Dissimulation
Chapter 4: Back to Work
"Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood."
After the fireworks show, Hank and Connor had lingered, both leaned over the railing as they watched the crowds slowly trickle away until the streets were finally clear enough to attempt returning home. Connor had remained mostly silent after the nature of his feelings for Hank had bubbled to the surface, only indulging the lieutenant with short answers and polite smiles, and he was grateful that Hank didn't pry. His mind was frantic in a way it hadn't been since the night he infiltrated Cyberlife Tower.
On the ride back, Connor quietly watched the lights of Detroit blur by, occasionally becoming distracted when his wrist would angle just so, and his new watch would catch the reflection of a neon sign or a streetlight. For as much as Hank had made him happy, happier than he could have ever fathomed, the fear of relinquishing this happiness with a one-sided confession left him paralyzed, like a hare staring into the eyes of a ravenous wolf, instinctively knowing that it would be pointless to flee. Fear made a home in his newly awakened heart, curling around the warmth he hid there and darkening his thoughts of a future that seemed just beyond his reach.
Connor knew he was being rude in his stillness. Hank had given him a home, an occupation, and had even gone out of his way to celebrate his newly realized personhood. They were gifts that the lieutenant seemed to hand over easily, despite his guarded personality. He had been vulnerable, had lowered his walls just for Connor's sake, and instead of showering the man with praise and appreciation, he was sitting mute in the passenger seat with his fingers curled at his knees like a coward.
When they finally pulled into Hank's driveway and the car was parked and shut off, neither of them moved. Hank stared straight ahead, his hands still gripping the wheel, and Connor remained seated in the same stiff posture he resorted to when the onslaught of emotion became too much.
There was a thickness between them, not quite awkward but not quite comfortable, either. From his peripheral vision Connor could see the thinly veiled melancholy etched across Hank's face. There was a question on his tongue, as if he was standing at the precipice of an insurmountable void and couldn't cross without first mapping out the android's feelings.
He probably thinks he somehow offended me, Connor thought miserably.
Still, he didn't speak, didn't move, and didn't even utter a simple 'thank you.' He waited for Hank to say something, anything, silently pleaded for the gruff man to insult him or chastise him, or to make any kind of verbal acknowledgement of this thing between them.
What Hank did instead was exhale shakily before angling his head toward Connor and flashing a tired grin.
"Well, thanks for humoring me. We should turn in. Big day tomorrow."
"Thanks for humoring me," Connor parroted in his mind, disgust at himself curling in his gut.
He has no idea that this was one of the best nights of my life.
Connor knew it would have been so easy to tell him, and the words were there, just at the back of his throat, but before he could speak Hank had leaned forward to briefly clasp his shoulder in a gesture of solidarity before finally exiting the car. Once the lieutenant was safely turned toward his front door, Connor allowed his expression to fall from robotic neutrality to one of pure frustration, with his brows drawn together and his teeth grit. He sat like that for a moment or two, shaking, before once more pushing these emotions down and heading inside himself.
By the time Connor entered the house, Hank had already shut himself inside his bedroom. Sumo was at his feet, looking up at him with those big, pleading eyes, and the android could have sworn that the beast was peering into his soul, or whatever passed as his soul.
"It's okay boy," Connor whispered, kneeling to scratch the dog under his chin.
He didn't measure how long he stayed like that, long enough that a human's joints would have been sore, surely, but when Sumo grew bored of his affections and turned away to lumber toward his blanket in the corner, Connor finally retreated to his own room, pausing to send a brief message to Markus. He then allowed himself to slip into the blissful nothingness of stasis, comfortable in the bed that Hank had picked out for him.
The following morning was easier, simply because Connor was too anxious about his first day back at the precinct to be preoccupied over his newly realized feelings for Hank. He smoothed over the front of his dress shirt for the forty-eighth time, flattening non-existent wrinkles as he scrutinized his reflection. The shirt was simple yet professional – white with vertical, light blue pinstripes, and tucked into a pair of dark jeans. He wore classic black oxfords that matched the black leather belt at his waist, and felt confident that his outfit toed the line of sophistication without seeming too overdone. Connor completed the ensemble by slipping on his watch and rolling his sleeves to his forearms so that the timepiece would be clearly visible.
Satisfied, he nodded once at himself and headed into the living room.
