Dissimulation
Chapter Three: New Normal
"If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself."
The dishes from breakfast were piled in the sink and the two men set to work clearing out Hank's office. It was relatively bare, with a simple glass desk on a black metal frame on which rested Hank's severely outdated computer. A standard, black leather office chair on wheels sat in front of the workspace. There was an old oak chest of drawers that had also been painted black to the right of the desk, with a metal floor lamp to the left. While there were a few indicators of Hank's interests scattered about the space (a vintage "Matrix: Reloaded" poster, years-old tickets to a jazz concert, an obsolete handheld Nintendo console), it became clear to Connor that Hank didn't use this room often, which set him at ease just a bit, knowing that altering the makeshift office would not cause a relevant disruption in the lieutenant's daily routine.
"It's not much, but it'll work for now," Hank muttered as he brushed past Connor and took to glancing around.
"It's more than enough to suit my needs," Connor replied, still giddy from not only cooking an edible breakfast but also securing a place to live – with Hank, no less.
The lieutenant raised his eyebrows at the android as if to say 'oh, really?' and did his best imitation of a chuckle - a one-syllable hum issued from deep in his throat. Without explanation, he then left the room before quickly returning with a large garbage bag.
"Well it's a good thing you think so, because I'm pretty sure every furniture place in the city is closed." Here, Hank handed the bag to Connor. "Let's get this shit emptied out so you can do your own thing. Everything in that dresser is garbage. I'll take care of clearing off the desk, and when we're done we can get on Amazon and find you a bed."
Connor smiled brightly.
"Sounds like a plan."
Hank nodded and turned his attention to the desk. Connor spun around and opened the top drawer of the dresser. A cursory glance confirmed that it was mostly old mail, so he picked the various flyers and bills up in fistfuls and made quick work of disposing of them in the garbage bag.
The next drawer down was mostly full of old knickknacks – beer bottle caps, mismatched socks, old souvenirs. Connor wrinkled his nose at a "snow" globe that read "Clearwater Beach" and had a dolphin in the sphere's center. It was leaking water and glitter onto his hands, so he quickly chucked it in with the rest of the garbage.
The final drawer was, thankfully, mostly empty, but there was one item that drew Connor's attention right away. It was a simple napkin, with a magenta lipstick stain in the corner left by a kiss. Beneath the lip-shaped stain was a phone number. A quick scan revealed that the stain was between 4 and 6 months old.
The longer Connor analyzed the napkin, the tighter his chest seemed to constrict. It wasn't the pleasant warmth from before, however, but had been replaced with a much more unsavory sensation. This feeling had bite to it.
No doubt noticing Connor's sudden stillness, the android was startled from his thoughts when Hank was suddenly peering over his shoulder.
"Something wrong?"
Connor took a moment to quell the sudden rise of panic, inwardly wondering how an item as innocuous as a napkin could send him on such an emotional roller coaster. Being deviant was hard.
"Sorry Hank, I just wasn't sure whether or not to throw this away."
Here Connor reluctantly offered the napkin, which Hank took from him with a chuckle. He regarded the flimsy relic for a few moments with a wry smile set upon his lips before rolling his eyes and tossing it in with the rest of the trash.
"What did I say? Everything in that dresser is garbage."
Connor wanted to press on. Why didn't Hank want to call this mysterious woman? What was her relation to Hank? Just who was she?
It wouldn't be appropriate to ask so many questions about Hank's personal life, Connor reasoned internally. Still, he sat in the same spot, staring dumbly down at his hands, wrestling with this new, prickly feeling that at once irritated him and made him somewhat sad.
Logically, he knew giving your number was a relatively common flirtatious gesture, and especially common at bars. Logically, Connor knew that this person was most likely essentially a stranger. However, the ugly emotion churning in his synthetic gut was effectively driving away any semblance of logic.
The android had been so lost in thought that he, once again, was startled back to reality by Hank's gruff voice.
"What's wrong Connor? Jealous?"
Connor deftly picked up on the playful inflection in Hank's tone. He was teasing. The statement was a joke.
The statement was far too accurate.
"Obviously," Connor replied smoothly, "who wouldn't be jealous of a drunk floozy who has nothing better to do in her spare time than flirt with a man who thinks the Matrix movies were actually good?"
A computer mouse immediately collided with Connor's face. It must have been the closest thing within Hank's reach.
For one terrifying moment, Connor was sure he had a crossed a line, but then Hank erupted into booming laughter. His hair fell into his eyes as he leaned over and clutched his stomach, his mouth stretched in mirth with each howl.
