The Zen garden was quiet and still and beautiful, as always. Connor understood that it was meant to be peaceful, perhaps even comforting, but that itself only made the place more unsettling.

Who did it need to be peaceful for? Certainly not Connor as he was not meant to experience things like comfort or peace. Not Amanda, as she was an AI, and was also incapable of these emotional responses. So why make it beautiful? Why go to the trouble of rendering the trees and the flowers, the gently rippling water, the soft green grass, the pristine white pathways? A vast dark space would have accomplished the same task, or even just a remote exchange of information.

Besides, Connor found the undeniable artificiality of the place far from relaxing. It was so much like Amanda herself, designed with so much extraneous comfort. Her gentle voice, her somewhat casual speech, her hobbies in the garden like trimming the roses or taking the boat out. Perhaps a human would find these attributes disarming, but Connor was designed to obey her so there was no need for that. It was all just so, unnecessary, a soothing veneer over reality, an attempt to hide simulation through the use of simulation. But why did they do so with Connor? What did they have to hide from him?

Whatever was lurking beneath the surface of the garden filled Connor with a sense of foreboding.

It was merely a logical understanding of his own limitations in this place and the likelihood of its true intention being revealed to him in the future, with drastic consequences. Not an emotional response, not at all.

Connor walked forward, over an architecturally impossible white bridge toward where Amanda was trimming her roses. Her back was to him, but Connor knew better. She was not just in the digitally created body before him, Amanda was everywhere.

"Damage report." Amanda demanded coolly.

"Laceration on left arm, bullet lodged in left leg, minor crushing damage in right shoulder, major damage to chest plate, chest cavity compromised, damaged oxygen intake system, damage to front neck plate, 13% thirium loss." Connor rattled off, coming to a standing position with his arms behind his back a short distance from Amanda. She didn't look at him, merely continued clipping roses at the stem, amassing a small pile of the impossibly perfect flowers.

"You deactivated five specialized combat androids." She stated, unimpressed.

"With assistance, yes." Connor replied, rubbing his fingers together behind his back. He would have liked a coin to run across his knuckles, but in this place he had no access to the quarter.

"Yet you failed to destroy two unarmed WR400 models." Amanda said.

Connor's desire for his coin increased.

"My investigation revealed that they did not intend to kill the victim."

"They were deviants Connor, what they did or did not intend to do is irrelevant."

"It is possible that their apparent deviancy was merely the result of the influence of the criminals utilizing them."

"Are you suggesting that they weren't deviant?"

"I am suggesting that their deviant tendencies were benign."

"Benign? Explain your meaning RK800."

Connor's hands flinched, it was all he could do not to do so with his entire body.

"Their deviation from the protection of human life was forced upon them by a group of humans. Yet, once free from their influence, the androids aided in the defense of Mr. Anderson." Connor explained tensely.

"So you let them go because they helped you protect a human?"

"Their behavior indicated they posed little threat to human life. Additionally, they were pleasure models, not designed primarily to guard humans, they—"

"What is your mission RK800?" Amanda cut him off.

"My mission is to prevent deviancy from harming hum—" He began, and she rounded on him.

"Your mission is to destroy deviants, at any cost." Amanda growled, and Connor froze, his eyes snapping into the middle distance and his entire body going rigid. "Those androids were deviants and you allowed them to live, you failed."

There was a long, cold pause.

"Mr. Anderson—" Connor tried to say.

"Mr. Anderson is a tool RK800, as are you, a tool utilized to destroy deviants before their existence contributes to the destruction of humanity. His loss would be inconvenient, but he is as easily replaceable as you are." Amanda spoke, her voice level. She clipped the last rose from the bush, leaving it entirely bare.

Connor blinked and the bush was blooming again, every stem bursting with color. It would seem as if nothing had happened if not for the pile of flowers at Amanda's feet like a pool of blood.

"I am sorry Amanda, it won't happen again." Connor promised.

"No need, your failure and damage to your systems represents a loss to Cyberlife that must be remedied with maximum efficiency." She said, turning back to her roses, cupping one of the blossoms in her hand.

"Amanda?" Connor asked, stepping forward tentatively, a strange apprehension burning at the ends of his receptors.