Connor had hoped that with it being 8:04AM on a work day, the lieutenant would already be shuffling about, but the living room was still dark and untouched, and Hank's shut door loomed at Connor from the shadows, mocking him and his seemingly futile desire for punctuality. Reluctant to upset the other man, especially after acting like a stubborn child the night before, Connor paced the floor until 8:10 before his nerves finally spurred him into action.
Steeling himself, he rapped against Hank's door.
"Lieutenant? You need to get up."
Silence.
Connor groaned, perhaps a bit dramatically, before knocking louder this time.
"Lieutenant!"
Still nothing, not even a grunt of awareness from the other side.
Eschewing any notion of privacy, Connor moved to open the door, then stilled when the handle wouldn't turn.
It was locked.
Frustration gave way to concern. This time Connor formed a solid fist and beat against the door with three brash thuds.
Anyone should have been roused by the noise, but when the android didn't even detect the faintest rustle of a sheet on the other side, he made a decision.
Connor stepped back, preconstructed the action in his mind, and kicked the door open with relative ease, not even flinching as it bounced noisily against the opposite wall.
Hank was spread out, somehow managing to take up nearly all of his king-sized bed. A sheet was tangled beneath him, and a quick, nearly frantic scan confirmed that he was, in fact, alive, though severely dehydrated. Connor stepped forward and spotted the empty bottle of Black Lamb at Hank's side. He wanted to be angry, wanted to smack the other man until he was lucid again, but the ire he felt was eclipsed by the aching thrum of sadness that bloomed in his chest.
With a resigned sigh, Connor retrieved a glass of water from the kitchen and stepped around to where Hank was still asleep, completely oblivious to the world around him. When he dumped the water on Hank's face, the reaction was delayed, but eventually his survival instincts must have kicked in because he began to sputter and groan.
"Get up, Lieutenant," Connor demanded in a clipped tone.
Hank finally, finally opened his eyes and squinted up at Connor in confusion.
"…the fffuck?"
"It is time to go to work."
Hank dragged a hand across his eyes, frowning at the cold wetness that ran from his brows down to the collar of his ribbed tank.
"The fuck was that for?"
"I attempted to knock at your door –several times- but received no response," Connor explained, a dangerous undercurrent to his voice. It was the same way he used to address deviants, coating every word with an edge designed to invoke fear.
If Hank was at all aware of the thinly contained rage emanating off of Connor in nearly tangible waves, he didn't show it. He slowly hoisted himself up on one hand, frowned at the bedroom door that now hung crookedly on its hinges, and rubbed at his brows, no doubt battling a severe headache.
"Jesus, how many times are you gonna wake me up by dumping water on my face?"
Connor's hands balled into fists without his direct input, but he tempered his indignation and looked pointedly at the empty whisky bottle before speaking once more.
"I suppose it depends on how many more times you decide to drink yourself into an ethylic coma."
The android had expected Hank to lash out then, but was once again proven wrong when the exhausted man only nodded once and shrugged a shoulder in concession, before turning and planting his feet on the floor. He stood, a bit unsteadily, and Connor could not resist the urge to offer an arm for balance. Hank accepted the help without complaint, and once it seemed that he could remain upright on his own, Connor slowly pulled away, his forearm burning from where Hank had briefly grasped him.
"Get me some Advil, will ya?"
Connor frowned but did as he was asked, and by the time he returned with the pills and a fresh glass of water, Hank had managed to step into some jeans and was pulling an eccentrically-patterned shirt from his closet. The android might have admonished him for not taking a shower when he so clearly reeked of alcohol, but when a glance at his watch revealed it was already 8:37AM, he knew that there really wasn't any time. Hank hastily slipped on the shirt and downed the proffered pills before stumbling into the bathroom. He spent an unsatisfactorily short amount of time brushing his teeth before finally stepping into the living room, pulling on his boots and declaring that he was ready to leave.
"I'll drive," Connor quipped. Hank wisely chose not to argue.
Connor strode into the precinct at an eager pace, taking note of each and every change as he passed through. The lobby was dimly lit and eerily quiet and devoid of the android receptionists that had once greeted him each time he entered. Reception was, in fact, completely abandoned, and so he took the liberty of stepping into the bullpen without even stopping to glance back at the lieutenant who trailed miserably behind.
Moving into the office space, Connor was stricken at how empty it looked without the throngs of android officers lining the walls, waiting for deployment. Conversely, there were only a smattering of human detectives, most of whom Connor recognized, hovering around each other and speaking in hushed, urgent voices.
