Connor rolled the coin across his knuckles smoothly as they drove home from the precinct. He was glad to have it back. The repetitive motion was calming on his systems. He suspected Hank was right that it had become a nervous tick of sorts. The thought didn't particularly bother him.

It helped him think.

The past week had been unusually pleasant. No new injuries. No unexpected surprises. Connor had volunteered his memory files for evidence in the CyberLife case, and they had proven to be more damning than anything Amanda had made him destroy. They still had to prove that Amanda was controlled by CyberLife, but once they did, it would be a huge blow against them. It likely wouldn't be the final nail in their coffin, but it would certainly help.

Connor flicked the coin from one hand to the other.

His nightmares were, unfortunately, not completely gone. But, after a panicked early morning run to New Jericho's dispensary they had confirmed that the Amanda program was still gone. His code was fine. He just had to come to terms with the fact that he had some mental trauma to work through.

Hank had been a godsend. For all of his rough edges, he had been incredibly patient with him. The man had some sort of intuition that let him know when Connor needed him to be soft and when he could be his naturally coarse self. He knew without a doubt, he wouldn't have made it without him.

Hank tapped the breaks just enough to make the car jerk and disrupt the coin balancing on Connor's finger. There was a soft pinging noise as it hit the floor.

"Really?" Connor asked, taking in Hank's smug expression.

He let out a small chuckle. "I think your humor program's busted. You should fix that."

Connor had spent a fair bit of time in rest mode repairing his damaged programming. It had been tedious, and there were still several lines of data that needed fixing, but he had been happy with his progress.

He bent to pick up the fallen coin. "My sense of humor is fine, Hank," he told him, voice bouncing back at him in the tight space. He located the quarter on the floorboard easily and sat up, returning it to his pocket instead of resuming his fidgeting. "You're just not funny."

"Now I know it's broken," Hank scoffed. "I'm fuckin' hilarious."

Connor smirked, ready to quip back when he noticed the passing street sign. "We missed the turn," he informed him.

His head shook slightly. "No, we didn't."

His face fell as he consulted his GPS to be absolutely sure of their position. "Yes, we did," he insisted. "We were supposed to turn two streets back… three now."

The Lieutenant shrugged unbothered. "Yeah, I guess, If we were heading home," he admitted. "We've got an errand to run."

Connor looked at him quizzically. "I was unaware we needed anything," he said. They had gone grocery shopping just the other day, and Hank hadn't expressed a need for anything else.

"We don't," Hank told him. "But you do. We're getting you some new clothes."

Connor's frown deepened. "Why? What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"What, besides the fact that they're the only ones you have?"

"I'm an android. I don't need more than these," Connor retorted.

He shook his head. "You're a person, Connor. You should have more than one outfit."

"Why?"

Hank turned into the parking lot, sighing in exasperation. "Fuck's sake, why not ask your brother. He's figured it out."

That only served to confuse Connor more. "My… what? Hank, I don't have a brother."

He waved his hand dismissively as he turned down one of the rows of parking spaces looking for a good spot. "Markus, whatever," he clarified. "He's always wearing something different every time we see him. I swear Carl buys him designer crap."

Connor sat back in his seat considering what Hank had said. "I suppose our similar model numbers could equate to some form of familial relation," he said after a moment.

"Not really the point I was trying to make there," Hank sighed.

He glanced at the Lieutenant for a moment, processing the actual point now that his mind wasn't preoccupied with the concept of a potential relation to Markus. "It would… probably be a good idea to have a spare set of clothes," he admitted. "But it will need to wait. I haven't gotten paid yet. I don't have any money."

The Lieutenant pulled into a parking spot and turned off the car. "Don't worry about that, I've got you covered."

"I couldn't ask you to do that, Hank."

He pulled the car door open, rolling his eyes in the process. "Then it's a damn good thing you aren't asking. Come on, kid. Let's go."

