level that included more physical touch as his arousal was indicating, hopefully he would not think to ask.
And Connor thought about what it would feel like to truly reciprocate a touch - to feel what Hank felt when he had Connor's face in his hand. What would Hank's fingers feel like on his chin, pressing the corners of his mouth together? What would Connor feel if he did the same? What would that do to Hank?
Would Hank want Connor to touch him?
In that brief moment of quiet contemplation, his ocular sensors began to flash and he blinked erratically as a call started to come in. The call was from Captain Fowler, and for a moment he battled with the idea of taking it.
With the position he was in, sitting in Elijah Kamski's house, was taking a personal call really safe? But on the other hand, could he ignore a call from his highest current ranking official?
He could not ignore it. Connor chose to answer the call, and announced to the near-empty room; "Captain Fowler. How can I assist you?"
The smooth, vaguely Creole intonation of Fowler's voice rumbled back at him, "Jesus, you answer fast. Listen, Connor, I know it's your day off, but…"
"That's alright Captain, what can I do for you?"
"At ease. Do you… have time to take a personal call?"
Connor paused, a little perplexed. Captain Fowler had never been very approachable or ever called him personally for something before… "I have the time... Is something wrong?"
He could hear the Captain release a short breath, and for the first time since meeting the irritable man Connor actually heard his voice start to soften, "No, nothing's wrong. At least… it's not right now. Look, I just thought I'd call to say this since… you probably know better than anyone - you know that Hank isn't the easiest person to deal with."
Connor made a brief noise of affirmation while his mind tumbled over what the purpose of the Captain's call was for.
"And I know you've been living with him," the Captain continued, "and personally I don't really want to know the context, but… whatever you're doing, kid, keep fucking doing it."
"I… I'm sorry? I'm afraid I don't understand-"
"This is the best shape I've seen Hank in fucking years," Fowler interrupted, "even before Cole was born. Now I don't know what sort of influence you have over him and frankly, I don't really care, but like I said, whatever you're doing is working."
For a moment, Connor was a little stunned into silence before he uttered, "Thank you, Captain."
"Yeah, well, I just thought I'd call you to let you know. I've known Hank for longer than I'd like to admit and it's… it's like I can see a bit of him coming back. After Cole died… well, Hank never really recovered. He still hasn't. But it gives me some hope to see him like this and… yeah. Well… I guess I just called to say… keep up the good work."
"Hank is a good man, Captain," Connor said earnestly, "working and living with someone who has such personal issues has been a challenge but I am glad you think that he is improving."
"Yeah," there was a creaking noise and a sigh like Fowler sat down in the long-backed chair in his office, "he is. Noticeably. And you're not doing too bad, either. I gotta admit, Connor, I was worried about taking you on after the revolution, but you appear to be fitting in to the team. Productivity is increasing. Like I said… just, keep doing what you're doing."
And then there was a pause, before Fowler finished quietly, "I appreciate what you're doing for Hank. Really."
A calm descended over him when he realised this must have been a difficult call for Captain Fowler to make, and a difficult few years for Fowler to live. It was deeply upsetting to see Hank in the state Connor often found him in the beginning; drunk, angry, grieving, suicidal - but Connor had never thought that Hank was a lost cause or that he couldn't recover.
If Hank could change his mind about androids, he could stop drinking. He could start eating better. He could take care of himself again.
Fowler must have given up on trying to reach him a long time ago, must have grieved his loss even when Hank continued to live.
Connor sat back into the small round chair and looked up at the high ceiling, levels of his programming and protocol affirming his effort. He wondered how humans felt when they completed a difficult task - did they feel the rush of a code-buildup being surmised, affirmed and then filed away leaving a space open for new instruction? Was it similar at all?
There was still a lot of work to be done in terms of Hank's recovery, and relapse was still an enormous threat and probably would be for the rest of Hank's life, but the acknowledgement put him at ease.
"... I am glad to help, Captain," he said after some silence.
Eventually, Fowler answered back; "... Keep it up, kid. I'll see you on Wednesday."
After Fowler hung up the line, Connor began to wonder when the Captain had started referring to him as 'kid', but could not recall if it was before their phone conversation. Captain Fowler had been cold and indifferent from the very beginning and it continued even after Connor was hired full-time as the DPD's only android assistant investigator. He felt better knowing that the Captain was finally starting to warm to him, and that he could see and appreciate the improvement in Hank's health.
While Connor did not know Hank when he was first made Lieutenant in the DPD, he appeared well respected in the public and among his peers for his spearheading of the Red Ice Task Force.
And all of that changed that fateful night when Cole was killed.
It would have been easier if perhaps the driver of the truck had been drunk, but he wasn't. Or if Hank had been a dangerous driver, but he wasn't. Or if the android surgeon had been incompetent, but they weren't. No, it was the fault of the very thing Hank had built his career defending against - Red Ice.
Connor would have said it was ironic if that wasn't so incredibly tasteless.