Once he had caught his breath, Hank looked up at the android, eyes sparkling.
Connor was transfixed.
"Alright, ok, first of all, where in the hell did you learn the word 'floozy'?"
"I was programmed to know every word in the English dictionary in addition to various common slang terms…"
"Second of all," Hank interrupted, "fuck you, the Matrix movies were phenomenal. You just have shit taste."
Connor shrugged with one shoulder.
"Third of all," Hank was gesturing wildly at this point, both hands raised in emphasis, "when did you become such a sarcastic asshole?"
A devious grin played upon Connor's lips as he smugly crossed his arms.
"I learned from the best."
The ugly feeling in Connor's gut evaporated as the two men returned to work, laughing all the while, and the napkin was soon forgotten.
An hour later, once the desk had been cleared and the dresser had been emptied and the room was a bit tidier, Hank was sat at the computer scrolling through various beds for sale with Connor leaned over his shoulder.
Connor pointed to a bed that appeared to have a plastic headboard sporting a cartoon German Shepherd that wore a generic detective's outfit (brown trench coat, brown hat) and held a magnifying glass in one paw.
"I want this one."
"No."
"You said I could have whichever bed I wanted!"
"I'm not ordering a fucking 'Detective Dog' bed."
"Why not? I enjoy detective work and I also like dogs. This is clearly the optimal choice."
"Connor, that's a bed for children."
Here Hank finally turned from the computer screen to shoot a glare at the other man, only to be met with a placid, self-satisfied smirk.
"Jesus, will you quit fucking with me for one second?"
Connor ignored the rhetorical question and returned his attention to the screen. He gestured to a different listing – an elaborate four-poster bed hand-carved from bird's eye maple.
"How about this one?"
The android stifled a chuckle as he watched Hank's eyes nearly bug out of his head.
"That's ten thousand dollars!"
Connor couldn't stop the laughter this time, and he giggled even harder when Hank sagged in his chair with a dramatic groan, looking scorned.
This back-and-forth continued for several more minutes before the lieutenant pulled up another listing, this time of a contemporary iron bed frame that sported interesting geometric shapes.
"What do you think of this?" Hank questioned.
Connor leaned in further to scrutinize the bed. He appreciated the simple, clean lines and the overall design managed to seem unique without being too gaudy. He was still learning his own preferences, but underdeveloped as his style was, this suited his tastes without question.
"It's… perfect."
Hank nodded and placed the order, feigning indifference, but Connor didn't miss the small, satisfied curve of his lips.
Living with Hank felt natural, and it wasn't long before the two of them fell into a routine. Connor was always up first in the mornings, but after a few heated lectures from Hank, had agreed to let the lieutenant sleep until 8:30AM each day (unless the android was especially bored, in which case he would wake Hank anyway and suffer through the ensuing string of curses). Connor would then cook breakfast, although omelets were strictly forbidden after he somehow managed to catch his first (and only) attempt at one on fire. They divvied up the other chores – Hank did most of the laundry and cleaned the bathroom whereas Connor tidied the kitchen and living room – and they would usually walk Sumo together at least 3 times a day.
It was during one such walk, nearly a month after Connor had moved in, when they finally crossed paths with another person.
Some of the snow had melted, revealing patches of concrete and dead grass. Connor was being pulled down a slushy sidewalk by Sumo as he lunged ahead, overeager to investigate some nebulous scent, which left Hank trailing behind them. Connor was looking exasperatedly down at the hulking dog, trying to mitigate his strength so as to establish dominance without choking the creature, when Sumo suddenly locked up, his thick legs stock-still, as his ears perked in alert.
Connor stopped abruptly as well, and Hank very nearly walked into him.
"What's the hold up?"
Following Sumo's gaze, Connor gestured to the figure turning a corner and walking steadily toward them.
"There's someone up ahead," Connor indicated.
The strange man was tall, lanky, and unhurried. He strode toward the duo with a pleasant smile on his countenance. He was dressed in a smart, gray pea coat with an eccentrically patterned scarf peeking out from his collar, and his hair was similarly eccentric – a mess of tight, black curls.
"Gentlemen," he acknowledged with an easy nod.
"Hi, my name's Connor," the android replied, before smiling in turn and offering a hand. Connor already knew from a standard facial scan that the man was named Devon Williams and was 36 years old with only a few petty traffic violations on his record. Despite this, he also knew better than to forego the standard human introductions, and so he maintained his smile while waiting for the other man to introduce himself properly.
