Title: Life Imitating Art
Author: Lucky Gun
Description: Hank is the RK800 assigned to assist LT Connor Anderson on the deviancy case. Confronted with the young, intelligent, but suicidal detective, the android begins questioning his programming as he determines what makes life worth living. Father/Son dynamic, Connor Hank focused, Pacifist only. Reverse AU. Connor whump
A/N: Surprised that the reception to this was as strong as it was (at least on AO3). Here's part 2.
Note: Significant concepts for android physiology adopted from WaywardWanderer with the author's written permission. Check out their works here and on AO3!
Thirty minutes later, Hank and Connor watched through the glass as Gavin Reed stormed out of the interrogation room. It had gone nowhere; the android hadn't spoken a word, hadn't moved since it had been placed in the restraints at the table. Nothing pissed of the mouthy detective more than an android that didn't do what he said.
"We're wasting our fucking time interrogating a machine!" he snapped as he stormed into the observation room. "We're getting nothing out of it."
Connor didn't move from his position, his back to the wall, eyes fixed firmly on the silent android. Hank stood next to him, head tilted slightly, and he turned his blue eyes to the technician manning the systems as he spoke up.
"Could you try roughing it up a little? I mean, it's not human," the technician suggested, and Connor beat Hank to the punch. "Androids don't feel pain. You'd only damage him, not make him talk." Frowning, he added, "Plus, deviants tend to self-destruct in stressful situations, right?" He glanced at Hank, who was looked at him carefully. The prototype nodded, confirming the information, and Gavin huffed and rolled his eyes.
"Okay, smartass. What should we do then?"
Taking the millisecond to process the fact that the detective was speaking to his superior in such a way, and then taking yet another millisecond to process the fact that the Lieutenant was allowing it, Hank offered, "I could try questioning it."
Gavin's laugh was loud and sarcastic, but Connor crossed his arms, considering the concept. "Not like he's going to talk to me, considering I damn near ripped his heart out of his chest." Gavin's laugh cut off, and he froze, staring at Anderson like he'd grown an extra head. "Fucking kidding me? Gonna let a plastic question a plastic?"
Pointing at the side of the screen that clearly advised there were interviews in the double digits pending, Connor refuted, "We're running out of time, Reed. This isn't the only case either of us have open right now. Fowler's shitting bricks to get this one buttoned up." Crossing his arms over his chest, the Lieutenant's voice shifted tone and brooked no argument as he looked at Hank and ordered, "Get a confession if you can, but don't let him self-destruct. I'd like to keep your Cyberlife goons out of here as long as possible."
Nodding, quietly happy to have a new task, Hank turned and left, already hearing Gavin ordering the technician out after him. He ignored it, focusing on his instructions, and stepped into the interrogation room. He took his time walking around the table, loosening his jacket's belt and unbuttoning the length of the grey fabric, questioning methods cycling through his HUD. He paused and glanced over the file on the table, then evaluated the deviant sitting quietly.
He turned towards the mirror to ensure the recording system was still operational, and paused. His optics could see through the one-way glass like it wasn't there, and he felt something unusual rise through his software. Gavin had Connor pressed against the wall, one hand screwed into the collar of his shirt and jacket, the other shoving a firm finger hard into his chest. Hank could see Anderson inhale sharply at the rough treatment; that was one of his cracked ribs. Shifting his processors, Hank filtered what he could from the other room.
"…and you think solving this will fix it? You're never going to be anything but a fucking pariah!"
The fist the older detective abruptly smashed into the Lieutenant's stomach made Hank flinch, and he took a half step towards the mirror, his mouth falling open with some odd, unknown protocol. Connor doubled over as Gavin stepped back, letting him fall to one knee. Head bowed, the Lieutenant must have said something the android didn't catch, because Gavin was suddenly spinning on his heel and staring straight at Hank.
Focus dropping to his partner, Hank stepped forward again, uncertain as to what he should do; he had many interaction simulations preloaded in his software, and this was not one of them. But Connor shifted and raised his eyes to his silent watcher, determination in his face as he slowly shook his head. Blinking, orders cycling through his vision, the android finally nodded and stated, "I'll begin questioning the subject now."
He forced himself to ignore anything but his current objective, sinking into the programmed directive easily, and he spoke with the deviant at length. It didn't take long, in retrospect, to understand the concept of how it had developed the mutation in the software. Emotional shock was the most common factor, though not the only one, Hank deduced as he stood, watching as the deviant huddled in on itself.