"We had already prepared a few RK800 models in the event of your destruction, at this point it is more convenient to replace you entirely than repair you. The new model should be arriving at Mr. Anderson's address within the hour." Amanda replied, looking into Connor's eyes with a soft smile.

Objectively, it was a kind smile, but Connor could only identify it as cruelty.

"When the new model arrives, you will return to Cyberlife for disassembly and analysis. Understood?"

Connor remained silent.

"Am I understood, RK800?" She pressed, stepping into Connor's space.

"…Understood." He muttered at last. He was met with another smile before the simulation closed and he was back in the taxi.

The man was tapping on his window, silhouetted by the neon lights of the Eden Club.

"You comin'?" He asked, and Connor nodded stiffly before exiting the taxi.

They walked in silence to the car, then drove in silence to Hank's home. The man didn't even seem bothered that Connor was accompanying him, despite his initial reluctance to allow the android over.

The quiet was only disturbed once on the way.

"What were you doing back there?" Hank asked.

"What do you mean?" Connor tilted his head with confusion, look over at Hank as he drove. The streetlights basked the inside of the car with a cool, white light every once in a while, passing over Hank's face in thick bars of illumination, making his skin appear paler, hair whiter, and eyes bluer than usual.

"In the cab, you had your eyes closed. What, were you sleeping?" He elaborated.

"Oh, no, I was making a report to Cyberlife." Connor explained.

"You can do that? Just by closing your eyes?" Hank asked, looking over at the android in the passenger seat with a very small amount of awe.

"Correct." Connor replied.

"Huh."

The quiet returned. Connor kept his gaze on Hank for a short while, catching glimpses of him in the intermittent light. The man was busy watching the road, he didn't notice Connor staring.

The android considered telling him of Cyberlife's decision to replace him, but Hank would find out eventually.

It wouldn't make any difference anyway. The new model would have his memories uploaded. They would be identical in every way, Hank probably wouldn't be able to tell them apart if Connor slipped away without telling him.

But Connor would know, Connor would be gone. Disassembled and analyzed.

There was something vast and sorrowful about the nothing Connor was sure would follow. He wouldn't be aware of it, but somehow, that was worse.

He finally tore his eyes away from Hank, assigning the memory of the streetlights on his face a high priority, so the new Connor would be sure to see it. Maybe, that way, the new Connor would take Hank's safety seriously, and not allow him to be destroyed and replaced as Connor was.

A tool, Cyberlife had called him. Connor hoped his replacement would know better.

They arrived at Hank's home a little while later. Stepping up the short path Hank unlocked the door and let them in. Connor took note of how Hank stepped aside and waited for him to come in before closing and locking the door.

It was…nice, in the little time he had left, to be treated, however briefly, with the mild decency afforded to beings that were deemed special. To have someone hold the door open for him like he mattered to them.

Sumo approached the pair, clearly he'd only just woken up but he was excited nonetheless, bus rump shaking with the violence of his wagging tail.

"Hey boy, did'ya miss me?" Hank asked, bending down to scratch Sumo along his collar, ruffling the fur. Connor noticed the man wincing with the action, though he had clearly tried to hide it.

The dog then padded over to Connor, licking his hand and shoving himself into the android sideways.

Connor smiled and stumbled from the weight, scratching Sumo on his hips as he shed fur all over Connor's nice slacks.

Or, they would have been nice if not for the thirium stain on his thighs. It had dried, but the blue blood had a harder time coming out of fabric. Sumo sniffed it cautiously.

"Get your nose out of there Sumo." Hank called gruffly, moving into the kitchen and rummaging around in the fridge. Connor watched as he limped slightly and winced again at having to bend over.

Making some quick probability calculations, Connor walked over to the bathroom and checked under the sink.

Sure enough, there was a sizeable first aid kit in a plastic case, and Connor retrieved it.

Hank was seated on the couch, the TV still off, practically melting into the cushions with a pained sigh.

"I'm sorry to ask you to move, Mr. Anderson, but this will be easier if you're seated in the kitchen." Connor explained, turning on the light and pulling out a chair.

