"Wait, Sawyer is dead?" Connor hopped down from his chair, coming closer to see the file for himself. He took it from Hank's hand, looking at it in disbelief.
"Looks like it," Reed said with a shrug. "Guess the bastard got in too deep with the black market or something."
"This can't be right," Connor insisted. He sounded almost frantic. "It's not possible."
Hank frowned. "Guy was up to some shady shit, it's not that surprising."
"No, that's not… it's the coroner report, look." He handed the document back to Hank before explaining what was wrong. "It claims his date of death was two weeks ago. That's not possible."
"The hell?" Even Gavin looked surprised, leaning over to confirm Connor's findings for himself. "But he shot you just a few days ago."
"Tim did the examination," Hank observed, recognizing the medical examiner. "He's good, he wouldn't have fucked it up."
"How could I have been killed by a dead man?" Connor questioned softly.
His own mind seemed to fry at the revelation, he could only imagine how the kid was doing. The one damn thing they were certain of and it was proven false in gruesome full color detail. "So we've been chasing the wrong guy," Hank surmised.
"But we knew for sure it was him," Connor countered. "Could there have been something the coroner missed? Something that would throw off the time of death?"
Gavin shook his head. "Doubtful. No way Tim was off by that much. Even if he kicked the bucket right after he shot you, that's still a full week's difference."
"So… now we don't even have a suspect?"
Hank could easily see that Connor was on the brink of tears, his child mind taking over as he got overwhelmed by the information. "Hey, it'll be ok," he insisted. He pulled the kid over, lifting him onto his lap for a hug.
"Yeah," Gavin offered awkwardly. "We've solved tons of cases where we didn't have a suspect right away."
Connor shook as he tried desperately not to cry. "But we have nothing, not even information on the victims."
Hank rubbed his back gently. "Come on now, that's not true." He spared a hand to brush at the kid's face as a tear escaped. Gavin hovered, mouth opening and closing like a dying fish as he bounced between wanting to help and having no damn idea what to do. "We still know that our killer had to know about the victim's registration, right? That's still a start."
Connor pulled back from the hug, wiping at his own face. His expression was pinched, still upset, but having any sort of starting point appeared to be bringing him back to work mode. "But we weren't even sure that's how they were being selected," he countered, quietly.
"It's still a start," Reed said, seeming to be able to speak again now that Connor's tears were subsiding. His soft spot for kids did not include knowing how to handle them when they were crying.
"Right, yeah," Connor agreed, rubbing the remainder of the tears from his eyes. Hank couldn't help but be proud that they had managed to ward off the meltdown before it got too bad. "Our plan of action hasn't changed. We just need to eliminate Sawyer as a variable."
Reed took his casefile back, looking as though he expected Connor to protest. "Ok, well, you two have fun with that. I'm gonna grab some breakfast."
"Detective Reed has been acting strange," Connor commented once he had retreated out of earshot. "He has been noticeably less hostile towards me."
Hank ruffled his hair with a smile. "I think you're growing on him."
Connor pulled a face, nose scrunching in contemplation. "No, that can't be it."
He rolled his eyes, guiding the kid off of his lap and helping him back to his desk. "Well then maybe he's been replaced by an alien or some shit," he teased.
Connor scrambled back into his chair with Hank's assistance, pausing in thought once he was up. "Replaced… maybe that's it."
"It was a joke, Connor," Hank said with a chuckle. "Gavin's not an alien."
"What? Oh," his face shifted from confusion to professionalism as he turned back to his computer. "No, I meant the case."
Hank could get whiplash from how fast the kid could switch gears. Sobbing mess one minute, devoted detective the next. Hank was entirely too old for this kind of acrobatics. "What're you on about?"
Connor pulled up the search he had been performing, ready to dive back into it. "Mr. Sawyer is dead," he stated, way too matter of factly for someone his age. "But we saw him, or at least, someone who looks like him."
"You think our killer matches Sawyer's description?" He concluded, catching on.
Connor nodded. "He was based in his apartment, he had to be a close match to not raise suspicion. It would seem that even the people who knew him didn't know he was gone, so he must have been at least trying to keep up appearances."
"Hadn't been to work in a few weeks," he remembered. "Must have only been able to take the farce so far."
Connor nodded again. "It at least narrows the pool."
Hank leaned against Connor's desk, thinking for a moment. He had blocked out most of that awful day. Just mentioning it brought back horrific memories of his kid bleeding out in his arms. But he shoved it down, a distinct memory of Connor's dying words drifting back to him amidst the heartache. "Hey, when you were…" nope, he wasn't there yet. It hurt too much to say. "When we were at the guy's apartment. You were trying to tell me something."
