The first day back on the job for the two detectives had been less than stellar as the duo were greeted by a cascade of sympathetic and empathetic officers who couldn't help but express their sorrow over the loss of Lucas. Their intentions were meant to be supportive as all they wanted to make sure the grieving family was actually ready to return to work, but it was getting unintentionally annoying. During their absences, Hank and Connor's desks had been covered in sympathy cards, a few flowers of various types all in various stages of bloom, and even a few small packages of candy - some chocolate and some Thirium based - had been left behind as kind gifts for the detectives to receive upon their return.
After being bombarded with smothering kindness for a few hours from the entire bullpen, the duo was almost relieved to get a report of anti-android gang getting into a turf war with a pro-android protest group downtown. Ready to take their leave of the desks, even after Connor carefully collected each card and placed them in the bottom drawer of his desk to be taken care of later, the two detectives focused entirely on the case and push their personal grieving period aside to be handled more privately back home.
"I've never seen a gang-war before." Connor stated somewhat blandly as he cybernetically monitored police broadcasts for any and all updates on the battle actively taking place four blocks away. The streets were relatively deserted, but the closer they got to the chaos the more people began to appear. "Have you?"
"Yup." Hank confirmed as he turned the corner sharply to reach the fight as quickly as possible. Other squad cars were either already at the scene or still in pursuit as well, which meant the fight was getting serious. "Too damn many, in fact."
"Narcotics division?"
"Yup. Part of the reason I left was because I couldn't handle dealing with all the dead kids on the street anymore."
"Cole had been born." Connor realized with a subtle nod of his head as he realized why such a grim sight would suddenly dissuade Hank from his active career choices. "You saw them as the children they had once been and not the adults were becoming."
"...Yeah." Hank paused for a moment before he responded again with a somber sigh. "You got it."
Falling silent as the duo decided that speaking of death and destruction was the last thing they needed to deal with, Connor just continued to cybernetically monitor the fight and Hank listened to the police broadcasts on his radio. The sound of blaring sirens and flashing lights courtesy of patrol cars and circling drones filled the streets as more and more people began to appear on the sidewalks along the street. Some of the people were deviants covered in blue blood, others were humans covered in red blood. Occasionally they'd see a person covered in both colors creating a macabre purple stain over their clothing, and it was those people who looked as though they had seen humanity and deviancy at its absolute worse.
Truth be told, they probably had.
Originating between two large, abandoned warehouses in the shadier part of the city, the gang-war had been long underway and numerous bodies already lined the streets between the large buildings. The sound of shouting voices and various gunshots filled the air long before the Oldsmobile even turned the final corner to the scene toward the source of the fighting.
Dozens of humans wearing either anti-android orange or pro-android blue were trying to tear each other apart with as many different types of weapons as they could get their hands on. Chains, broken bottles, switchblades, guns, bricks, lead pipes and baseball bats were all stained red, blue and purple as they littered the streets and sidewalks around the bodies that had been dropped to the ground.
It was a true melee of pointless anger and spilled blood.
Pulling along the street Hank parked the car and drew his gun as he stepped outside of the vehicle and kept low as he joined his fellow officers who were trying to contain the violence until S.W.A.T. arrived.
"Stay back here and watch the windows." The protective Lieutenant ordered his deviant partner as he took the lead. "You never know when someone will try to open fire from above."
"Right."
Connor mirrored Hank's movements and drew his own gun from the holster concealed under his blazer as he exited the vehicle and ducked down behind the other squad cars to keep a watch over the violence from the distance. Having enhanced senses and reflexes gave Connor an advantage that the human officers didn't have, and it allowed him to keep his distance without leaving his fellow officers unprotected during the fighting.
"I count one-hundred and seven individuals in the fight; fifty-three humans and fifty-four deviants."
"Well, at least it's almost an even fight..."