And his ailing mental health had affected so many around him, like Captain Fowler and Gavin Reed. A knot that Connor was not even aware of in his programming appeared to untangle when the threads began to unravel.
Suddenly he felt better in his decision to seek out Kamski's help. If Hank wanted him to have more agency - if that made Hank happy, to know Connor was making a decision for himself, all the better.
And if it meant he could feel what Hank's skin or facial hair felt like, or how thick Sumo's fur was, all the better again.
A short time later, Kamski returned, now sporting a black hoodie with the arms rolled up to his elbows. His exact time was 2 hours and 18 minutes. There was a depth to his face that Connor could not quite read and he found himself sitting straighter, waiting to hear if Kamski had completed the task he requested.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said, but there was an edge to his tone that suggested he was being polite for the sake of it.
Kamski had a flat device in his hand, similar to a phone but smaller. He pulled the empty chair next to Connor slightly around so they could sit nearly shoulder-to-shoulder and he sat down, presenting the black screen to him in his open palm.
"This," he brandished the device, "is what I believe you're looking for."
Kamski pressed a button on the side and the screen illuminated with a black background and blue slider icon stretching from one side of the screen to the other. The horizontal bar was capped by a blue circle on the left, similar to an android's LED.
"I didn't want to plug you straight in to it without testing it first," he said, pausing for a moment while Connor looked up from the device to get caught under that icy stare, and then the human continued, "but it's very simple. All the way left is the off-position - the slider indicates the strength of the sensation. The closer to the left of the screen, the weaker it is. I'm sure you get the picture."
Kamski held out the device for Connor to take, and with a moment's hesitancy he reached out and closed his fingers around the edge of it, but Kamski did not let it go.
His eyes were dark and unreadable, similar he found to the night Kamski told him to shoot Chloe in the head. "Don't you want to test it out first?" He asked.
The edge of Connor's forefinger was against Kamski's hand. His hooded eyes, the way his voice deepened and the heat radiating off his body indicated a deep and almost predatory arousal that Connor nearly baulked from.
It was frighteningly similar to the night he placed a gun in Connor's hand and told him to shoot. His close proximity. The fire in his eyes.
The way it unsettled Connor to his very core.
And the idea that Kamski could once again take away what Connor was asking for. If he refused to follow through with the suggestion, would Kamski remove the device from his hand? If he took Kamski up on his offer, what would happen to Connor?
He was being played. Kamski wanted him to test it. He wanted to see Connor's reaction. Connor wanted to trust the software, he truly did. He wanted to trust Kamski because he wanted to feel and that was what Kamski was offering, but he just couldn't play the game.
Not with the way Elijah was looking at him. Not with how aroused the human was, with his erection pushing hard against the fly of his tailored jeans.
That was not what Connor was here for.
"I… would prefer not to." Connor found himself saying quite meekly, not losing his grip on the edge of the phone.
There was a stalemate of sorts, Kamski did not loosen his grip nor did his eyes lose that fire that they had. Connor found his mouth thinning and his Thirium pump speeding up to a level his body registered as increasing his stressor gauge.
Eventually, Kamski blinked slowly and pushed the phone gently into Connor's palm, but not without saying, "I would not suggest using this alone. Your sensors are highly calibrated, Connor. You could get… overwhelmed."
"I am sure I will be fine."
"Even still," Kamski pressed seriously, "it is my recommendation as your lead designer. If you get overwhelmed, you won't be able to turn it off. You won't have the mind to. Do not test this software out alone... You know where to find me if you run into any serious bugs."
Connor took it without hesitation, knowing full-well that Kamski could change his mind and Connor would be compelled to return it.
".. What… do I owe you? For your time?" He asked, holding the phone with both hands like it was in danger of slipping from his fingers.
Kamski shrugged, finally looking away and to the door at the other side of the room, "Consider it a gift. You didn't shoot my android those few months ago. I believe we can call this even."
"Thank you…" Connor stood to leave, pocketing the phone. Elijah did not look up at him. With a few erratic blinks he ordered an autonomous cab to his location and turned to leave, approaching the door at the other end of the room.
And, of course, Kamski would not let him go without having the last word - "Perhaps consider asking the good Lieutenant to help you test it."
Connor's back went ram-rod stiff and he turned quickly to face him. How… did he know?
The smirk at the corner of the human's mouth was eerily similar to the one he wore those months ago, "He seems to be pretty good at taking you out of uncomfortable situations - I'm sure you can trust him. As I said - don't test it on your own, Connor."
Connor supposed, by his loose jaw and the way his back pulled him remarkably straight and away from the sitting human, he probably affirmed Kamski's suspicions about him and gave away the game, but the outcome would remain the same so it hardly mattered.
He had the software he came for. His mission was complete.
Why did it make him feel hollow and guilty though?
Without knowing what to say, he simply nodded without looking at Elijah Kamski and turned to leave, pulling open the door and stepping out much faster than he had intended.
When he got to the entrance hall and Chloe pulled open the door for him, she waved at his retreating form and cheerfully called out; "Please, come back anytime!"
But Connor found he could not return the platitude.