"I'm done," he said needlessly as he turned towards the door, and he opened it to find three people waiting for him.
The sight of Reed brought him back to the assault he had witnessed, and he ran a scan over the Lieutenant as he entered the room; he was moving a little more carefully but had not apparently suffered any further damage. Gavin gave him distance as he and the second officer moved towards the deviant, but there was a sneer that didn't leave the man's face.
"Chris, lock it up," he ordered, already dismissing the prototype. Hank was fine with that. But commotion behind him drew his attention, and he immediately understood his mistake as the deviant snapped, "Leave me alone!"
Sharp optics focusing in on the LED in his head, Hank watched as the stress levels on the other android spiked to a near-lethal ninety five percent.
"You shouldn't touch it. It will self-destruct if it feels threatened," he cautioned quickly, and he felt Connor step up behind him. Gavin growled, "Shut the fuck up! No android's gonna tell me what to do. Chris, you gonna move this asshole or what?"
Aware of the growing risk, Anderson added, "If he self-destructs, we won't get anything more out of him, Reed."
Glaring at the Lieutenant, Gavin didn't answer him, but he turned to the struggling officer and ordered, "Chris, get this asshole out of here."
The red light in the deviant's head was blinking quickly, its intent obvious, and Hank jumped forward as his mission priority rolled through him. "I can't let you do that! Leave it alone, now!" Putting himself firmly between the officer and deviant, Hank stood firm, his towering figure blocking the panicking android from the humans. Gavin surged towards him, pistol out in a heartbeat, and he aimed it squarely at the prototype.
"I warned you, motherfucker!" he shouted, finger twitching from its ready position, and Hank felt one of his secondary protocols surge against his processors.
"That's enough!" Connor snapped, voice closer than Hank had previously calculated, and he abruptly realized that the Lieutenant was standing directly beside him.
Gavin didn't back down, and his teeth were grinding as he bit out, "Mind your own business, Connor."
There was dead silence in the room for less than a second before Anderson took two steps, putting himself between Reed's gun and Hank's chest. Given the height differences between the three, the barrel was pointed directly at Connor's face. He stared down the length of the firearm impassively, his split lip and bruised face stoic, and his own firearm remained holstered.
"I said, that's enough," he restated firmly, unmoving as Gavin's anger seemed to rage anew. His fingertip grazed the trigger once, twice, and then he exhaled sharply, "Fuck!" Dropping his weapon, he finally replaced it on his belt and glared at the Lieutenant. "Fuck!"
He stormed out of the room without another word, and Hank saw the tension vibrate through Connor's frame. Deciding he had slightly more pressing matters, he turned and ensured the deviant was secure and calm, advising the other officer how to peacefully transport it to the holding cell across the hallway, filing away the soft words it said to him as it passed.
Then he and his partner were alone in the room, and Anderson let out a slow breath, sinking into the chair beside him. For some reason, Hank felt something like responsibility for his situation, likely due to the wellbeing protocol he'd discovered, and felt himself preparing to apologize.
"Don't get between Reed and a target, Hank. I won't be able to protect you like that again."
Blinking, the android looked down at Connor, confused, and was about to ask a series of questions when the human forced himself to unsteady feet.
"Night."
He wandered out of the interrogation room, absently disengaging the lights, and left Hank alone in the dark in more ways than one.
Greeting Amanda was like greeting a new day. The roses she tended were beautiful, the sun shining on his face pleasantly, and he cast an appreciative glance around his mind palace. It wasn't often he could take a moment to enjoy the scenery of the meeting location, but the times he did, he cherished.
"Hello, Amanda," he said calmly, the blue in his temple matching the highlights in her hair. She turned, dark skin wrinkling slightly as she smiled, and she said, "Henry. It's good to see you."
She was the only one who called him by his full designation, and it made him feel warm, similar to the sensation that he was developing around his young human partner. So he returned her smile as she continued, "Congratulations, Henry. Finding that deviant was far from easy, and though you weren't the one who captured it, the way you interrogated it was very clever."
Successful mission statuses rose in his vision, and he felt something tingle in his fingertips as she turned and added, "You've been remarkably efficient, Henry."
He ducked his head slightly at the compliment, the knowledge that he was fulfilling his purpose making him grin, and he responded, "Thank you, Amanda."
She turned back to the roses, laying a cut one on the small table, and advised, "We've asked the DPD to transfer it to us for further study. It may teach us something about what happened."
He agreed with the decision; androids killing humans broke all known coding and restrictions. It was intolerable.