"But-" he was cut off by the closing of Hank's door. Connor had little choice but to follow after him. He could vividly imagine the kinds of sarcastic comments Hank would make if he chose to stay in the car.

Connor exited the vehicle, walking briskly to catch up to the Lieutenant. He recognized this side of Hank as one that left little room for argument. Still, it felt wrong to accept more from the man after he had done so much for him already. "I will pay you back," he insisted once he had closed the distance.

"I said don't worry about it." They fell into step as they approached the entrance to the department store. "Consider it a Christmas present. Or a you-went-a-week-without-almost-dying present."

Connor sincerely wanted to counter that, but couldn't. In truth, aside from the couple months he spent in stasis between his first mission and being assigned to the DPD, it had been the first week that hadn't nearly killed him. He hoped to have many like it.

"It really is unnecessary," Connor felt the need to express. "But thank you."

Hank just shrugged, but he could see his smile. Connor got the feeling the Lieutenant enjoyed doing things for him. It felt odd, but if that was the case, he figured he shouldn't fight him on it quite so much.

They made their way through the doors and Connor immediately felt out of place. He'd never been in a store before. Bright lights and too cheery music assaulted his systems. The evacuation order had been lifted, so there were far more people than he was accustomed to dealing with at one time. He was notably the only android in the building.

Overwhelmed, he was feeling overwhelmed. Connor had been built to investigate, to notice every detail. Without a crime scene or definite focus, everything became a jumbled mess and he had no clue where his attention should be. His still glitching program sent up errors. The dozens of people all identified as potential threats, but no danger levels would display. His ventilation system doubled its speed, trying to cool his body that suddenly felt too warm.

A hand gripped Connor's arm and he jumped before registering that it belonged to the Lieutenant. He realized that he had subconsciously moved closer to the man.

Hank gave his arm a gentle squeeze. His expression was gentle and seemed to say it's ok. I'm here. You're safe.

Connor took a breath, forcing his ventilation back to its normal rate. He blinked a few times willing his stress levels to drop. It was just a glitch, it wasn't as though it had never happened before. "Sorry," he said softly.

"Don't be," Hank responded, giving his arm another squeeze before letting him go. "You good to go?"

He nodded, systems back to relatively normal function. He cut his audio processors to half in hopes that the reduced sound input would limit the overstimulation. "I'm ready, what are we looking for?"

Hank considered him for a moment as though gauging if he was telling the truth before responding. "Whatever you want," Hank said with a shrug. He turned and made his way over to the rack of carts, pulling one free from the stack. "You're the one who's gonna be wearing it, so pick out what you like."

Connor followed after him as the Lieutenant began making his way to the men's department. "But, I don't know what I like."

"Then you'll figure it out." Hank looked over his shoulder at him. Connor knew he was reading his body language and could tell he was uncomfortable. He had given up trying to hide anything from the man. "Look, kid, it's not that critical. We'll pick out a few things, have you try them on, go from there. Even if we get something and you decide you don't like it later, it's not the end of the world."

"Right, of course. You're right," Connor agreed, he hastened his pace to walk beside the Lieutenant.

Hank barked out a laugh. "Of course I'm right. You should listen to me more often." He dropped his voice. Connor almost couldn't hear him with his reduced audio sensitivity. "I know you're still adjusting, Connor. You'll be ok. Not everything is life and death, alright?"

"Alright," Connor agreed. Maybe that was the whole point of this trip. Adjusting. To situations outside his programming. To being a person, being alive. His system was still damaged, recovering slowly, he knew that. There were even times he still caught himself thinking of Hank as his owner. It was quite possible this was Hank's way of helping him get back on track. If that was the case, it was really in his best interest to go along with it.

They wandered up and down the isles, Connor sticking close to Hank's side. If the Lieutenant was aware of the abnormally close proximity, he said nothing, choosing instead to point out various clothing options to the android. When Connor didn't express immediate interest in any particular style, Hank began adding anything to the cart that he didn't openly oppose stating he could decide after he tried them on. It didn't take long before there was a sizable pile to sort through.