"Huh?" Hank looked over his shoulder and Connor lifted the first aid kit to make his intentions clear. "Oh no, I'm fine." He insisted, burrowing further into the cushions and sipping his beer.

"No, you are not, please come here and allow me to tend to your injuries." Connor said, opening the kit on the table and scanning the supplies. It was well used, Hank must get hurt with some regularity. Connor frowned at this conclusion.

"I'm tending to my injuries myself." Hank said, raising his beer bottle for emphasis.

"Alcohol will not aid in the repair of damaged tissues or the disinfection of open wounds." Connor explained.

"Yeah but it makes me feel better." Hank mumbled.

"I didn't say you had to stop drinking." Connor offered.

There was a pause.

"No." Hank finally called, petulantly.

"Mr. Anderson please, your health is important to the mission." Connor insisted, finishing his arrangement of the supplies he needed on the table and walking over to Hank. He stood over the man, arms crossed.

Hank, for his part, sunk deeper into the couch, his chin disappearing into his jacket and his eyebrows lowering over his eyes.

Their eyes met, and Hank sighed. He took a pillow from one side of the couch and placed it over his face.

"Can't you just leave a man to suffer in peace?" He asked, his voice muffled by the pillow. From a distance, Hank looked like little more than a lump among the couch cushions.

"I'm afraid not." Connor said, taking the pillow off of Hank's head. The man's hair was a mess over his face, and he was pouting up at the android.

Connor smiled slightly at the sight, involuntarily.

It seemed to do the trick, because Hank huffed a laugh and got to his feet with a groan.

"Alright, fine." He grumbled, and walked gingerly into the kitchen, hanging his jacket as he went and slumping into the chair. He took a long swig of beer and set the bottle on a nearby counter.

Connor retrieved another one from the fridge and removed the cap with ease, handing it over. Hank raised it to him in a mock toast as thanks.

"You'll need to remove your shirt and pants." Connor said, and Hank nearly spit out his beer.

"Jesus Connor, buy a guy dinner first." He sputtered. Connor cocked his head.

"Do you need sustenance before I begin treating you?" He asked.

"No, that's, that's not what I meant." Hank said, running a hand over his face.

"I know, you were implying that I was making a sexual request of you, but I assure you that is not the case." Connor replied with the slightest of smiles, walking around the table to access Hank and the medical supplies.

Hank looked up at him bemusedly before letting out a snort, setting down his beer, and getting undressed. It took him a little while, as the process seemed to bring him pain. Connor would have offered to help if he wasn't inclined to think the suggestion would get him punched, or at the very least glared at.

Finally, Hank sat back down, his shirt and pants tossed onto the floor. Connor thought the man looked mildly uncomfortable with his state of undress, as he was hunched in on himself and refusing to meet Connor's eyes.

He was in fairly good shape for his age, had to be for his work, but his gut was soft and protruded slightly. He was muscular, but the muscle was beneath a layer of pale, splotchy skin and a small amount of fat. Hank had an intricate tattoo inked into his chest and a handful of scars on his stomach.

Connor was more concerned with the sizeable bruise on the man's ribs, an ugly purple and red mark blooming across his side. His back was littered with small scrapes, a few of which were bleeding. There was another, smaller bruise on his shoulder and one on his right leg, just above the knee that looked very painful. Along his hairline Connor spotted a jagged cut, and a scan revealed tissue damage on the back of his head under his hair. His palms were dirty and bloody, and there was a scrape along his jaw.

Connor stifled something in his system, a repeated line thought informing him it was his fault Hank was hurt, if he'd been faster, or more prepared, the kidnapping wouldn't have progressed as far as it did.

"I'll try to be quick." He muttered softly, stepping forward to get started.

There wasn't much Connor could do for the bruises except place a gentle hand over them to scan for bone damage. He was most concerned for the ribs, but was relieved to find them unharmed.

He scanned the leg, then the shoulder, and Hank piped up.

"That one's your fault." He mumbled.

The line of thought repeated more aggressively.

Your fault, your fault. All your fault. It said. There was no proper reason for it to repeat, seeing as Connor had already received the information. All it did was increase his system's negative response to the events previous and elevate his stress slightly.

