Moonlight filtered in through the open curtains and dimly lit the kitchen. Hank spared himself the glance at the clock, not wanting to know just how soon his alarm would go off, telling him he needed to get up for work. Or rather, just how soon his alarm would go off, closely followed by the android telling him he needed to get up for work.
Sometimes, Hank wondered how he had managed to crawl out of bed in the morning at all before Connor had come along, persisting he get into the office on time and even have a decent breakfast before. The kid hadn't lived long with him yet, only a few weeks, but they had already built up a routine.
Connor would drag him out of bed in the morning, present him with a cup of coffee and a bagel, then drag him through half the town into the office. They'd get home again in the evening, one of them would walk Sumo, Hank would prepare himself a more or less healthy dinner, Connor would tell him he needed to watch what he was eating more and Hank would scoff but put an extra tomato on his plate. The two of them would then spend the evening in front of the TV, Connor constantly amusing Hank. It was remarkable how the android knew every rule, every player and every statistic for every sport but had not yet developed any grasp on the various games whatsoever. While he was getting better at showing emotion himself, he was still mostly functioning on the grounds of logic. Which didn't get you far in sports. He'd be confused whenever a player started arguing with a referee although there had been a clear foul and he'd look at Hank in surprise every time the man jumped up in excitement or threw his arms in the air in frustration.
Afterwards, they'd go to bed. Well, Hank would go to bed, while Connor would stay on the couch, sitting up, persisting it didn't matter where and how he spent the night. In the beginning, Hank had argued he should at least lie down but Connor had repeated time and again it wasn't necessary and didn't make a difference so eventually Hank had resigned to having a creepy looking silhouette in his living room every night.
The glass of water in hand he had originally gotten up for, Hank shuffled from his kitchen to the living room part of his house. As predicted, Connor was sitting on the couch, obviously in stand-by mode. His hands lay folded in his lap, half next to and half underneath Sumo's head, the huge dog taking up almost all of the remaining space on the old sofa, contently sleeping next to his new best buddy. Against his will, Hank's mouth tugged up slightly at its corners. Back in November, Connor had vehemently denied he would ever deviate but all it took was one look at Sumo's instant love for the guy to realise he had hardly been a machine from the get go. As if the dog would ever fall for some cold, unfeeling piece of plastic.
While he was looking at the mismatched pair, Hank's memory put a different yet similar picture before his inner eye. Another boy on another couch, but just as fast asleep and with the same oversized dog protecting him. Cole had used to fall asleep on the sofa, too, and Sumo had always made it his job to watch over him.
Surprisingly, for the moment, the memory didn't send Hank spinning down a black hole like it would have only three months ago. It still hurt, but in a way he could endure without wanting to drown himself in whiskey just to make it bearable. It hurt like the thought of old times long gone did, the thought of a happy childhood or an old love. It hurt in a way that made you grateful you had had the luck to create the memory at all.
But just when Hank noticed the difference, something changed. Imperceptibly at first, distinctly after a moment. Something was off. Something was wrong. Something made his breath hitch in his chest and his heart beat too fast. Something forced him back a step, stumbling, and his grip to loosen on the glass.
Connor was too still, he didn't move.
But Connor was never still, he always fidgeted. Sure, he held himself the same stiff way all androids did and rarely ever managed to look truly casual, but he was rarely ever still. He played with that coin of his or scanned the room, he paced or he talked. And always, always the LED on his temple was spinning, turning from blue to yellow and back again while his processors mulled over one thought or another. He was simply never completely still!
Cole had never been still. The boy had always run around, played with Sumo or tried to excite his dad for something he'd just discovered. And even in his sleep his chest had moved up and down, up and down with each breath. Until it hadn't anymore. Until Hank had last seen him. Until they had put his still form on that bed so his father could say goodbye one last time. He had been so still then. Like Connor was now.
He didn't move. Not his eyes beneath the lids, not his chest with artificial breathing. Even his LED was still, glowing in such a steady, dim blue, it was barely visible even in the poorly lit room. He was too still. Like Cole had been.
And all of a sudden, Hank couldn't bear the sight anymore. He dropped the glass and turned on the spot, his vision blurring and his only though to get away. Away from the memory, away from the pain.
The glass shattered on the floor, water and shards hitting his bare feet.
"Hank?" The voice from behind him startled him almost enough to trip and step into the broken glass. He slowly turned his head to the side, showing he had heard though not enough to see the dark eyes probably looking at him.
"It is 2:54 in the morning, is there a reason you are awake?" Connor asked, the usual slightly puzzled tone in his voice.
"No, there's not", Hank answered gruffly. "Go back to sleep." As much as the sight of Connor being too still had just disturbed him, Hank knew he couldn't deal with him in motion at the moment, either. With his concern and his understanding, with his eagerness to help. He needed to be alone with his demons. Alone like he had been all along.
He could hear Connor get up and moved towards the kitchen in response, all but fleeing.
"Hank, something seems to be the matter. If you told me what it was, maybe I could help." There it was. The constant pressing to be let in.
"Nothing is the matter, just get back on that couch and let me clean up this mess." Hank knew, he would feel bad later for snapping at the kid but he couldn't help it, not right now.
"Hank, I don't…" Connor started but Hank interrupted him.
"Please." He could hear the urgency in his own voice. "Go back to sleep." He'd reached the counter and grabbed a fistful of kitchen towels, slowly turning around again. He could see Connor looking at him in concern, but apparently, he realised it would be best not to keep pushing.
"Alright." The kid hesitated. "But, Hank, tell me if I can help. Wake me."
Hank looked at him for a long moment. At the yellow LED nervously spinning, at the fingers kneading each other. "I will."
Seemingly satisfied, Connor moved back and sat down again, Sumo instantly putting his head back onto his lap. He looked at Hank quizzically for a second more, then closed his eyes. Hank averted his gaze before he could go all still again, not wanting to have the same horrible memory hit again.
He slowly moved and cleaned up the floor, actually careful not to cut himself, if only because it took more time. He wasn't eager to get back into bed. He knew, sleep wouldn't come easily. And it certainly wouldn't come without the nightmares, either.