Then she said as an aside, "The interrogation seemed…challenging. What did you think of the deviant?"
He hid a frown. Challenging? It was relatively easy, he thought, though took a few moments longer than expected due to the unusual pre- and post-question interference from Detective Reed. Still, he answered honestly, "It showed signs of PTSD after being abused by its owner, as if its original program had been completely replaced by new instructions." This was something it hadn't considered before the information he'd downloaded to assist the Lieutenant with his post-incident stress, but it was accurate.
As though sensing where his thoughts had led, Amanda misted the roses on the trellis and asked, "This…Lieutenant Anderson has been officially assigned to the deviancy case." Her voice betrayed her thoughts on the matter, but he was prepared for her next query. "What do you make of him?"
"I think he's irritable, and socially challenged. I don't believe he is well liked or respected in his department. But I also think he is a good detective, given the chance." Hank glanced at the water surrounding them and added, "He's an intriguing character."
Turning back to him, Amanda's posture was resigned and frustrated as she waved away his light praise with her own words. "Unfortunately, we have no choice but to work with him. What do you think is the best approach?"
Again, the leeway built into his software gave him the ability to make this judgement for himself, and he was confident with his decision based on the information he'd already gathered on the detective.
"I will try to establish a friendly relationship. If I can get him to trust me, it will be helpful for the investigation." Unbidden, he recalled the way the Lieutenant had called for him when he'd found the deviant in the attic, and not any of the other personnel on scene. There was already good groundwork there, it just needed to be built further upon.
However, Amanda's brows were furrowed when she next turned to him, abandoning her flowers; she clearly disapproved of the human entirely.
"More and more androids show signs of deviancy. There are millions in circulation. If they become unstable, the consequences will be disastrous. You are the most advanced prototype Cyberlife has ever created," she reminded him as she walked forward, eyes passing over his form like the object it was. "If anyone can figure out what's happening, it's you."
She was his handler, not his maker, but he still felt the need to prove himself to her in every way.
"You can count on me, Amanda," Hank promised softly, bowing his head, and she walked away towards one of the paths. She turned and paused, fixing him with a firm stare, and her voice was colder than usual as she added, "Hurry, Henry. There's little time."
Arriving at the precinct by automated taxi, Hank patiently waited his turn in the line at the receptionist's desk, cybernetically transferring his credentials.
"Lieutenant Anderson is on the clock but not in the building at the moment. You can wait at his desk."
Nodding, Hank followed the pathway to the bullpen, passing a few humans as they milled about, and he set about locating his current objective. It was near the clean glass office of the captain, only a desk away, his terminal angled so that his superior could see it. Hank noted that distantly as he glanced over the bare area.
"Excuse me. What time did Lieutenant Anderson clock in today? And when will he return?" he asked one of the other officers, and the man swiveled in his chair to give him an exaggerated shrug. "He clocks in when he gets here, usually around dawn if he was at one of the ranges first. Depending on what investigation he's working, we might see him before noon."
Hank cocked his head, playing back the memories of the previous night. True, the detective had only wished him a good evening, and had given no indication where he was heading himself, but it was unlikely the man would have so little care for his own wellbeing that he would be back on duty four hours later. Hank debated sitting briefly in the chair next to the desk, then decided against it. Instead, he took the time to look over the Lieutenant's few personal effects.
He wasn't surprised to see a portable music player and headphones, and he thumbed through the loaded albums; heavy metal, all. There was a small light wall with a few business cards on it, mostly for local ammunition dealers. The man's cell phone was on top of one of the paper files, and Hank wondered about the protocol for being unreachable while on shift. Scouring his downloaded SOPs and SOGs for the information, he determined the Lieutenant was in violation of that particular guideline. There were dog hairs on the chair, an uncategorized mixture that indicated a potential mixed breed. There were pieces of tape on the several locations on the desk where paper had been ripped down, and Hank stepped back, running a scan.
The man's desk had been repainted recently, more than once, and his chair was also new. Odd.
"Fucking pig! Rot in fucking hell, asshole!"
Hank looked up quickly, the rest of the personnel in the bullpen following suit, as an aggressive voice suddenly came across the floor. He frowned as he saw his missing partner wrangling a cuffed male through the side doors, still wearing the same clothes from the night before. The suspect was just as tall as the detective but had nearly a hundred pounds on him, and he was bucking against the smaller man. Judging from the sweat on Connor's forehead, he'd been fighting from arrest to transport.