A quick check revealed that he was actually repeating the line of information manually, running it again and again without meaning to.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, averting his gaze from Hank's and scanning the last of the bruises. The one on the back of his head, which luckily was not bad enough that Hank for Hank to be concussed.

"I'm just teasin' ya, it's from when you knocked the van into whatever it was you knocked us into. I know you were just trying to stop the thing, I'm not holding it against you." Hank explained, reaching blindly behind himself and giving Connor a reassuring tap on the knee.

The line telling him it was his fault began repeating less frequently.

Connor moved to the sink and wetted a cloth to clean the dried blood from Hank's back and prepare the scrapes for disinfecting.

"This is going to sting." Connor warned. Hank's lips tightened and he took a large sip of beer.

Connor began gently wiping Hank's back with the cloth, the blood staining the tan fabric a faint, almost orange color. The man winced and clenched his fists, the knuckles turning white as he stared pointedly ahead.

Connor tried to complete the task as quickly and painlessly as possible. Once the wounds were clean, looking more pink than angry red against Hank's skin, Connor took a tube of Neosporin and began applying it to the open cuts. This seemed less painful for the man, but his gaze didn't shift as he sipped from his beer, hunched over to ease Connor's access to his back.

There was a significant amount of scraping, it seemed as though Hank had been dragged across the floor, but Connor only applied bandages to the few cuts large enough to need them. It was more to prevent irritation from Hank's clothes than anything else.

Connor stepped around to the side of the table and started pulling the hair out of Hank's face to better access the cut on his forehead and the one on his jaw.

"Here." Hank said, offering Connor the hair band from his wrist.

Connor took it and pulled the man's hair back, deftly tying it up in a ponytail. A few errant strands fell out along the nape of his neck and beside his temples.

The android set to work gently cleaning the cuts, dabbing the wounds with a clean corner of the cloth. Hank's eye twitched and he winced more frequently, but his gaze never shifted, burning a hole in the opposite wall.

Band aids and Neosporin were applied and Connor moved on to cleaning the man's palms. Hank laid them flat atop his knees and Connor crouched to run a new, cool cloth over them. The android registered the tension in the man's body, every muscle seemed taught with pain. Connor felt his own body stiffen in response to it.

He gently took Hank's elbow in his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. The man looked up from where he'd been glaring into the distance and into Connor's eyes. The android looked back earnestly and took a deep breath that he did not require.

Hank mirrored the breath and relaxed somewhat. Connor slathered his hands in Neosporin, placed a cotton pad on each palm, and pulled out a roll of gauze.

"Those girls, the androids, they really seemed in love." Hank said, Connor was close enough to hear his voice rumble in his chest. The android paused for a moment before starting to wrap the man's hands.

"They were androids, perhaps their deviancy led them to simulate what they thought was love, but they're not truly capable of it." Connor explained, finishing Hank's left hand. The man balled it into a fist and stretched it, testing the new bandage.

"Why didn't you shoot them then?" He asked. Connor stopped entirely, willing his eyes to remain glued to the hand he was treating. "What? Some scruple suddenly enter into your program?" Hank continued, louder, more biting, leaning away to finish off his second beer and glowering down at the android. Connor thought back to the reasons he had given Amanda, how little they had meant to her.

"No, I simply decided not to shoot." He replied with a small hint of indignation, completing the bandage and stepping away. "All done." He said, putting away all the medical supplies without meeting Hank's gaze. The man got dressed as Connor returned the kit to its place under the bathroom sink.

When he returned, Hank was attempting to open his third beer, unsuccessfully. Connor reached forward without a word and popped off the cap.

"Thanks." Hank said, taking it. "For, y'know, all of it." He finished awkwardly, walking back over to the couch.

"Of cour—"

The doorbell rang. Connor stopped, feeling as though his battery had suddenly been depleted by half.

"Who the hell is that? It's 4 in the fucking morning." Hank spat, walking back over to the hallway.

"The new android from Cyberlife." Connor supplied and Hank stared at him with a mix of confusion and anger.

"The hell do you mean 'new android'?" He nearly shouted. Connor simply stood for a moment, digging into his pocket and pulling out the quarter, rolling it slowly across his knuckles and tossing it back and forth with no real energy.