Gradually, Connor's systems calmed down. His sensors still pinged every person in the vicinity, but was no longer labeling them as probable assailants. Hank must have noticed him relaxing and gave him an approving smile. "Ready to try shit on?" he asked. "I think we've got enough to pick from now."

"Ok," Connor agreed. Technically, he didn't need to try anything on. He could easily run a visual scan and determine how each item would look and fit based on a digital model, but he figured it was part of the experience.

They made their way to the fitting rooms, Hank absently talking about nothing in particular. Connor didn't mind, simply taking comfort in the sound of the man's voice.

"Alright," the Lieutenant said once they arrived at the uniform row of changing room doors. Each was fitted with a little light to indicate vacancy. "Think you can figure this part out on your own?" He asked. There was a slight hint of good-humored mockery in his voice. "I've got a couple things I wanna grab quick."

The idea of Hank leaving him alone was far from appealing. He felt his anxiety level spike, but he forced his LED to remain blue. He knew it was an unnecessary fear, a glitch in his program. "Of course," Connor agreed.

Hank gave him an encouraging smile and an affectionate pat on the shoulder before helping him move the pile of clothes into a vacant room. Connor noted that the occupied light only went on when the Lieutenant entered, and switched off again when he vacated. The doors locked, so it wouldn't be a problem, but it was irritating that not even the dressing room acknowledged him as a person when Hank was trying so hard to help him feel like one.

Now alone with a mountain of clothes to sift through, Connor turned to the task at hand. Unsure where to actually begin, he started setting a list of qualifications he wanted the outfit to accomplish.

Proper fit.

Easy mobility.

Business appropriate.

Connor started trying on the various articles of clothing and found that too many fit his set specifics and he would need to add qualifiers. He included a price point on the list, but it didn't narrow it down as much as he had hoped. Tentatively, he added personal taste. Connor suspected that was the main criteria Hank was hoping he would rely on, but he was uncomfortable with the arbitrary parameter.

He wasn't certain what he liked. Did he have a favorite color? Style? How was he supposed to know? CyberLife designed him to have a 'winter' complexion, so bright reds, blues, and greens would fit him aesthetically, but was that what he liked?

Connor stared at the clothing in frustration. One thing was for sure. He didn't like subjective decisions.

He took an artificial breath, sending cooling air to his internal systems. It wasn't that critical, he reminded himself. Whatever he picked would be fine, there were no wrong choices.

Connor deliberated for a few more minutes before selecting a burgundy button up and a pair of dark slacks. Connor smiled, pleased with his selection. He liked them, he decided. He liked how he looked in them.

"Still in there, kid?" He heard Hank call from the other side of the door.

Connor couldn't help but marvel at the man's timing. "Yes, I've just finished," he responded. He gathered up the rejected items in a neat pile to put in the return bin before exiting the changing room.

Hank was leaning on the cart while he waited and smiled at him as he came out. Connor returned the gesture. "Did you get what you needed?" He asked the Lieutenant.

"Yup," Hank answered with a slight nod. "These are the non-negotiables."

The smirk on the man's face didn't give Connor a particularly good feeling. "What sort of non-negotiables?"

Hank's smile only widened. "See for yourself."

Connor glanced into the cart. There were basics, socks, underwear, and a few undershirts. He figured it would be useless trying to explain that his clothes didn't get dirty naturally and therefore wouldn't need to be changed regularly. Instead he pulled out the fuzzy wad of fabric decorated with cartoon fish.

He held it up for a moment, taking in what he was seeing. It was a set of pajama pants. Fluffy and admittedly soft. His scan showed that the fish were from the old 2001 animated movie Finding Nemo. Connor gave Hank a questioning look, not needing to vocalize his confusion.

"You're not sleeping in your damn clothes anymore," he told him, shrugging. "Besides, everyone needs a pair of ridiculous pajamas. Non-negotiable, remember."