While the massive, armored S.W.A.T. vehicle sped into the heart of the fighting, the surrounding officers raised their guns and prepared to shoot ONLY if it became absolutely necessary. Connor's L.E.D. flashed from blue to yellow inquisitively as he sifted through the dozens of different lines of communication being utilized by the responding officers while he kept his ear on the broadcasts and his eyes on his fellow officers. It was then Connor had unknowingly left himself vulnerable to assault as a rogue gang member dressed in orange snuck up behind him.
A barrage of gunfire resonated throughout the large alleyway between the buildings causing the responding officers to duck down out of the line of fire. Hank heard the glass of the car window he had ducked down behind shatter as a bullet pierced through the window at a dangerous speed, followed immediately by a burning pain searing through the top of his right shoulder. Taking a knee behind the car Hank lowered his gun to the ground and put his left hand to right shoulder to cover the fresh bleeding wound beneath his palm in a tight grip.
"Fuck! Shit..."
"Hank?" Connor had seen Hank clutch at his shoulder as he knelt on the ground. The deviant's yellow L.E.D. flashed to red as he ran a biometric scan and noted Hank's understandably elevated heart rate. "Are you injured?"
"I'm fine." The senior detective replied without missing a beat as he returned his attention to the surrounding firefight. "Don't worry about me, kid. It's just a scratch."
From behind the car where the deviant detective had remained in position, the stalking anti-android gang member saw his opening and made his move. Wrapping his palm around Connor's forehead with an unbreakable grip, the gang member forced the deviant's head to tilt backward leaving his throat completely vulnerable. The gang member then dragged a long, sharp switchblade over Connor's exposed throat.
The blade cut through Connor's artificial skin, severing small Thirium lines in the process, and sliced through the flexible plastimetal frame that composed his neck before the blade damaged the vocal biocomponent and voice modulator beneath. The attack was swift, effective and had taken Connor by surprise.
"Plastic-freak!" The assailant spat as he let go of Connor's head and proudly held the Thirium stained knife out before himself. "Get off my streets!"
Connor fell to his knees as his L.E.D. flashed to red in panic, his hand dropping his gun as he pressed one palm against his throat that was now gushing dark blue blood while he used his other hand to pull himself back up and drag himself along the sides of the patrol cars in search of Hank. Stunned and confused by the sneaky assault, Connor's vision was obscured by numerous red warnings in his visual processors and ended up stumbling and falling backward against the rear passenger side tire of Hank's parked Oldsmobile almost out of sight of every officer in the area.
The blood and Thirium soaked gang member looked down at Connor with a sick pride in his eyes from his macabre act of violence. Pocketing the switchblade the man in orange ran off from the gang-war through an alley between the warehouses and out of sight.
Forcing the warnings from his vision Connor looked around himself confusedly as he tried to reflexively swallow, only to feel more Thirium seep through the wound in his throat. He needed technical attention if he was going to survive his damage.
"H-Han..." Connor's voice was hoarse, mechanical and barely above a whisper as he tried and failed to call out for help. "...Ha-"
From the distance Hank looked around himself and noted the shattered bits of glass on the ground as well as the other officers returning fire to the gang members. As he took in his surroundings Hank suddenly realized that he could no longer see Connor holding his position behind the Oldsmobile where he had previously seen him and didn't see the deviant anywhere else, which in itself was very alarming.
Connor wouldn't ever hide or run away from the scene of an active crime.
Knowing that something was very wrong Hank moved back toward his Oldsmobile while keeping his head low as he crouched along the ground to keep out of the line of fire. As he neared the parked vehicle, he noticed a dark blue puddle forming around the rear of the car and his heart sank quickly. There was no mistaking the dark blue color as anything but spilled Thirium.
"Shit... Connor?"
Staying low Hank rushed over to the car and found Connor slumped forward with his back pressed up against the rear of the car with his eyes partially opened as his hands weakly tried to clutch at his cut open throat. Pressing both of his hands down over top of Connor's hands Hank attempted to add more pressure to the wound while speaking to the downed deviant in the process having no idea of what he has just missed.
"Connor, look at me. Look at me, son."
Hearing Hank's voice Connor tried to lift his head, his eyes making a vain effort to open, but his head just lolled to the side limply as he failed to speak.