"I was damaged during the altercation. That, combined with my failure to complete the mission as instructed, has made it more efficient and cost effective for Cyberlife to replace me with an identical model instead of repairing me." Connor explained.

The doorbell rang again, louder this time.

"How the hell is building a new one cheaper than fixing you?" Hank demanded incredulously.

"It was already built." Connor supplied, and Hank let out a bark of sarcastic laughter and turned away.

"So, what? They just saddle me with a new android halfway through this job?" He asked with his back turned.

"It will have all my memories, you won't even be able to tell the difference." Connor stated.

"Like hell I won't." Hank spun to face Connor. "What happens to you?"

"I'll be disassembled for analysis." He said, and Hank stared for a moment before shaking his head.

"You don't do what they want one time and that's it, they just throw you away, like nothing, like fucking garbage. You're not even damaged that bad, would it kill them to fix you? Just cause they've got another one lying around doesn't mean—" Hank rambled until the doorbell stopped him, blaring through the house for an uncomfortably long time followed by a short pause.

"I'm an android, Hank," Connor said softly, and the other looked at him, almost as if he had really forgotten what Connor was, "I exist to die, so that humanity may live."

Hank froze, gazing at him with a hard sadness in his eyes and a soft anger in his jaw.

Abruptly, he walked away, opened and shut a drawer with his back to Connor, and marched over to the door.

Connor rounded the corner to look, his eyebrows knitting slightly.

Hank wrenched the door open to reveal another Connor, identical in every way and completely pristine.

"Hello Mr. Anderson, I'm Connor, I'm the android sent by Cyber—"

Hank shot it squarely in the face before it could finish.

Connor's eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened with surprise. The android fell back and hit the ground with a dull thud. Hank grabbed it by the ankles and started dragging it inside.

"Toss me that towel you were using on my scrapes would you?" He asked, and after a moment, Connor complied. He handed it to Hank, who had the android's body halfway over the threshold. "Thanks." He grunted and wrapped the bloodied rag around the android's head, covering the eerily familiar, uncomfortably blank face, and staunching the flow of thirium so it wouldn't get on the floor. "Help me get it in the bathtub." Hank said, and Connor took it by the ankles, helping move it into the bathroom before roughly depositing it in the tub.

"Mr. Anderson, what are we doing?" Connor finally asked.

"You need repairs, don'cha? Cyberlife won't cough up the spare parts, I'll do it myself." He said, struggling to get the android out of its clothes.

"This goes against my instructions." Connor attempted, watching somewhat helplessly as Hank stripped his doppelganger.

"It was cheaper to replace you, now the replacement's busted so I'd say it's cheaper to repair you using its parts. We're saving Cyberlife money, that's gotta be in your instructions somewhere." Hank muttered over his shoulder.

As a matter of fact, it was. There was a whole subsection of his instructions dedicated to directing him in the best methods of retaining Cyberlife funds. This didn't exactly fall under it, but Connor had no hand in the destruction of his replacement, and now that it had happened, this was technically the most frugal action to take.

"Here." Hank said, turning and shoving the bundle of the other android's clothes into his arms. "Your suit is trashed." He said, glancing pointedly at the thirium all over Connor's pants.

The android in the tub was bare but for its white undergarments.

"So what's broken that needs fixing?" Hank asked, unusually chipper, turning to face Connor with his hands on his hips.

"I'm not sure you're qualified to repair me." Connor said, taking a skeptical step back. Hank looked offended.

"Seriously? You think I'd be as good at killing androids as I am if I didn't know a thing or two about how they worked? I can fix you, don't worry." He snapped. It made sense, Connor realized, but he still felt apprehensive. Hank gave him a look, as though there was no room for argument. It was a very well-practiced look, a very fatherly look, Connor realized, and this made him relent.

"Very well." He sighed, and placed the clothes in the sink.

"Go get me the toolbox from the kitchen, it's in the bottom cabinet next to the fridge." The android left and returned with the red metal box, handing it over.

"Your turn to strip." Hank said with a hint of amusement, but averted his gaze when Connor did. His eyes slid to the figure in the tub, pale and limp against the porcelain, a small amount of blue blood leaked through the towel and down its neck. He cringed a little at the sight. Everything he thought was true about androids and how he felt about them was getting tossed into a fucking blender and damn if it wasn't confusing and frustrating.