"Can't help adding more charges, can you, asshole?" the Lieutenant snapped as he pressed hard on the suspect's shoulder blades and jacked his cuffed arms towards the ceiling. The other man twisted, hollering, and both of them went down in a tangle. "Damn it! Stop resisting, prick!" Anderson shouted, laying bodily on top of his collar, and he was breathing heavily as he looked up.
There were several people in the bullpen, but none of them had moved forward to help. As Hank began to step around the desk, he realized that Connor didn't even seem surprised by the lack of movement. Instead, he jerked his head towards the charging bay in the far wall.
"Hey, Two and Seven, get over here and give me a hand, will you?" he ordered, and the two androids immediately stepped forward to assist. "Plastic pigs! Plastic pigs gonna fly with the rest of them!" the strung-out male screamed, squirming against the vice-like hands that grabbed him and carted him forcefully towards the cells.
Connor sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes as he stood and walked towards his desk, a path he had traveled often enough that he didn't need to watch his steps. Other officers in his path moved well out of his way, not even looking at him, and he appeared used to being ignored. He was therefore entirely surprised and nearly jumped out of his skin when he looked up and saw his personal space occupied by the android.
"It's good to see you again, Lieutenant," Hank said with a smile, social protocols taking over, and Connor blinked at him in first confusion, then dread. "Oh, Jesus," he groaned, perfectly timed when Captain Fowler abruptly stepped out of his office and called, "Connor! In my office!"
There was a split second where the man seemed to actually consider heading the opposite direction, chewing his lip firmly, but then his shoulders slumped. He turned and walked towards Jeffrey's office like a man to the noose, and Hank felt the order rise in his processes: Enter and listen in to the briefing.
Following the prompt obediently, he followed the man and watched him slump into one of the chairs in front of his boss. Hank stood silently in the back.
"I've got ten new cases involving androids on my desk every day. We've always had isolated incidents, old ladies losing their android maids and that kind of crap. But now, we're getting reports of assaults and even homicides, like that guy last night." Connor nodded slightly, hands loose in his lap, and his eyes were fixed on the floor. "This isn't just Cyberlife's problem anymore. It's now a criminal investigation and we've gotta deal with it before the shit hits the fan."
Pausing, Fowler briefly looked at Hank and then fixed his eyes on the young Lieutenant. "I want you to investigate these cases and see if there's any link."
The office was silent, and Connor nodded again, voice quiet but firm as he asked, "Do I want to know, why me? I'm the least qualified cop in the country to handle this case."
Gesturing towards the bullpen, Fowler explained, "Everyone else knows jack shit about androids, and everyone else is overloaded. You've got the knowledge, and you've got the smallest amount of backlog." He paused, then added, "I think you're perfectly qualified for this type of investigation."
This finally got a reaction. Surging to his feet, Connor trembled as he softly hissed, "Bullshit! The truth is, no one else will work with fucking androids, so you've left me holding the bag!"
Sighing, Fowler didn't deny the accusation, but pointed at Hank. "Cyberlife sent over this android to help with the investigation. It's a state-of-the-art prototype. It'll act as your partner."
Connor snorted at the word and crossed his arms, leveling the older human a look. "Yeah, partner. Remember what that's like?" Fowler asked, voice dry.
"No fucking way. I'm not…not taking a partner. Ever. Day I do, sure as hell's not gonna be this plastic prick," Anderson tossed over his shoulder, and Hank cocked his head. Fowler exhaled sharply and leaned back in his chair. "Connor, you're starting to piss me off, kid. You're a goddamn police Lieutenant. You're supposed to do what I say, not argue with me over every little point."
Shrugging, Connor offered, "Suspend me. Fuck it – fire me. Do everyone a favor."
Rolling his eyes, the Captain refuted, "I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that, because that's direct insubordination, and your disciplinary folder already looks like a fucking novel." He gestured towards the door and said, "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but this conversation is over."
Dropping his palms to the man's desk, Connor leaned forward and asked lowly, "Why the fuck are you doing this to me, Jeffrey? Jesus Christ…you know…you know!"
Fowler studied his terminal for a few seconds before he raised hard eyes to the other man. "Do your job, Anderson, before you make me do mine."
Staring at him like he could change his mind with a look, the younger cop finally grunted and walked out, leaving Hank behind. The android watched him leave, confused at the dynamic between the two men, and Jeffrey took a sip of his coffee.
"Close the door on your way out," he said without looking up, and Hank nodded, accustomed to being dismissed out of hand. "Have a nice day, Captain," he said calmly, and headed towards his partner's desk.