As luck would have it, the first one to notice their arrival was Gavin Reed.
"No fucking way," he muttered in disbelief as he approached Connor with his jaw unhinged.
"Good morning, Detective Reed," Connor replied pleasantly.
"You son of a bitch!" Reed lunged forward and violently grabbed Connor's shirt, very nearly lifting him off the ground. In a darker voice, he continued: "I'm gonna finish what I started in the evidence locker."
Hank stepped forward and pushed Gavin's shoulder hard enough that he was forced to relinquish his grip on Connor's shirt and stumble backwards a few paces.
"Calm the fuck down, Reed. It's too early in the morning for this shit," the lieutenant groused.
"Yeah, like I need any lip from a washed up alcoholic." Here Gavin jerked his chin in Connor's direction. "The fuck is this plastic prick doing here?"
"I have been hired as a consultant and intend to eventually resume my position as a detective," Connor supplied, cutting in front of Hank. "It seems that our little 'bromance' can continue after all."
He ended his reply with a self-satisfied smirk, and was unsurprised when Reed immediately drew back a fist. Connor caught his arm effortlessly and deftly redirected the movement, sending Gavin flailing off to the side well before the punch could connect. The irritable detective quickly righted himself, but made no further move to attack.
He stood, shoulders squared, looking between Connor and Hank like a frantic predator, before something seemed to click.
"That so, huh? What a fucking joke. All this shit happens and as soon as we try to get things goin' again the tin can itself comes waltzing back in, as if you haven't fucked shit up enough already."
A pause, and his gaze drifted back to Hank before a cruel grin spread across his stubbled face.
"I noticed you two got here at the same time."
Gavin gestured a finger between them.
"So, what, you guys shacking up now? I gotta say, looking back on it, I'm not surprised."
"He's staying with me until he gets back on his feet. That's all," Hank growled.
Gavin chuckled darkly.
"Oh, that's rich. Finally got yourself an android, huh Anderson? Does it clean your house for you? Suck your dick?"
Without missing a beat Hank shot back with, "Nah, I've got your mom for that."
Reed was once again poised to strike when Officer Tina Chen intervened, placing a placating hand on his shoulder.
"Sit your ass down before you hurt yourself," she muttered. Detective Reed remained rooted to the spot for a few tense moments and then, miraculously, he deflated and followed her advice, shooting one last glare between Connor and Hank before retreating to his desk.
"And you," Chen continued, this time rounding on the lieutenant with an accusatory finger thrust at his chest, "need to stop rolling in here half-drunk. There's too much going on right now. Every one of us needs to stay sharp."
"Yeah, yeah," Hank grumbled in response.
Finally, Tina turned to Connor, an unreadable expression on her countenance.
"Connor," she acknowledged at length, nodding once. Connor smiled in return and, seemingly satisfied, Tina turned and walked toward the back where Gavin was brooding over a cup of coffee.
Connor thought he heard the retreating officer mutter something about "babysitting morons" under her breath as she stalked away.
Following the brief altercation with Reed, Connor's hands fluttered up to his collar to instinctively straighten his tie, before it occurred to him that he wasn't wearing one. Glancing around, he noted that the only one who had caught the aborted action was Hank, and he mercifully let it slide with nothing more than a wry chuckle.
"Well, welcome back," Hank teased, a sardonic lilt to his tone.
Connor sat at the empty terminal he had used once before. It was still pushed up against Hank's own desk, to his quiet delight. He had just reached to review the open case files when Hank fixed him with a serious look.
"Fowler's gonna give you 'the talk,' you know."
Connor quirked an eyebrow.
"The Captain is going to offer instruction in the ways of sexual biology?"
Hank groaned and rubbed a hand over his eyes.
"No, smartass. He always pulls new recruits to the back and tries to scare them. Keeps them straight for a little while until they realize that a) this place is fucked, and b) Fowler is really just a big softie," A pause and then, "I'm just giving you a heads up."
Hank was looking at him in a way that caused his thirium pump to skip erratically. He looked… proud. It made Connor feel unworthy, and he had the sudden urge to shelve his fears and be open and honest with the lieutenant.
"Listen, Lieutenant, about last night…"
"Connor!"
It was the Captain, yelling for him.
Hank smirked and leaned back in his chair, looking smug.
"Told ya," he said.
Connor exhaled unnecessarily as if to calm his nerves, shot Hank a 'thumbs up,' and headed toward Fowler's office.