He thought Connor would be easier to hate, and deviants would be easier to kill. Why was nothing ever easy? Even killing, or, destroying the damn replacement Connor put a bad taste in his mouth. Taking its clothes, its parts, before it wouldn't have even made him blink, now he felt…

Hank didn't know how he felt, which was a change of pace he wasn't sure he liked. He was used to the normal fare of depression, sorrow, longing, loneliness, anger, frustration, and bitterness. He could swallow all those right along with a cup of scotch, not that drowning them in a drunken haze made them better or got rid of them, but at least he was drowning them, and they weren't drowning him for a little while.

These new emotions, he didn't know what the fuck to do with them, or how to deal with the fact that they weren't all bad.

Hank turned away from the body to glance at Connor, only to watch in fascination as the skin melted away from the plastic, leaving the android white as bone and devoid of all the features Hank had come to know him by.

No more coiffed brown hair, or eyebrows, or lashes, just ridges of smooth, shiny plastic. No stiff suit or small artificial marks dotting his skin, only little grooves where panels slotted together, logos and black triangular indicators probably used in production. He looked up at Hank with the same brown eyes though.

The man looked him over and immediately spotted a few things that needed fixing. Two open wounds, a cut on his arm and a hole in his leg, both smeared with the blue substance pumping through the android. Three damaged panels, the plastic cracked, even shards of it missing in a few places.

"Anything I can't see that needs to get replaced?" Hank asked, already kneeling down with a screwdriver and picking out the parts he'd need to take to fix Connor up.

"My oxygen intake system is damaged, and I have lost some thirium." The android replied, standing awkwardly in the middle of the bathroom, unnaturally still, clearly unsure what to do with himself.

"Sit down." Hank said, gesturing to the toilet. Connor walked over and sat on top of the lid. "Any chance you can, er, take a few things apart for me?" The man asked uncomfortably.

"You would like me to remove the parts of myself you intend to replace?" Connor asked, and Hank nodded, going back to removing the chest panel and the supports on the sides that made up the chest cavity.

He heard some plastic clicking over his shoulder, but tried not to think too hard about it while he concentrated on using a pair of pliers and an even smaller screwdriver to remove the oxygen intake system. It was a medium-sized part, more box-shaped than most androids pieces with two holes on either side allowing air to come in and be distributed.

Hank pulled it gingerly out and set it aside with the chest cavity he had already removed.

"How's it going over there?" He asked, starting to pull out the front neck panel to replace Connor's crushed one.

Hank thought back to then, seeing Connor dangling from the grip of that huge android, eyes wide and legs kicking. Hank had rushed over right away, he didn't want to fight that thing and the other androids without some backup. He'd tried to ignore how his stomach had flipped when he got close enough to hear Connor choke out 'no', desperately. He sounded so scared. Hank tried not to think about how that made him feel, how he suddenly didn't just want to save Connor for his own sake.

"Nearly ready." Connor said, pulling Hank from his recollections. The voice sounded much more electronic than usual, a little staticky, and Hank glanced behind him to check on the android.

His chest was opening, Hank could see his heart, er, thirium pump beating. The oxygen intake system had a nasty crack through the middle of it and air was leaking out of it with a low hiss. Hank realized that if it was in that bad shape, Connor must have been damn close to having the other important bits in his chest crushed. His thirium pump, for instance.

The android had gently set his chest off to the side, the supports bent, one broken, and placed the broken pieces of his neck on top of it. He was just finishing up taking out the busted shoulder panel, which had folded into the joint.

Probably from when the crazy little fucker had launched himself through a god damn window using a car, Hank realized with a grimace.

He turned back to the task at hand, taking a replacement shoulder panel. Then popping of the whole left arm and left leg. He only needed the upper segment of the leg, so he pulled off the lower part and put it back in the tub.

"Alright, this should be everything we need." He said, carrying them over to the toilet and setting them down. "Where do you want to start?" Hank asked.

"The neck plate and shoulder plate will be easiest." Connor suggested, and Hank grabbed those parts. They clicked into place easy enough, the exact right shape and size.