The younger man was sitting silently at his desk, arms crossed in silent contemplation as he stared at his empty terminal. He was absently fiddling with the bandages that still crossed his fingers, rubbing them between his thumb and forefingers. Taking the moment to identify and confirm the trace amounts of dust on his clothing as the same from the crime scene they had previously investigated, Hank reconfirmed that the man hadn't changed clothes since he'd seen him last.
Still, he knew better than to comment on the fact.
"I get the impression my presence causes you some inconvenience, Lieutenant," he said instead, not bothering to pretend. Connor didn't really react, though he did stop fidgeting. "I'd like you to know I'm very sorry about that." He didn't think he was, not really, but it seemed like the best thing to say. His existence in the man's life did seem to be causing extensive complications, and he thought that he should at least feel some responsibility for the wellbeing protocol chiming silently in his head.
"You don't have to keep up with this bullshit. You're not happy to work with me, Hank – no one is. This isn't gonna be a team; it's gonna be a fucking natural disaster," Anderson responded brutally, eyes never leaving his terminal. Hank frowned; the data he'd collected on the man seemed to disagree. "So let's get this straight," Connor corrected, staring at nothing. "We're not partners. We're not gonna get to know each other, we're not gonna be friends. We're not gonna be buddies. Got it?"
Hank blinked, then thought back to Amanda's determination of the man; she may have been correct after all.
"Understood, Lieutenant. Is there a desk anywhere I could use?"
Pointing a finger across from him, Connor indicated the empty seat that appeared barely less used than his. "No one's used that one in years. Have at."
Nodding, Hank sat at the desk and started to reach for the terminal, but hesitated, some error in his priorities forcing him to pause. He mentally frowned, realizing it was his own set priority that was slowing him down: Establish friendly relationship. He stared at the box against his optics, wondering if he should rewrite the protocol.
There were plenty of reasons.
The Lieutenant was obviously poorly received by his peers; he had been assaulted by his own subordinate in the observation room the night before, and prior to that, after being attacked and strangled by a homicidal android, none of his compatriots had come to his aid or even asked if he needed medical attention. He spent days at a time wearing the same clothes, running on medication he obtained through illegal means, and the bandages on his fingers were a perplexing curiosity he couldn't fathom. He had no personal effects on his desk to indicate any longevity in the job, no ties to any personnel on the force. He posted no items of pride, no mementos.
But, Hank considered the other side of the man he was seeing.
The man was just thirty one years old and the youngest Lieutenant in the history of the Detroit Police Department; his potential was outstanding. While he had been assaulted by both his subordinate and an android, he had done nothing to retaliate. Instead, he had gone out of his way to ensure they were both protected from immediate or lethal consequence. He had a single-minded, self-destructive dedication to his job. A lesser man would have cut his losses and left the department and industry long ago, but Connor appeared to nearly thrive. And while he had some prescriptions illegally obtained, he hadn't had them in his system prior to needing them.
"You have a dog, right?"
Hank had spoken before he had realized his mouth was opening. Even Anderson seemed taken aback by the voice coming out of him, and Hank tried to look like he was expecting his own words.
"H-how…do you know that?" Connor finally asked, glancing at him from his own focus on his terminal. Blinking away his own surprise, the android wondered at his treacherous mouth and jerked his chin slightly at the chair the man was sitting in. "The dog hairs on your chair."
Anderson glanced down like he could pick out the individual fibers, an utterly annoyed frown on his face, and Hank found the visual was more appealing than the one that had occupied his memory core previously: Connor screaming while punching the steering wheel, tears checked in the corners of his eyes by sheer force of will. So he kept talking, all the while wondering what Kamski-damned processor had taken over his programming.
"I like dogs. What's your dog's name?"
Looking back up at him sharply, Connor had a suspicious look on his face, like he realized that everything he had just told the android was abruptly going out the fucking window. "What's it to you?" he demanded, and Hank's jaw clicked shut audibly.
"Dog. I call him Dog," he finally muttered under his breath, tapping firmly at his holographic keyboard. Hank blinked, the lack of name settling firmly in his memory banks, and he wondered what breed Dog was. It wasn't often he couldn't identify something, and he found the concept frustrating.
Reaching for the terminal, that priority urged him again, and he didn't try to fight it. He enjoyed the way Connor seemed to relax a bit when he was talking about something other than work. It was preferable to seeing him hold himself stiff against his chair and pretend he wasn't in pain.