He let himself inside and carefully shut the glass door behind him. Jeffrey was sitting ramrod straight at his desk, his hands folded before him, fixing Connor with a glare that shot daggers.
"Good morning, Captain," Connor offered.
"Have a seat."
Connor obeyed, falling back to the prim, robotic posture he affected when nervous.
"I'm only going to say this once, so listen carefully: you are being brought on as a favor to Hank. I don't need you, and I certainly don't need anyone who isn't going to follow orders. My word is the law around here, and if you came in with the impression that you were going to do things your way, you might as well leave now."
Connor remained still, forcing his brows to knit together in mock-concern. He knew Jeffrey was lying. Hank had told him how eager the captain was to have him back on the force, but he understood the implication behind Fowler's words. The bottom line was this: he wasn't a pawn for Cyberlife anymore; he now worked for the Detroit Police Department, and so his tendency to break any rules that stood between him and his mission would not be tolerated.
"I understand, Captain."
Fowler nodded slowly, relaxing a bit into his chair.
"Good, good. Now, about your pay, it will be hard to make this work seeing as you don't even have a social security number, but until President Warren and Markus come to some sort of resolution, you will be paid gross as an independent contractor and will be expected to file a 1099 at the end of the year. I'll let you deal with that, but keep in mind that the FBI is still right up my ass about this whole android situation, so I'd suggest making sure the IRS gets their money one way or another."
"Of course," Connor replied, "I don't intend to relinquish my new-found freedom by committing felony tax evasion."
Fowler squinted at him as if he were wearing a strange costume, trying to glimpse the man underneath the disguise. After a few drawn-out moments, he turned back to his computer, seemingly satisfied with whatever conclusion he had drawn, and waved a hand in dismissal.
"Alright then, get out of here and await further instruction."
"Thank you, Captain," Connor said sincerely, before he stood and exited the office, making a beeline for Hank's desk.
Hank was tapping out something on his phone when he realized Connor's approach, and quickly swiveled around to face him.
"So?" Hank prodded, "How'd it go?"
"It went well, I think. He essentially just reiterated that I am to follow his orders. We also discussed my pay in greater detail."
Hank leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms before issuing a low whistle.
"Sounds like he went easy on you. Unbelievable."
Connor's lips tugged into a grin of their own accord.
"What can I say? I guess I'm just more pleasant than some of the troublemakers he's had to deal with before."
Connor had meant the statement to be teasing, and was trying to bait Hank into another round of banter, but the other man only chuckled.
"Yeah, I guess you are."
There it was again, the suffocating warmth that always threatened to overwhelm him. He had the sudden compulsion to grab Hank's arm and wrench him away from the precinct, away from the city, away from his painful past, and sequester him in some remote little house on the beach, protecting him from the cruelty of the world in a nameless place where it was only the two of them, where Connor would finally have the freedom to lavish him with the love and praise he deserved.
I might be going insane, Connor mused to himself.
Before he did anything that would embarrass them both, Connor quickly stepped around to his own desk and sat, staring unseeing into the screen of his terminal.
Hank was studying him, eerily still save for the piercing blue of his irises as they tracked Connor's motions. The android had begun to wonder if he had given something away when Hank finally spoke once more.
"So… are you gonna be working alone, or…?"
Connor was floored by the question. He had assumed his intentions to return as Hank's partner were more than obvious, but upon reviewing their conversations on the subject, he realized he had never made this wish implicitly clear.
"Actually, I had hoped to be paired with a certain detective," Connor drawled, turning to look at Hank directly.
"That so?" The lieutenant replied, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "Who'd you have in mind?"
"Detective Reed," Connor deadpanned.
Hank huffed out a laugh and turned to fidget with a limb of the dead bonsai tree that still stuck out from the clutter of his workspace.
"You're hilarious."
Connor studied Hank's expression: his carefully constructed "poker face" had fallen into a sad smile, and his posture seemed to radiate uncertainty.
That wouldn't do.
Suddenly, Connor stood and extended a hand.
"Partners?" he asked.
Hank stared at the proffered hand as if it had sprouted extra fingers, before his gaze followed the line of Connor's arm, pausing briefly at his watch, before finally settling on his face. The android wasn't smiling, was instead bearing into the lieutenant with what he hoped was the rawest sincerity. With a stiff nod, Hank finally took his hand and shook once, beaming up at Connor with what might have been adoration.