"I'm Devon," he replied before giving Connor's hand a single, firm shake. Peering over the android's shoulder at Hank, he added: "And you are…?"
"Lieutenant Hank Anderson," Hank replied in a stiff tone. Connor suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the obvious, and entirely unnecessary, pull of rank.
Devon didn't bat an eyelash however, and amiably replied "Well, it's a pleasure to meet the both of you."
"You're the first person we've seen in quite a while," said Connor.
"Yeah, my girlfriend and I came back a few days ago. No matter what happens, Detroit is our home, you know?"
Here, Hank finally stepped forward.
"Have you seen anyone else around?"
Devon nodded.
"I've seen several, actually. I think everyone's finally starting to, you know, trickle back in. Life goes on; nobody can play hooky forever."
Here Devon paused, and took a long look at Connor's LED. He seemed to be hesitating, as if he wasn't sure whether or not to say what was on his mind, but eventually he must have decided to press on.
"Listen," Devon began, addressing Connor directly, "I'm sorry about what you and your people had to go through, and I hope this isn't over the line, but I just wanted to say I'm happy that you guys stood up for yourselves. I think the world can be better with all of us working together."
Connor couldn't stop the bright smile that bloomed across his face. Realistically, he knew that there would be a great deal of opposition when it came to integrating androids as equals into human society, but he was beyond pleased to find that there were others who supported the cause.
He was so consumed by happiness that he almost didn't notice the drastic change in Hank's demeanor. His previously furrowed brows relaxed, his posture melted from stiff to loose, and his stern frown lifted into a pleasant grin.
Was Hank acting intimidating for my sake?
"That means more to me than I could possibly tell you," Connor replied sincerely, after tearing his attention away from Hank. "Thank you."
Devon laughed nervously and rubbed a hand on the back of his neck.
"Please don't thank me for just being a decent human being!"
Hank huffed.
"Hey, that's a rare thing these days," the lieutenant groused.
"Unfortunately, I think you're right," Devon agreed. "People will come around, though." A pause, and then, "Well, I guess I'll let you guys go. I better get back to my girlfriend. But hey," Here Devon pulled a card from his wallet, "use this to pick up a six-pack on me. I brew IPAs downtown. We're called Motor City Brewing."
Hank immediately perked up at the offer of free beer and grabbed the coupon before Connor had the chance.
"Hell yeah! I love a good IPA. Thanks, man."
Devon chuckled and said, "Don't mention it. See you around!"
Devon gave Sumo a quick pat before waving and taking his leave.
"Nice guy," Hank muttered. Connor agreed wholeheartedly.
That night, Hank and Connor were on the couch re-watching Breaking Bad (one of Hank's favorite shows) with Sumo stretched out between them. Connor was snug in pair of fleece pajama pants that Hank had given him (navy blue and patterned with snowflakes). He also wore a t-shirt he had ordered himself – white with a simple phrase in black lettering: "I'd rather be with my dog." Hank wore his preferred pair of black sweatpants and a hunter green, baggy hoodie with a faded Five Finger Death Punch logo adorned on the front. Connor supposed they made an odd picture – two adult men in ridiculous, mismatched clothing scrunched onto a threadbare couch on which a giant dog took up most of the space, but he absolutely would not have had it any other way.
There was a period not too long ago when Connor would have scoffed at the prospect of wasting precious time staring at a television screen, back when his entire purpose and every action revolved around completing his mission. Now, however, he derived a deep sense of peace from these quiet moments, allowing himself to become engrossed in the drama unfolding on-screen. It was a nice break from the usual clamor of his mind – a welcomed respite from the statistics and percentages that typically cluttered his vision.
The silence was short-lived, however, when Hank's cell phone suddenly blared to life. Hank glanced at the screen and his eyebrows shot up in intrigue.
"It's Fowler," he supplied.
Connor tore his attention from the television just as the protagonist was walking across a desert in nothing but a pair of white briefs and focused on the phone conversation instead. Hank accepted the call and drew the phone to his ear.
"Anderson," Hank muttered in his standard greeting. "Pretty good, been a little bored but otherwise ok...How're you and the missus? Uh-huh…Good, good…Yeah, that works…Hey, you'll never guess who's sitting beside me right now." Here Hank took a sidelong glance at Connor. A thrill shot up the android's spine. "Connor. Yeah, I know…He's doing fine…Yeah…Alright, well I'll see you Monday."
Hank ended the call and turned to Connor, grinning all the while.
"Well, I was just called back in. I'll be heading to the precinct on Monday."