"And you felt Finding Nemo was a good fit for me?" Connor asked skeptically.

"Hell yeah."

Connor let himself smile as he returned the sleepwear to the cart in acceptance. He didn't think it was something he would have picked out for himself, but it certainly seemed to make the Lieutenant happy. Besides, he liked fish and it wasn't like he would ever be wearing them in public.

His smile turned into a confused frown as he noticed the final item in the cart. "A coat?" Connor asked, lifting it from the basket. It was made from black wool with a dark gray lining. A row of gunmetal buttons fastened the front. Simple, but classy. "I already have a coat, Hank."

"What, that piece of crap?" He retorted, gesturing to the CyberLife jacket he wore.

Connor looked down, not seeing anything off with his typical appearance. "What's wrong with it?"

Hank shook his head as though it should have been obvious. "It's got bullet holes in it for starters. You may have patched them up, but they're still there. And it's paper thin. I know you don't like the cold, this one will keep you warmer."

He felt the thick wool and knew Hank was right. It would keep him warmer and that certainly had an appeal to it. "I suppose..." he agreed hesitantly.

"Plus," Hank went on, "It doesn't have all that android marking shit on it."

Connor's head snapped up at that. "What?"

He shrugged. "You know, the triangle thingies and shit."

He frowned. Judging by Hank's demeanor, he meant no offense at the comment, but it still rubbed Connor the wrong way. "I'm not ashamed of being an android, Hank."

The Lieutenant looked startled at Connor's reaction. "What? Shit, fuck, no. I didn't mean it like that." He sighed, running his hand through his tangled gray hair. "I just meant… with everything that bullshit company did to you, you shouldn't be running around as a walking advertisement." He sighed again, giving Connor an earnest look. "Fuck, just forget it, ok? It's not like I'm gonna make you stop wearing the damn thing."

Connor looked at his jacket again, the glowing markings and clean CyberLife font. He hadn't really given the article of clothing much thought. It was his uniform. It was what he was supposed to wear. It was what CyberLife had decided for him. Not a decision made for himself or by someone who cared about him. "I hadn't really thought about it," he admitted, glancing up. "I think I understand. I'm not their property anymore, I shouldn't be dressed like I am."

Hank bit down on the corner of his lip nodding in agreement. "I didn't mean to ruin that thing for ya," he said. "I just-"

"It's ok, Hank," Connor assured him. "I like the new coat."

Connor could see the relief flood through Hank's features. If he were to guess, the Lieutenant hated his CyberLife jacket even more than he let on. "Well, good," Hank said. "I figured it was neutral enough to go with whatever the hell you picked out." He waived at the open fitting room door to the neat piles of clothing inside. "Speaking of which, what'd you pick?"

Connor brightened at the change of focus, still proud of himself for making his mundane decision. He stepped back into the small room to retrieve his choice. He had expected Hank to be pleased, but instead the man's face scrunched in confused disappointment. "That's it?" He asked. "All that shit and you only found one thing you liked?"

He frowned in his own confusion. "This was my favorite of them. Is there something wrong with it?"

"No, nothing's wrong," Hank insisted quickly, evidently picking up on Connor's disappointment. "Honestly, it's a fuckin miricle you picked anything at all. Just, you're supposed to get more than one."

Connor felt himself relax knowing that Hank had no issue with his selection, but was still confused. "I thought the point was to have a spare set of clothing in case mine are dirtied or damaged."

The Lieutenant rolled his eyes. "The point is to get you some damn variety."

That was not one of the parameters he had planned for. "I… am not sure I understand."

Hank moved over to him, taking his selected outfit and putting it in the cart before gently nudging him back towards the fitting room. "Go pick out a few more," he said by way of clarification. "You're not wearing the same crap every day."

Connor obliged, returning to the pile, but still uncertain. "How many am I supposed to pick?"

He could tell he was trying Hank's patience. "What, you need an exact number?"