Connor looked up from his computer quizzically. "I was?"
"Yeah," Hank swallowed the lump that formed in his throat at the memory. "You remember? You said 'he's not', or something like that, but you... cut out right after."
"That's… odd," Connor mused. "I don't recall why I said that."
"You wouldn't have said it if it wasn't important," he reasoned, mentaly kicking himself for ignoring that detail until now. Connor had choked them out through his pain, hoping to convey something, and yet he had been so absorbed with his own grief he hadn't thought on them. "Did you scan him or something? Did you figure out something was up?"
"Yes, I scanned him," Connor confirmed. "I ran a vocal analysis, then a visual scan once he was in view. I…"
Hank didn't like how he trailed off. "What's wrong?"
"I should have the results of the scans…" His features quickly dissolved into distress. "They're not there. I… don't remember."
"You don't… that doesn't sound good." Memory loss on an android was kinda a big deal. It usually didn't happen unless they were damaged or intentionally tampered with. "I thought it was like, impossible for you to forget shit."
"It should be," he said. There was a note nearing panic in his voice.
"Ok, fuck, alright. We can figure this out," he reasoned. He didn't want Connor to freak out. They'd just gotten over a meltdown, he didn't want him to have another. "You're due for a trip to New Jericho anyway. Markus had been busting my balls about wanting to get you in to see how the body's working out."
"No, they can't help," Connor sounded certain and it didn't leave him with warm fuzzies. "It… I think it's from my memory transfer. There's always some data lost, usually close to the time of shutdown."
The edge of the desk was pressing into Hank's hip uncomfortably, but he didn't move. "I think I remember you saying that. You said you only lost a few seconds."
"Fifty three," he elaborated. "Evidently that was enough."
Connor looked downright miserable at the revelation. Hank pushed off of the desk the moment he realized he wasn't going to dodge another crying fit. "Shit, it's alright," he insisted, crouching to be at his level. "It's not a big deal, ok?"
He didn't expect Connor to pull away as he reached to comfort him, but that's exactly what he did. "It is a big deal, Hank!" He shrugged away Hank's consoling hands and gripped his head as though he were in pain. "I lost critical information!"
"Connor-"
"No, this shouldn't have happened!" The tears started. They welled up and spilled over Connor's cheeks in rivlets. "I was specifically designed to avoid losing critical data I… I must be defective."
"Hey!" Hank scolded. He could handle toddler meltdowns, they were irrational and frustrating, but doable. This was different. Self-deprecating, refusing comfort, this was adult-Connor's insecurities rearing their ugly head again. "No, that's it, we're done."
"What?" Connor asked through his tears, but Hank just ignored him in favor of reaching over and switching off the terminal.
"We're done," he repeated. He grabbed his keys off the desk. "Come on, let's go."
"But… the workday..." He choked out around his sobs.
"I don't give a shit," Hank responded. He gestured for Connor to follow, but the little android kept sitting there tearfully and stubbornly. He sighed in frustration. "You've crossed from temper tantrum to self loathing. That means we're done for the day."
"Since when is that a rule?" Connor wailed in protest.
"Since I said so," he shot back. The best way to combat these episodes was to step away from the situation for a while, as much as the kid hated it. "Now are you coming, or do I need to carry you?"
Connor's face was the epitome of petulant, but he slid from his chair to follow after him. When Hank reached for his hand he crossed his arms defiantly. At least his annoyance was causing the tears to run dry.
He was buckling the kid into his carseat when he finally spoke again. "I don't want to go home," he mumbled unhappily.
Hank spared a moment to ruffle his hair gently. Connor didn't pull away this time, already marking an improvement. "Well then, good thing we aren't going home," he told him.
"What?" Connor asked. His face scrunched as confusion won over his frustration. "Where are we going?"
"New Jericho," he told him as he finished clasping the buckle. No sense keeping it from him, he'd just get more worked up. "They'll run whatever scans you need to prove you aren't defective. Besides, Markus wants to see you."
"I just saw him yesterday," Connor countered. "We should be working on the case."
"I already said we're done for the day, end of discussion." Hank shut the passenger door and rounded to the driver's seat before continuing. "And yesterday wasn't a social visit. You were in full business mode. You too are both workaholics, it'll do you some good to do something else for a change."
He could see the argument in Connor's features. His tiny body unable to hide his displeasure behind stoicism like he did as an adult. "Fine," he spat out with the same venom he would use for a different 'f' word.
Hank rolled his eyes and sent a quick text to Markus before he put the car into gear. "Leave it to me to be the only bastard in existence with a kid I need to strongarm into taking a goddamn break," he mused.