Connor reluctantly returned the grin, and said, "Glad to hear it."
He tried to mask the disappointment that bloomed from his core at the prospect of being left behind while Hank went on investigations alone, but the intuitive man must have picked up on his strained smile and the tight set of his shoulders.
"Don't worry, I haven't forgotten. I'll talk to Fowler about getting you back on. Just… don't get your hopes up. I have no fucking clue how this is going to work, but we'll figure something out."
Connor relaxed a bit, and he began absently running his fingers over Sumo's ears in an effort to calm his nerves.
"Thanks, Lieutenant."
As Connor watched Hank drive away the following Monday morning, he noted with pride that the lieutenant would be no more than 20 minutes late to his first day back on the force.
Small victories, he mused.
Suddenly faced with the prospect of spending a decent chunk of the day alone, Connor groaned and retreated to his room. It hadn't changed much from when it had served as Hank's office – the desk, dresser, and even the framed Matrix: Reloaded poster were all still there, but Connor was slowly adding little touches to make the space his own. His new bed was fixed in one corner and fitted with crisp white sheets and a simple, navy comforter, but there were other changes, as well. A white coin bank in the shape of a hound dog sat on the desk beside the computer monitor, along with a small succulent in a blue ceramic pot. Above his bed, Connor had hung a framed painting of a whale he had found online, and even his wardrobe was growing incrementally as he experimented with different styles. Somewhat to his own chagrin, however, he found that he preferred light blazers over a button-down shirt, and often dressed in ensembles that were not uncommon from the uniform he had been issued from CyberLife. Connor had once voiced the concern that he wasn't straying far enough from his original programming, to which Hank advised: "Stop overthinking it and just wear whatever the fuck you want."
Smiling fondly at the memory, Connor sat at the desk and turned on the dated computer. He could have easily just browsed the internet from his own HUD, but there was something pleasantly engaging in using a PC instead, and so he decided to indulge his newly-developed habit of watching strange videos on Youtube. Hank had once referred to this practice as "going down the Youtube rabbit hole."
Hours later, Connor was on his third consecutive video of a dermatologist clearing out clogged pores when Hank returned home. Connor very nearly jumped up from his desk and had to force himself to take a casual pace back to the living room instead of sprinting.
Don't act like a damn poodle, he reminded himself.
"Hi Hank," he greeted in a voice that he hoped didn't sound too eager.
"Hey," the other man responded with a smile as he hung up his coat. He was obviously in a lighthearted mood, and Connor took this as a good sign.
"Why don't you sit down and I'll tell you how everything went today."
Connor agreed and took his place on the couch, his knee bobbing impatiently as Hank grabbed a Corona from the fridge before joining him.
Hank took a few long gulps of beer, and Connor might have been distracted by the rhythmic bob of his Adam's apple were he not so anxious. Finally the lieutenant lowered the bottle and turned to Connor, who automatically straightened in his seat.
"So," Hank began, "there's a custodial position open."
Connor didn't justify this statement with an answer and instead opted to glare at Hank in earnest.
The other man only laughed.
"Okay, okay, I talked to Fowler. He wants you back, says you'd be a great asset. It turns out that to be a detective, the only real requirement is a GED. Most places won't accept anyone who hasn't been through the Academy, but you'd be an exception, of course." Hank reached for his beer once more and took another swig before continuing. "I know you could knock out the GED no problem, and really it shouldn't even apply to people like you… no offense."
"None taken," Connor replied quickly.
"So anyway, Fowler is willing to bring you on as a 'consultant,'" Here Hank quirked his fingers in air quotations, "and you'd be making 17 bucks an hour until you pass the GED. After that you'd be making as much as the other entry-level detectives."
Connor was speechless. His wide-eyed gaze must have unsettled the lieutenant, because he finally broke the silence by saying, "You can come in tomorrow, if you want to. If not, I understand."
Connor all but catapulted across the couch and drew Hank into a tight hug.
"I'm very excited to get back to work. Thank you, Hank."
The baffled lieutenant hesitantly clasped the android's shoulder with one hand while balancing his beer with the other.
"Yeah, yeah… no big deal."
After a few tense moments, Hank cleared his throat and gently nudged Connor's shoulder. Taking the hint, the android drew away and settled back on his end of the couch.
"You know," Hank began, "this is your first job as a free man. We should celebrate."
Connor's entire form buzzed with excitement. The overwhelming sensation was almost too much to process.
"I agree," he managed at length, "What did you have in mind?"
"Wellll," Hank drawled, "There's gonna be a fireworks show downtown tonight for android independence. Wanna check it out?"