Connor was quite certain that he looked as lost as he felt. "That would be preferable."

"Fine," Hank groaned. "Six. Pick out six outfits. With the one you're wearing that'll give you one for every day of the week."

"Six?" Connor looked at him in surprise. "That's a bit excessive, don't you think?"

The Lieutenant seemed to consider for a moment. "Fine, five, final offer," he said at last."

"Hank-"

"Nope," he interrupted. "Final offer. You can double up on weekends. Now get to picking or I'll do it for you."

Connor had the distinct feeling that wasn't an idle threat and conceded the victory. He knew Hank was only pushing him to encourage his personal growth, there was nothing malicious in his insistence. Besides, having some variety might be nice.

He had a perfect recollection of the items as well as how he had ranked them before deciding on his favorite. It didn't take much to root out the other four that had been top contenders. It was as he was piling them in the cart that another issue occurred to him. "Hank, where am I going to put all this?"

Hank just shrugged, seeming to be satisfied with additions to his wardrobe. "You can put it in my closet for now," he told him. With the cart loaded, they began making their way towards the checkouts. "We'll need to get you a dresser or something, but we can do that later."

"A dresser?" Connor questioned, "Hank, there is no room for a dresser in the living room." The Lieutenant had done so much for him, Connor wasn't about to let him compromise his interior design for his sake.

Hank's pace slowed, he seemed hesitant. "Yeah, uh. That's something I wanted to talk to you about," he admitted.

Worry filled Connor and he could feel his LED shift to yellow. "What is it?"

He took a breath, but didn't meet Connor's eyes, choosing instead to stare straight ahead. "It's just, you're a person now, Connor. You shouldn't be sleeping on the couch. You deserve a place to call your own, space to yourself, ya know?"

Connor froze in place. He felt as though his thirium had solidified in his artificial veins. He was as immobile as he had been in the garden, but this time it wasn't a malicious program to blame. Instead, it was an immobilizing fear of what the Lieutenant was trying to tell him.

It took Hank a couple of steps to register that he had stopped. He turned to him as soon as he noticed he was no longer following, a confused and concerned expression crossing his face. "You ok, kid?"

He could feel a slight tremble in his frame. His ventilation program seemed to falter. "You want me to move out?" Connor's voice sounded small even to him. He couldn't think of what he had done wrong, why Hank would want to get rid of him. Had he made a wrong choice? Was he just too much trouble?

Hank's eyes widened, seeming shocked by Connor's question. "What? No, fuck!" He abandoned the cart in favor of going back to the android. "Damn it, I'm always saying the wrong shit." He reached out, taking both of Connor's shoulders in his hands and making sure he had his full attention. "Hey, look at me. I don't want you to move out, ok?"

Connor could feel his body relaxing. "You don't?"

"No, I don't. Kinda the exact opposite, actually."

"What do you mean?" Connor was trying to understand, he really was, his damaged system stuttering as he attempted to arrive at the answer on his own.

Hank smiled at him kindly. "I'm saying, I think it's about time we got you moved into the other bedroom."

Connor knew his LED was still red. It spun with the new information. "But that's…" That was Cole's room. "Hank, I couldn't…"

The Lieutenant moved a bit closer, not quite hugging him, but near enough for Connor to be comforted by the proximity. "It's an empty room, Connor. It's..." he sighed softly. There was a sadness in his eyes that usually accompanied conversations that involved his late son. "I'm always gonna miss Cole," he told him. "Keeping his room vacant isn't going to change that. It's not like his stuff is even there, I cleared it out ages ago."

Connor's LED cycled to yellow, but he was still hesitant. "Still… Hank, I am perfectly happy with the couch."

"Yeah, I know you are. You're too accommodating for your own damn good." He gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze. "But it's your home now. You should have a real place in it."

The Lieutenant seemed so sure. From what he could tell from his research into grief and loss, this could be seen as a significant step in his healing process. But it still felt like an intrusion on everything Hank held sacred. "Are you certain?" Connor asked.