"No, Connor! You stay awake, that's an order!"
Hank held his hands in place even as the warm Thirium oozed between his fingers in a sickly manner. Calling out for help Hank never took his eyes from the weakened deviant detective who was quickly bleeding to death beneath his palms.
"I need a technician over here, officer down! He's lost a lot of blood already." Hank needed to really raise his voice to be heard over the commotion of the gang-war still raging all around him. "I repeat: Officer down! Mover your asses!"
Taking in a pained breath Connor tried again to open his eyes but he didn't have the strength and he couldn't even begin to try to speak.
"Listen to me, all right? Just listen to my voice."
Hank encouraged as he spoke to Connor with a firm, level tone. Lightly Hank pressed down against the weeping laceration to ensure Connor didn't bleed out and to ensure he wasn't causing his son any undue pain.
"You're going to be okay. The technicians are on their way, they'll get you patched up, and we'll be back home before you know it."
The gunfire and shouting finally stopped as the S.W.A.T. team managed to quell the fighting between the remaining gang members, but not before several lives were needlessly ended in the streets over an unwarranted opinion on android rights. The alley between the two warehouses was covered in red, blue and purple blood, and was littered with hundreds of bullet holes that would leave the city scarred in the aftermath of the violence for decades to come.
Ambulances converged on the scene to aid the wounded - officers and gang members alike - and a duo of paramedics; an older male with blond hair and brown eyes and a younger female with brown hair and blue eyes, surrounded Hank and Connor on the ground near the Oldsmobile. Technicians were sparse thanks to the violence and were unable to leave the facilities due to the preexisting influx of deviants already seeking emergency repairs.
Hank refused to let go of Connor's throat as the paramedics tried to assess the deviant's condition as best as they could.
"He needs a technician," the senior detective mumbled somewhat annoyed. "not a medic."
"I can handle this." The female paramedic lifted Connor's eyelids to check his pupils as she spoke to Hank. "I'm a technician and a paramedic, I can help him. Can you tell me what happened to him?"
"I'm not sure what happened exactly." Hank admitted in a low grumble. "I found him like this a few minutes ago."
Gently the technician/paramedic pulled back Hank and Connor's hands to view the wound to Connor's throat herself. "Someone slit his throat. Knife wound."
"Shit..."
"The blade cut through smaller Thirium lines, but not any of the larger Thirial lines at the sides of his throat." The technician motioned for her partner to get the gurney so they could load Connor up into the back of the ambulance. "The majority of the damage has been inflicted on his voice box biocomponent."
"Why's he unconscious?"
"He's lost a considerable amount of Thirium, his system had shifted into low power mode to slow down the bleeding until his self-healing program can repair the damage." As she looked over Connor's condition, the technician/paramedic noticed the bleeding wound to Hank's shoulder. "Looks like you've been hit too."
"It's just a graze, I'm fine." Hank dismissed as the other paramedic wheeled over the gurney to assist in transporting Connor to the nearest facility. "Focus on him."
Keeping his hands over Connor's throat, the deviant's own cold hands beneath his grip now completely limp and lifeless, Hank helped as much as he could as the two paramedics lifted Connor's body up from the ground and placed him on the gurney gently. Moving swiftly the small team of medics easily placed the gurney into the back of the ambulance and allowed Hank to ride in the back with Connor since he too was injured and required medical attention.
The technician/paramedic pulled open the metal storage case mounted in the back of the ambulance to retrieve the necessary supplies to tend to Connor's grievous damage, while the male paramedic pulled Hank's dark coat down from his wounded shoulder to examine the detective's injury for himself.
"You're going to need a few stitches." The paramedic stated as he lightly palpated the bleeding wound beneath his gloved fingertips. Working to pull away the torn fabric of Hank's coat and the shirt beneath to expose the wound, the paramedic found himself using his other hand to try to hold Hank still as he sat on the bench next to Connor laying on the gurney. "Please, don't move, sir. You're making this more difficult than it needs to be."
