AN: Takes a bit more effort to edit this on than on AO3.
Connor didn't have lazy days. He was always doing something every minute of the day. His hands were always busy. If he didn't keep busy he feared he'd be bored out of his mind. Though he could just sit still in a state of dormancy… there was only so much that could entertain him in his own mind. That's why he was eager to get a job.
Then one morning he hears back from the police department.
He receives a letter, a rather outdated form of communication, but Connor bets that it was because they didn't want to tell him his results in person. When he opens the letter he isn't sure what to expect. His eyes scan the paper quickly until they reach the ending words.
With the rocky relationship between androids and humans and the controversial nature that follows, we regret to inform you that your application has been rejected.
Connor stares at the paper in front of him. The only job he felt capable of handling was no longer available to him. He knew he should move on and find other options to consider. However, he mulls over the unobtainable instead and wonders if things would be different if he were human.
"You look down," Hank says. He collapses on the couch next to Connor with a bottle of alcohol in hand. Connor regards it with a raised brow. Hank only brought out the alcohol if something troubling happened to him. "What's that you got there?"
Connor looks back at the paper in his hands and sighs.
"Nothing good," Hank notes.
"No. My application has been rejected," Connor says. Perhaps it wasn't the rejection that hurt him so bad. Maybe it was because he wouldn't be able to help Hank in the department, maybe it was because he wouldn't be able to ever become his partner again, or maybe it was something else.
"Let me see that," Hank snatches the paper from Connor's hand. It takes Hank longer to look through the paper but he eventually sees the same results that Connor had found. "Bah," Hank throws the paper over his shoulder. It floats down to the floor behind and Connor felt that he should retrieve it until Sumo catches it in his jaws. Now he'd never be able to get it back. "They don't know you like I do." Hank sniffs, "The higher-ups are corrupt enough as it is. It's probably better this way."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you're better staying here than going out there to do police work."
"I don't think you understand Hank," Connor stresses, "I was designed for investigative work. It bothers me that I can't put it to use."
"Does it really matter?" Hank takes a swig from his bottle.
Connor's answer is resolute, "Yes."
Hank wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt and then observes Connor's determined face.
"You should make your own detective agency or you could take a shot at bounty hunting."
"My own detective agency?" Connor tilts his head in his curiosity.
"Yeah," Hank answers, "Could be a private detective."
Connor considers Hank's advice carefully. The mere idea of being a private detective… pleased him… as he imagined a future of helping people without being bound to report to another. He would be his own boss. He wouldn't be able to arrest criminals, not like a certified police detective, but he would still be able to be paid to do investigative work.
"I will… think about it," Connor decides.
Hank hummed before taking another drink.
Connor watches his father drink in distaste.
"You should stop drinking," he suggests, "because you're a pretty bad drunk."
Hank flinches back in exaggerated movement and he snarks, "What? Me? No way." He points to himself while he says it all as if he were the pure picture of innocence, except Connor knew better. Hank huffs, "The day I stop drinking is the day everything is right in this world."
"So nothing is… right?" Connor asks.
Hank watches Connor and the android sees the way his gaze softens.
"Maybe a few things."