"Yes, I'm certain," he answered without hesitation. "I wouldn't be offering if I wasn't damn sure."

"Ok," he agreed softly. "As long as you're sure."

Without really thinking, Connor let himself lean forward until his forehead was resting on Hank's shoulder. He knew this shouldn't be overwhelming him, but it was. He knew the middle of a department store really wasn't the place for this kind of heart to heart, but his head was spinning and it wouldn't stop.

He felt Hank's hands leave his arms to pull him into a proper hug. "I'm sorry," Connor whispered into his shirt.

"Stop apologizing, kid. It's ok."

One of his hands began rubbing small comforting circles on Connor's back. He focused on the pressure, finding it grounding, stabilizing his jumbled processor. "I thought my backup would have been more effective," he admitted bitterly. "I shouldn't still be this out of sorts."

"It got ya pretty damn far," Hank argued. "It's only been a week, give it time. You're getting better, I know you are. I'm the jackass that pushed you too much today."

Connor took a breath and pulled back from the embrace. "No," he insisted, shaking his head. "It's good to push my systems. Complacency won't be beneficial to my recovery."

"Yeah, but you've sure as hell had enough for today." He let him straighten up, but kept a supporting hand on his shoulder.

Connor gave him an appreciative smile. He willed his LED back to blue. "I'm inclined to agree."

He let the Lieutenant guide him back to the cart, resuming their previous path towards the checkouts. Connor was every bit ready to call it a night.

"Ya know," Hank mused as they walked. "We can fix the room up a bit before we start moving furniture and crap in there. Really make it yours."

It was honestly an appealing thought, even if he suspected it would involve making more subjective choices. A place of his own. A place with Hank. "That sounds nice," Connor agreed. "Provided I am funding it myself. I am a person now, after all. I should be able to support myself without relying on your generosity."

Hank barked out a laugh and his voice oozed sarcasm. "Oh no, I'm clothing you and putting a roof over your head. I must be spoiling you rotten." His expression tipped towards serious again. "You know I really don't mind, right kid?"

"I know," Connor said with a nod.

"Alright. As long as we're clear. Once your paycheck comes in, I'll let you cover some of this shit."

Connor's smile didn't falter even as he shook his head at the man's stubbornness. "Deal," he conceded, knowing it was useless to argue. With Hank, it was best to pick your battles and Connor knew this was not one worth fighting. Besides, he suspected the Lieutenant derived some enjoyment from caring for him.

"Good," Hank said, satisfied. They chose the self checkout lane, which Connor silently appreciated, not caring for the idea of interacting with anyone else today.

"You should be getting paid on Friday, right?" Hank clarified. "Maybe, if you're feeling up to it, we can hit a hardware store this weekend. You can get some ideas, price things out. Knowing you, lick some fuckin paint samples."

It was a joke, but Connor fully intended to do just that. He couldn't pick a new color for the walls if it didn't feel right. He found himself looking forward to the look on Hank's face when he did. "That sounds nice," he told him, even if the thought of another excursion made his LED blip yellow briefly.

"Great, we'll plan on that then." Hank began pulling Connor's new clothes out of the cart and handing them to the android to scan and bag.

Connor nodded in agreement and made short work of checking out, android efficiency coming to his aid. Only the coat was left unbagged. While Hank paid, he slipped out of his CyberLife jacket, pausing only to retrieve his quarter from the pocket, and pulled on the new one.

It felt different, but certainly not unpleasant. There was a charm to it not being tailor fit for his model, imperfections that made it feel more real. It felt looser, warmer… free. He tucked his old jacket into one of the bags, not quite sure he was ready to let it go completely.

Hank didn't try to hide his satisfied smile and Connor wondered if it was an appreciation for his choice, or if he was simply that happy to see the old one go. "Ya look good," he commented. He put a gentle hand on his shoulder once again. "Come on, let's go home."

Home. Connor liked the sound of that.