Placing a wad of android unique bandaging against the bleeding injury in Connor's throat with a firm pressure, the technician/paramedic wrapped additional gauze entirely around Connor's neck to hold the bandage in place to help stem the Thirium loss. Adjusting the head end of the gurney to a higher angle she propped Connor's head and neck upright to let gravity help slow down the bleeding.
"He's lost a lot of Thirium." She stated in a somber tone as she continued to assess her patient's condition. Remaining professional she pulled Connor's arm from the sleeve of his blazer, then cut open the sleeve of the white dress shirt beneath to wrap a Thirium pressure cuff around his bicep. Looking to Hank she asked for information about Connor. "You're his partner, right? What's his name?"
"Connor." Hank replied curtly as stared at the gauze around the deviant's throat slowly tinting blue as he continued to bleed. "His name is Connor."
"Connor?" The technician/paramedic checked the reading on the cuff after it automatically tightened around Connor's bicep and gave a digital display on his current Thirium pressure. She then gently tilted his head to the left to get a clear look at his slowly pulsing red tinted L.E.D. in his right temple. "Can you hear me? Respond, please."
There was a weak sound that emanated from Connor's lips, but it was completely indiscernible courtesy of the damage to his voice box. Pale blue tinted foam dripped over his lip and the technician/paramedic quickly wiped it away with additional gauze.
"It's okay, don't try to speak." The technician/paramedic insisted kindly as he patted his arm to acknowledge his attempts to communicate. "You're being taken to a facility for treatment and your partner is right here with you. You're both going to be just fine."
For a moment Connor's eyelids partially opened then fell shut entirely as he fell back into low power mode for the duration of the transport. It didn't take the speeding ambulance long to reach the facility from the warehouses, but every second that passed by felt like an eternity for the senior detective as he watched the one person that he finally allowed himself to truly care about for the first time in years bleed from a horrific wound to the throat.
"Hang on, son." Putting his hand on Connor's forearm Hank spoke to the deviant in a low voice and sighed as the ambulance parked in front of the Zeta Facility's emergency entrance in a gentle motion. "You're going to be just fine."
Through the observation window of the impressively calm treatment room, Hank watched as Abby stopped the bleeding from Connor's throat with two perfectly placed magnetic clamps on either side of his neck. Shen then proceeded to remove the damaged, red tinted vocal biocomponent from within the wound itself. After Abby placed the irreparably damaged biocomponent into a nearby metal bin for proper disposal, she set the replacement voice box into the slot inside Connor's throat and watched as the dull biocomponent steadily glowed a bright blue as his system recognized the compatible part and began its necessary recalibration process to implement proper function.
During transport and Connor's admission to the Zeta Facility Hank had been patched up by the paramedics and had a heavy bandage wrapped around his right shoulder to protect the wound from infection. Unwilling to leave the facility without Connor, the stubborn senior detective refused his own medical attention until Connor had been taken care of and was fully stable.
Sensing Hank watching her every movement from the distance, Abby looked up at the window and nodded confidently at the senior detective before tending to the severed Thirium lines in Connor's throat. With a quick application of liquid solder Abby reconnected the severed lines and removed the magnetic clamps to allow the Thirium to cycle through the mended lines with ease.
"Almost done, Connor. You'll be back on your feet in no time."
Closing the main panel over the center of Connor's repaired throat Abby placed a fresh pad of white gauze over the laceration to his artificial skin to keep the area covered until the artificial skin had the chance to regenerate on its own. After securing a fresh pouch of Thirium to a line in the bend of Connor's arm Abby walked out of the exam room and greeted Hank who was anxiously awaiting an update.
"He's going to be just fine." The ever attentive and dedicated technician addressed Hank in a calm tone. "His Thirium volume hit sixty-three percent but that can be easily replenished even if he can't swallow anything just yet."
"I saw you take something out of his neck," Hank had noticed the action through the window. "what was that?"
"His vocal biocomponent - essentially his voice box. The blade damaged it beyond repair." Abby responded honestly and without hesitation. "I gave him a replacement voice box, but it'll take some time for his system to recalibrate it properly."
"So, he can't speak?"