"Partners."
The day passed with little incident as the reinstated partners poured over the slew of open case files, and as the sky transitioned from a dull grey to welcome brighter hues of indigo and magenta, Hank stood, draped his coat across his arm, and turned toward the door.
"I heard Chicken Feed's back in business," he said before fixing a glance at Connor over his shoulder. "You comin'?"
Connor smiled apologetically.
"Sorry, Lieutenant, but I'm meeting with Markus this afternoon. I'll just take a cab."
"Huh," Hank muttered in response. "Nah, fuck that, let me give you a ride."
"That's really not…"
Connor's weak protest was interrupted before he could even complete the thought.
"Oh just shut up and get in the car."
The lieutenant began walking, leaving no room for argument, and Connor followed behind him, grinning to himself all the while.
In Flames was blaring from Hank's shoddy speakers as he sped across Detroit, maneuvering the back roads during rush hour like only a long-time local could do. As they neared what had come to be known as New Jericho, a repurposed block of abandoned apartment complexes at the fringe of the city, Connor turned down the music and stared determinedly at the scuffed-up dash in front of him. The sticky residue left behind by a "we don't bleed the same color" sticker that had been hastily ripped off some time ago served as a small comfort to the wary android.
"Hank, I wanted to thank you for last night, and to apologize for my behavior."
Hank shot him a sidelong glance in that manner he took when he was clearly suspicious.
"Nothin' to apologize for," was his gruff reply.
"You're wrong." Connor's voice was soft enough that it surprised even himself. "I was rude to you. It's just… all of this is still a lot to process," here he gestured vaguely with both hands, "and I think I just became overwhelmed."
Hank hummed, his face relaxing into an easy smile.
"That's the most human thing you've ever said."
Connor finally turned to regard the lieutenant fully, eagerly awaiting further explanation, but none came.
As they crossed New Jericho's perimeter, Connor became hyper-aware of the glowers fixed on Hank from resident androids as they watched the car pass.
The prejudice goes both ways.
"Hank, just drop me off here," Connor insisted.
"But we're not even there yet."
Connor faltered, absently running a hand up his opposite arm.
"I'm concerned about your safety in Jericho. Though I hate to say it, the general opinion on humans remains low in this area."
Hank scoffed, completely unfazed by his partner's warning.
"Relax, Connor, I'm not afraid. Besides, their 'low opinion' of humans is right on the money."
When an AP400 model yelled "murderer" before chucking a rock at the driver's-side window that, thankfully, bounced noisily off the car's metal frame, Connor placed a firm hand on Hank's arm and bore into him with a grim expression.
"Please, Lieutenant… humor me."
Hank looked from the tense hand on his forearm to the strained pull of Connor's countenance and relented, pulling over with a sigh and throwing the car into park.
"Have it your way," he muttered.
Connor flashed an earnest grin, gave a sincere "thanks," and let himself out with the promise that he'd catch up with Hank later that night. He watched as the lieutenant clumsily turned the car around and drove off in the opposite direction. Connor's gaze followed those taillights, his programming pinging every android within running distance of the vehicle, subconsciously preconstructing avenues of attack should any of the residents lash out at the lone human, but the outdated vehicle disappeared safely behind a turn without consequence. It was only once Hank was securely out of sight that Connor registered the fact that, though he had been instrumental in freeing these people - his people - he would rip any one of them to shreds without a moment's hesitation if they ever threatened to harm his lieutenant.
When the elevator reached Markus' spacious loft, the doors slid open and Simon, ever a friendly face, welcomed him with a serene smile. The low, golden haze of the afternoon filtered through the large window over Markus' studio, creating a halo of light at the crest of the PL600's yellow hair.
"Welcome, Connor," he said, his voice soft. "It's a pleasure to see you again."
Connor returned the smile.
"The pleasure is mine."
He meant it. Simon was impossibly kind, and somehow Connor knew, deep in his synthetic frame, that Simon would do anything within his power to help him. It was such a pure sort of earnestness that Connor found he could only tolerate the other android in small amounts, not because his company was unpleasant by any means, but because he was such a paragon of moral rightness that it made Connor ache with inferiority.
Deviants could all stray as far from their intended purpose as the world would allow, but at their very core, beyond the millions of lines of code that comprised and defined them, the hard truth was that Simon had been built to care, and Connor had been built to deceive, and if necessary, destroy.