"Do you listen to Bleed the Sky?" he asked, choosing a band at random from the list he'd perused. This time, the human sighed and didn't pretend to be engaged in looking through files. "Okay, enough. You're trying to relate to me through your Social Relations program, or because your primary protocol is requiring it and you feel like you're going to burn out a wire if you don't. I get it, but don't worry about it. Just…rewrite that mission priority, okay? Delete it. Review the deviant files."
Blinking, Hank stared at the man across from him, feeling an odd shift in his software when he realized that he felt more processors than fewer pressing to determine if the Lieutenant actually liked the music. Instead, he nodded at the order and turned to his terminal, the protocol dissolving in his sight.
"Two hundred and forty three files. The first dates back nine months. It all started in Detroit, and quickly spread across the country." Hank glanced up at Connor, whose own terminal screen was lighting up with different files. Still, he seemed to be paying attention. "An AX400 is reported to have assaulted a man last night. That could be a good starting point for our investigation."
Connor nodded slightly, humming under his breath as he stood. "Yeah, Chris got a hit on it in the Ravendale district."
Then something new popped up on his screen, and he wavered suddenly, falling back to his chair as his face turned white. Hank stayed where he was, remembering his newest directive from the man, and he waited as he watched Anderson swallow. "Lieutenant?" he finally asked.
The man didn't answer, though his visage abruptly became hard, that same undefinable coldness seeping into his face. Hank frowned, irritation pushing at his software. They had a lead. They had a mission. They had a purpose. He didn't understand why the human was now just sitting there when he had been ready to go a moment before. He began to activate a scan of the man's vitals, then aborted it; Connor had advised him to delete the friendship protocol, and he had.
Giving himself a full second to delve into his own complex subroutines, Hank mechanically contemplated the situation, wishing he hadn't pocketed his calibration coin in his pants instead of his coat. The gold dollar coin was a simple design, not very rare, from 2018 – the introductory design of the American Innovator series. One side had Lady Liberty standing tall, and the other was a mix of gears, cogs, and George Washington's signature. He would often juggle it over his knuckles and between his hands as he determined the best route to take in these strange human interactions.
His new partner made him need his coin, and he didn't appreciate the concept.
So he stroked his beard in a simulated action instead, staring at him, and then finally stood and walked around the desk. Connor snapped off his terminal the moment he did and hunched over the display like a stray dog guarding food.
"I understand you're facing personal issues, Lieutenant," Hank said lowly, keeping his voice quiet. He was sure the man wouldn't appreciate it if he aired the altercation between Reed and Anderson to the rest of the bullpen; projections indicated that was likely the cause of the man's reticence for a partner. "But, you need to move past them…"
Connor looked up sharply. "Hey! I told you – don't talk to me like you know me! I'm not your friend, and I don't need your advice, got it?" But then Anderson was reaching over to the drawer to the right, opening it and reaching for something that Hank was certain they wouldn't need before they left for the investigation. His primary mission pressed harder on his visual processes. Leaning over the man's chair, he placed one hand on the desk and the other on the Lieutenant's back, effectively trapping him in place.
He'd tried Understanding.
That left his HUD pushing only a few options, and he was nearly aggravated enough to try the harsher ones.
Determined – Resign the Mission – Threaten
"I've been assigned this mission, Anderson. I didn't come here to wait until you feel like working." Hank felt a little surprised at his own tone; apparently, his Uncanny Valley simulation was being influenced by his Social Relations program, which was tied to his own stress levels.
Connor slammed the drawer shut with his knee and stood, shoving the android's hand off his shoulder harshly. He glared at him, his right hand coming up in a fist to point straight at him with a finger that shook, and Hank scanned the bandages reflexively.
Bandages have been replaced within the last seven hours. Design is consistent with previous purchase location and have also been self-applied. Significant wear patterns on right hand indicate subject has spent time firing his service weapon since they were administered.
"Listen, asshole. If it was up to me, I wouldn't be working this case, or I'd be working it alone. So stop busting my balls, and let me work it my way, or things are gonna get nasty."
The android met his gaze easily, though he knew his LED flickered between red and gold at the threat, and he didn't answer. Searching his face, Connor waited a beat, then opened the hand in front of his face, dangling the truck keys that he'd pulled out of his desk drawer. Hank blinked, unaware that the Lieutenant's vehicle used such an archaic device to operate, and he felt the thinner thirium lines in his cheeks flood.
Connor was already stepping around him, out of the bullpen, before Hank remembered he wasn't supposed to apologize.
End Chapter 2