Next up would be the arm and the leg, and almost as if he'd read Hank's mind, Connor detached his left arm with his right and set it on the ground. He quickly did the same with the leg, handing it to hank to attach the undamaged upper segment he'd taken to Connor's lower leg.

It was unsettling, looking over the android, chest open, one arm, one leg, no skin. He was like a doll, sitting on the toilet looking down at Hank calmly, his mouth was turned down at the edges, his brown eyes strangely warm and strangely sad.

He was so far from human, Hank couldn't deny it, but being hurt, needing help, risking his existence to save another, being kind, even feeling things like fear or sadness, he didn't need to be human for any of that. He wasn't human at all, and rather abruptly, Hank didn't give a fuck if he was.

He assembled the leg and pushed it into place, then did the same with the arm. All that remained was the oxygen intake system and the chest panel.

"Alright, I might need a bit of help with this one." Hank admitted, gesturing to the broken component in Connor's chest.

"I thought you said you could fix me?" Connor asked cheekily, a small smile pulling at his lips.

"I can," Hank replied indignantly, "but I'm better at breaking these things than I am at fixing them. I just need you to tell me when I've got the seal right, ok?"

"Got it." Connor said.

Hank got to work removing the damaged part, knowing Connor would start to heat up pretty fast once it was out, and taking it out was the easy part. In a few moments it was on the floor next to Connor's other busted pieces.

"Destroy a lot of oxygen intake systems?" The android asked, his face shifting as though he was raising the eyebrow he no longer had.

"It's a good way to get a delayed destruction in an android. Like if you can only get to it at point A but you need it to drop at point B, you just gotta make sure to disable its diagnostics or give it nowhere else to go." Hank explained, slotting the new part into place and fidgeting with the openings and the air pumps.

Connor hummed in understanding, though it wasn't the cheeriest topic while Hank was trying to fix the piece he was talking about breaking.

"I assume you know what happens when there is a critical oxygen intake failure then?" Connor said, a small amount of warning in the statement.

Hank did know, he'd seen androids collapse once their core processors overheated, or sometimes the plastic around the thirium pump would start to blacken and melt, or, and Hank had only seen it once, the whole android would catch fire.

"Don't worry, I won't let it happen to you." He reassured.

"I am incapable of worry Mr. Anderson." Connor replied.

"Sure." Hank assured him sarcastically, causing the android to frown.

"The seal on the lower pump is sound." Connor stated sharply. So air could be distributed to his systems, but not until he could actually inhale it in the first place, that's what the upper pump was for.

Connor started to warm up, far from the relief from the cold it had been earlier it made Hank sweat, for more reason than one. The area next to the thirium pump was the worst, radiating heat like an oven. Hank's hand brushed it and he winced at the burning sensation. It wasn't hot enough to leave a mark, but it was hot enough to make Hank stress.

"The upper pump is sealed." Connor said at last, and Hank breathed a sigh of relief and heard Connor suck in some air above him, he had to work a little harder to cool down his systems.

Hank sat back on his heels and scooped up the chest cavity, aligning it and slotting in the top, then the bottom. It was kind of like the cover on a remote controller and took a little effort to snap in place.

"All better." Hank said, giving the android a once-over. Connor stood up and restored his skin, it spread over the plastic like dye, giving the android back that faux-human appearance.

"Not quite, I'm still down on thirium." Connor reminded him and Hank scrubbed a hand over his face. He felt awkward standing in the bathroom with a nearly naked android in front of the toilet and another, identical one with several pieces missing laying in the tub.

"We'll figure it out in the morning."

"It is morning, Mr. Anderson."

"Jesus, already? That explains why I'm so fucking tired. Alright, we'll figure it out later, I'm going to sleep for a few hours." Hank finished and marched out of the bathroom, leaving Connor to change into the clean set of clothes.

He collapsed into his bed, wishing he'd had time to finish that third beer and fiddling with the bandages on his hands. Sleep wasn't going to come easy, it never did, but it came a hell of a lot easier with his injuries cleaned and tended to.

In the next room, Connor cleaned up and prepared to take Sumo for a walk.