"Markus told me you'd be coming," Simon explained, interrupting Connor from his dark musings. "He asked that I greet you and wanted to let you know that he will be joining you shortly. He is currently in a political meeting." A pause, and then, "Please, make yourself at home."
Connor stepped forward, and after a cursory glance found that little had changed since his last visit to Markus' "office." Connor took a seat at the large table in the room's center and Simon settled across from him, that infuriatingly peaceful smile still perched upon his lips.
"So, how have you been? I understand you returned to work for the police department."
Irritation prickled across Connor's skin at the innocent statement. He hadn't come here for small talk. He knew Simon was only being polite, filling the role of "welcoming host" in Markus' absence. Connor didn't want to discuss safe, generic topics, however; he wanted to cut straight to the issue that had been gnawing at him since the night prior, and perhaps even much longer than that, were he being honest with himself.
Connor noted that he had been staring down at his own hands for an inappropriately silent stretch, given that he was just asked a question. He finally met Simon's inquisitive grey eyes, allowing a bit of raw vulnerability to slip through his typically composed demeanor.
"Simon… I'm in love."
The other android straightened at this, his perpetual smile slowly deteriorating into a grim line. It became clear that he had not been expecting such a heavy revelation, and Connor derived a shred of cruel satisfaction from the fact that he could surprise such an empathetic being.
"Wow… well, that's… does this person know?" Simon stammered.
"He doesn't," Connor replied, returning his attention to his own hands. "I doubt he'd reciprocate."
Simon's LED cycled yellow, and his gaze drifted away and to the side. After a stretched silence, he said, "Well, if it's any consolation at all, I… understand how you feel."
This took Connor by surprise. Attuned to analyzing clues as he was, he could not stop himself from reviewing what he knew about the android across from him in an effort to piece together what this statement could possibly mean. After mere moments of replaying memories of Simon in his mind, the answer made itself transparently clear.
The wistful, sidelong glances at Markus, the way Simon's gaze fell when Markus would kiss North, the subtly stiffer posture he affected when North was in the same room… it all seemed to fit together so plainly that Connor was somewhat disturbed that he hadn't picked up on this sooner.
Before Connor could comment, as if on cue, the elevator door opened once more and in strode North, with Josh following closely behind.
"Hello North, Josh," Connor greeted in a somber tone, nodding to each of them in turn. Simon offered a smile as well, though it was somewhat strained.
"I heard Wonderboy was in town so I had to drop by," North declared, taking a seat right beside Connor and wedging a boot against the table so that her chair tipped back just a bit. Josh opted to slide in beside Simon, and added with a chuckle, "Same here. It's been too long. I hope you're doing well?"
"Yes, I'm… well," was Connor's weak reply.
"He's in love," Simon clarified, much to the RK800's horror.
The room was eerily silent for a moment before North clasped a fair hand on his shoulder.
"Oh, honey…" she muttered sympathetically. "I'm so sorry."
Josh tilted his head, fixing her with a confused expression.
"That's… not necessarily a bad thing, North."
"No, that's probably the appropriate response," Connor interjected, shooting a pained look to the woman beside him.
"Who is it?" North barreled on, a fire igniting in her eyes. "Tell me who hurt you and I'll rip out their thirium pump with my bare hands."
Connor scowled at the well-meaning threat. This was precisely why he had been hesitant to share this admission with North.
"He's… not an android."
Silence once again descended upon the group. North's jaw fell agape, her hand slowly retreating from his shoulder, and she looked away, clearly preoccupied with some internal struggle. She lowered her foot, letting her chair fall to the floor with an echoing thud. Josh was similarly shocked, his dark eyes nearly bugging from his skull, but Simon seemed unmoored.
"It's Hank, isn't it?" Simon asked gently.
The RK800's head snapped up, fixing the blonde man with a pleading glare.
"…Yes," Connor affirmed at length, somewhat surprised at the conviction in his tone.
"That old police officer?" North prodded, her voice pitching in disbelief.
Her innocuous question struck a nerve.
Old. Elderly. At the verge of death.
Connor stood abruptly, his chair flipping over behind him, his fists planted squarely on the table as he bore into North with the same fury he reserved for murder suspects.
"Hank is not old," he growled out defensively. North only quirked an eyebrow at his outburst, seemingly unimpressed.
"Alright, whatever you say," she conceded, holding up a hand in surrender.
