[... One of the vital biocomponents is the thirium pump regulator, located here in the abdomen. This is what powers and maintains the pulse of the thirium pump - in simpler terms, if the regulator is destroyed or removed, the android's heart will stop beating and the patient will be in immediate danger of shutdown. Fortunately, the regulator is one of the simplest components to replace. In this video we'll go over the differences in compatibility and quality, timing considerations, and ways to minimize discomfort during the regulator replacement process …]

Hank sat hunched at the kitchen table with a styrofoam cup and a slurp of noodles. A series of demonstration videos, propped against a coffee mug, had held his attention for hours despite Hank's best attempts to turn it off.

Androids were far simpler than he'd ever imagined. Each component was easily identifiable and had its own clear function that made sense in a narrow context. It had become clear very quickly that building the basic structure of an android wasn't so different from building a computer tower, provided the right tools were available - and Hank marveled at how easy it could be to save an injured android from shutdown. All he needed was a small kit in the trunk of his car, and maybe -

*BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ*

The door buzzer droned long and obnoxious.

Hank breathed a surprised laugh. There was only one person who would hold down the button just to annoy him. "All right, all right, I'm coming. Shit."

He opened the front door, and the winter chill drifted in. An amused smirk pulled at Hank's mouth. "Whadda you want?" he drawled in a mock-accusing tone, as he stepped aside to let Connor in out of the cold.

"I'd assumed you would be ready to go." Connor, with a face as intentionally innocent as possible, stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

Hank - in flannel pants and bare feet, a shirt that might have a few holes in it - raised an uncertain brow. "Go where?"

Connor held up the two concert tickets, his expression unchanged. "I'd found these on my desk. I assumed it was you who left them there."

Hank stared at the tickets, then at the annoyingly blameless look on Connor's face. He huffed a quiet chuckle. "Why aren't you going with one of your android buddies? Any one of them could probably use a few hours off."

"True," Connor conceded. A smug smirk pulled at his mouth. "But what would be the point of experiencing human culture in the company of another android who doesn't understand it?" He pointed at Hank's chest with the tickets. "Your insight is invaluable."

"Fair point." Hank, suspicious yet amused, took a step back toward the hall. "I'll get dressed. No snooping around my house."

"Whatever you say, Lieutenant."

Hank shot an annoyed glare at the grin on Connor's face. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

Hank huffed a small laugh, and he muttered to himself while he disappeared into the bedroom.

Connor commenced a careful investigation of Hank's living room, while Sumo dragged out of slumber and followed, wagging, at his heels. The house seemed a little better cared-for than it had been only a month ago - the rug had been recently vacuumed, the bottles and glasses gone, coffee stains scrubbed out of the couch. There was a new small table in the corner, built perfectly from a boxed kit, and a brand-new dog toy laying ripped and unstuffed on the floor.

With a quiet sense of relief, he moved on to the kitchen - the half-pot of cold coffee, the empty sink, dishes drying on the rack. Sumo had begun to whine hopefully; Connor snuck him a treat from the jar on the counter, then gravitated toward the paused video on the table.

A warm smile crept into his face. He called out toward the hallway. "If you're interested in android repair, Josh is a very good teacher."

"I'm not committing to anything," Hank shouted back. He emerged from the hall in jeans and a black Led Zeppelin hoodie, peering at Connor across the room. "I've just seen enough injuries on the job that I think wouldn't've been so bad if someone knew what they were doing. It doesn't look that complicated."

Connor grinned a little. It seemed almost surreal, now, to remember Hank as he'd been when they'd first met. "With this skillset you would be an irreplaceable asset to the department."

"The fuck are you talking about." Hank's eyes narrowed, hiding a smile, while he shrugged on his coat. "I'm already the best damn detective on the force." Keys jangled in his hand. "Come on. And none of your cab bullshit, I'm driving."

There was something comforting about having Connor in the passenger seat again - as if a missing piece had returned, a completion of a whole that had for too long remained unbalanced. Somehow Hank felt more at ease now than he ever did alone. How Connor could have that effect was still a complete mystery to him.

"You haven't answered any calls," Hank pointed out with suspicion, after a long while of comfortable quiet.

"Peter is taking care of half of my clients." Connor's voice was easy … grateful.

Hank cast him an uncertain glance. "Pete's an attorney now?" He wasn't so sure that sounded like a great idea.

Connor caught his meaning. His mouth twitched with a smile. "In four days his success rate has been almost as high as mine. His skill in debate isn't the strongest yet, but his interpretation and application of evidence is hard to match."

Hank shook his head, a little bewildered but grateful that it was all working out. "What about Wolf?"

"He … hates dealing with clients." Connor leaned back comfortably in his seat, his eyes on the road ahead. "He's the new head of the security team instead."

"Well. At least that sounds about right." Hank watched the cars ahead, the signs and traffic lights - the darkened piles of snow and bundled pedestrians mingling on the sidewalks.

A thought occurred to him - something he'd wondered for a long while, but had never mentioned. "Hey, Connor." Hank smirked a little. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

Connor peered at him sidelong. "That depends on whether you plan on making fun of me all night," he quipped back, amused.

"Of course," Hank confirmed with a grin. Obviously. After a moment, he took a thoughtful breath. "Y'know, the first thing Pete did after he woke up was to get that blinky thing out of his head."

"Blinky thing?" Connor raised a brow. This from a guy who'd just been studying android anatomy.

"Fuck you." Hank huffed a laugh. "What I mean is … I'm just curious why you keep your LED. I don't see a lot of androids nowadays that still have them."

For awhile, the only sound was the hum of the tires on the road - a murmur of music in a car next to them. The rumble of an engine.

Connor chose his words. "I understand the desire to remove it. From a practical standpoint, appearing more human relieves a lot of difficulties in navigating social situations. On a psychological level, removing the LED could be symbolic of removing the shackles of our past. A defiance of the law that had required them to be installed in the first place."

Hank glanced over to see Connor's quiet expression. "Like a symbolic difference between being an object and a person," Hank suggested.

"It could be. But although I consider myself a person … I'm not human. I'm not like you - and I don't want to be. I'd rather be immediately recognized as what I am, and treated unfairly for it - than to have an easier life by pretending to be something I'm not."

Hank shook his head a little. "You know, that's the kind of wisdom a lot of humans could learn from. Most people I know are trying to be somebody else, just to feel like they fit in." He cast a meaningful, smug look at Connor.

Connor raised a brow at him - and then he considered the way he, himself, had hidden away his own emotions for the sake of appearing more in control than he really was. For the sake of saving face in front of the people he hadn't wanted to disappoint.

Connor's eyes narrowed. "Sometimes I wonder why I voluntarily agree to spend time with you."

Hank grinned.