The android's mouth parted without his direct input and he had to scramble to rearrange his thoughts into something coherent. He, of course, knew what fireworks were, but he had never beheld them with his own eyes.
"I think that sounds like fun," Connor answered casually, belying his own elation.
Hank took a brief glance at Connor's snowflake pajamas and added, "Alright, great, but you might want to change…"
"Oh, of course. I won't be long!"
Connor leapt up and shuffled to his room before clicking the door shut behind him. He thought he heard Hank laughing from the living room.
Faced with the problem of dressing for a night on the town, Connor stared at his closet with a deep frown set upon his face. He didn't want to look too casual, but by the same token, he also didn't want to seem stiff. This was a special occasion, sure, but they would be standing around in downtown Detroit, not spinning about in an elaborate dancing hall.
The android finally settled on a crisp red button-down shirt sans jacket, and dark grey slacks. He paired this with a simple black belt and black dress shoes, and while he still had the niggling impression that he was overdressed, he couldn't help but smile at his reflection in the mirror.
Just wear whatever the fuck you want.
Satisfied, Connor returned to the living room to find that Hank had changed as well. He wore a dark grey dress shirt with a silver paisley overlay, along with dark jeans and black leather boots. His hair, too, had been haphazardly pulled back into a messy bun, with loose silver wisps hanging about his face, and it wasn't until the lieutenant shifted uncomfortably that Connor realized he had been staring.
"Ready…?" Hank ventured.
"Uh… yeah. Yes. I'm ready."
Hank nodded slowly, fixing Connor with an odd look, before heading toward the door.
The sun was setting as they drove toward the city, painting the sky in vivid hues of yellow and pink. Connor stared fixedly out his window, enthralled by the little markers of life that were gradually returning to Detroit – dogs being walked on the sidewalks, people mowing their front lawns, children riding bicycles down the street. It was refreshing to see the city flourish once more, when only a handful of weeks prior it had essentially been a ghost town.
Suburban neighborhoods gradually faded into concrete business, and when Hank finally pulled into the tall parking garage of a bank, Connor was confused.
"Just trust me," the lieutenant had said.
It was an easy command for Connor to follow, and so he didn't complain as they trudged up the dinky stairwell, floor by floor, until they reached the roof.
Breathless, Hank leaned his weight against the rail and peered down at the view below, at the lights that twinkled as dark descended upon the city. Connor joined him and smiled at the cityscape. Large digital billboards blared with garish colors and contrasted with the classic street lamps that still lined the main roads. Skyscrapers surrounded them, each floor completely lit, creating little squares of bright yellow that reached out and into the clouds above. A plane buzzed overhead, its red safety lights blinking in the darkness. Connor's artificial heart was full. He felt weightless as he stood next to Hank, and they surveyed the city before them in a comfortable silence.
After several minutes, Hank nudged Connor's shoulder and pulled a square black box from his coat pocket.
"Here, this is for you."
Connor accepted the gift and gingerly popped open the lid of the box to reveal a sharp watch with a shiny blue face, the band of which was made from white gold. The android recognized the brand as Michael Kors, a stylish and expensive designer. He clasped the watch onto his left wrist with a trembling hand, and slowly returned his gaze to Hank.
"I know you can check the time whenever you want," the lieutenant sputtered, refusing to meet Connor's eyes, "but every professional needs a good watch."
Connor looked back down at the timepiece and shifted his wrist from left to right, smiling as it glittered in the starlight.
"It's beautiful," he said sincerely. "I don't know what to say…"
The moment was interrupted by a loud boom as a flare shot high into the sky and erupted into bright sparks of red and blue. Connor gasped, both amazed by the show of lights and simultaneously impressed with their close proximity. The parking garage had been a good idea, after all. He heard the cheers of hundreds of others down below, before three more fireworks were set off in quick succession, screeching through the darkness and exploding into golden sparkles that trickled lazily down for several feet before fading altogether.
As fireworks erupted all around him, Connor watched their reflection in the face of his new watch, and slowly turned to look at Hank. The other man's smile was so wide that deep wrinkles were set at either end of his lips. His eyes were bright as he watched the show, his strong, calloused hands gripping the railing hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Connor stared openly at the lieutenant, at the man who now stubbornly refused to return his gaze, and a realization slowly crept over him in cold waves:
I am in love with Hank.
As sparks trickled around him and people cheered in the streets below, Connor was stricken with fear at having finally arrived at this conclusion. One word raced through his mind on infinite repeat.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…