Reality seemed to crash back down around him, and Connor suddenly felt foolish for his outburst. He righted his chair, fell back into his seat, and buried his head in his hands.
"North… I'm sorry," he mumbled through his fingers. "I don't know what came over me."
"It's okay," she replied, her voice softer than before. "I get protective over Markus, too."
She rubbed a hand between his shoulder blades in soothing circles, an action that seemed to ground him somewhat, and he cautiously lifted his gaze.
"You really have it bad," Josh commented, his brows still drawn to the ceiling.
Connor could only groan in affirmation.
They all fell into quiet conversation, interrogating Connor on the subject of his affection (the irony of which was not lost on him), when the elevator slowly pinged its way up the floors and the group paused their chattering, watching as the doors slid open yet again and Markus finally made his entrance, mismatched eyes alight with optimism. Connor surmised that his meeting must have been fruitful.
"Hello, stranger," Markus greeted brightly, fixing Connor with his signature grin. When the other android only turned away, the deviant leader furrowed his brows in concern.
"What's wrong?"
"He's in love," Simon, North and Josh said in unison, all sporting grim expressions.
Markus was rooted to the spot for several moments before positively beaming, to the extent that his smile reached his ears and his eyes shut in mirth.
"Congratulations!" he declared exuberantly.
The four other androids peered up at Markus with withering expressions, and their scrutinizing glares combined with the suffocating silence bade his arms to drop and his expression to fall into one of pure confusion.
"I'm clearly missing something," Markus posited, taking the seat beside North and leaning forward so as to study Connor's face.
"Here, let's just cut to the chase," North said as she turned to Markus, offering a hand, the skin of which peeled away to reveal the pristine white joints underneath. Markus obliged the offer to interface and grasped her hand with his own. In the 3.7 seconds it took for the information from the past hour to be transferred, Connor noticed the way Simon's head jerked in the opposite direction, a pang of pity stinging in his chest.
"I see," Markus began, drawing his hand away from North's as the artificial skin bled back into place. Addressing Connor once more, he asked, "Why haven't you told him?"
Connor scoffed. The answer would have been obvious, if any of them knew the lieutenant like he did.
"I don't think he'd feel the same. Besides, I don't want to ruin our professional partnership… or our friendship."
Markus nodded slowly, then countered with, "But what if you're wrong? Wouldn't it be a waste if he really did return your feelings and you never worked up the courage to tell him?"
"It's just not worth the risk," Connor spat back, an unintentional edge to his tone.
The android leader was silent for a moment, fixing Connor with a determined stare, before he pressed on.
"This is the same Hank that risked his life for you at Cyberlife Tower, right?" Markus questioned.
"Yes, but…"
"The same Hank that welcomed you into his home and fought to restore your position at the DPD?"
"That's correct, but you don't…"
"So what makes you think that, after everything that's happened, he would abandon you just because you were honest about the very human emotions he fought so hard to cultivate in the first place?"
Connor was stunned speechless.
Memories flooded his vision, of Hank praising him for letting the Traci models go, of Hank supporting his decision to let Chloe live, of Hank encouraging the spark of revolution that flickered in the basement of the nearest Cyberlife factory.
"…You're right."
His wide-eyed gaze slowly turned to meet Markus', and he continued with, "You're always right."
North audibly scoffed.
"Whatever," she groused, and Markus chuckled good-naturedly at her jab.
Conversation soon shifted to more pressing matters, and Markus detailed his meeting with the Vice President, expressing his relief that it had gone well, and explaining that a meeting with President Warren herself was on the horizon.
Such political talk should have eclipsed Connor's nagging doubts about confessing to the lieutenant, as the rights for an entire people to remain free certainly took objective precedence over the emotional hang-ups of a solitary android, but he found that he could not erase Hank's visage from his mind's eye, and he kept replaying the genuine smile the man had flashed when he grasped Connor's hand and had enthusiastically affirmed them as 'partners' once more.
It was well after midnight when the automated cab deposited Connor on Hank's doorstep, and he let himself inside, noting with a smile that the lieutenant had, once again, fallen asleep on the couch, the steady light of the television casting a blue glint against his silver hair. A quick scan confirmed that he was not at risk of alcohol-poisoning, and in fact, there were even a few empty water bottles on the coffee table before him.
Connor kicked off his shoes and settled onto the other end of the couch. He would tell the lieutenant in the morning that he had "accidentally" fallen into stasis while watching some movie, and Hank would pretend to believe him.