"Not yet." Abby saw the massive white bandage on Hank's shoulder through the tear in the layers of fabric, and sighed at the painful sight plaguing the senior detective's otherwise gruff facade. Now it was his turn to be tended to. "All right, come with me."
"What?"
"I was taking care of humans long before I took care of androids, remember? Let me get your shoulder stitched up while we wait for Connor to wake up."
"Are you allowed to do that?" Hank asked as Abby pulled him by his arm into the treatment room where Connor was still lying unconscious on the table while his system rebooted. Sitting on the vacant treatment table beside Connor's table Hank tentatively lifted up the bandage from his right shoulder to look at the injury for himself. "I don't want you to get fired because of me."
"I hardly think taking care of a wounded officer is going to get me any write-ups. Besides, my paramedic's license is still valid." Abby explained coyly as she gingerly peeled back the bloodied fabric of the shirt from Hank's shoulder to fully expose the wound. "It looks like a bullet just grazed your shoulder. I'll numb you up before I apply the stitches, it'll only take a minute."
"Right."
Patiently Hank watched as the dedicated technician opened the nearby supply cabinets in the exam room and located a small suture kit from the top shelf. Inside the kit was everything she'd need to properly take care of Hank's shoulder without causing him any pain. The senior detective was not one to complain about pain, but he was often too stubborn to admit that he needed medical attention in the same way that Connor was too stubborn to accept technical assistance.
"Okay, Abby." Relenting just long enough to let her help him, Hank remained on the table and let her sterilize his shoulder. "Do your thing."
At the sound of Hank's voice speaking so close to himself, Connor's eyelids began to flutter open slowly. As Abby walked past the table Connor was able to see to Hank sitting on the nearby table a few feet away and his hand lifted up slightly from the table.
"Hey, Connor." Hank saw the deviant regaining consciousness and put his left hand to Connor's shoulder to keep him still. "You're awake. Welcome back."
"Connor?" Abby briefly returned her attention to Connor before she began taking care of Hank's shoulder. She picked up Connor's hand and held it in a firm grip to gain his attention. "Don't try to speak, your vocal biocomponent had been damaged by the knife and needed to be replaced. If you can hear me and understand what I'm saying, I need you to squeeze my hand."
Connor replied with a gentle squeeze of Abby's hand as requested, then relaxed his grip.
"That's good. Run a self-diagnostic for me; if your new voice box has been recognized by your system squeeze my hand once, if it hasn't squeeze my hand twice."
After a few seconds Connor's L.E.D. transitioned from red to yellow as he ran the self-diagnostic as instructed. His L.E.D. remained yellow once the program finished analyzing his condition. Nodding a little Connor squeezed Abby's hand once to confirm his new vocal biocomponent had been accepted by his system.
"You won't be able to talk or consume any Thirium until your system fully recalibrates and heals. The knife went in deep and cut through your air intake line by a few centimeters." Abby explained calmly as she let Connor continue to hold her hand. "But once your Thirium levels are replenished you can go home to recover, and your self-healing program will finish what I started."
Connor squeezed her hand once more to acknowledge and thank her as she placed his hand back down on the table beside him. Turning his head slightly he watched as Abby set to work cleaning up Hank's bloody shoulder before she draped a sterile cloth around the wound to begin the first of a dozen stitches.
"It's not bad, son." Hank could see the worry and questions burning in Connor's soulful brown eyes. "The bullet missed everything vital. It just broke the skin."
Looking up at the now empty pouch of Thirium that had been attached to a line in his arm Connor sat upright slowly and detached the pouch carefully from the main line, and then replaced the panel on his arm allowing the artificial skin to regenerate over his limb in the process. Rubbing his hand lightly over his sore, bandaged throat Connor watched as Abby began stitching up Hank's shoulder and waited patiently until they could leave the facility to return home.
"Just lay down and wait." The protective father urged as he watched Connor tending his own wounds and trying to move about despite still being weak. "There's no hurry. By the way, Fowler said the lunatic who slit your throat ended up on the wrong end of a baseball back. He's in a coma, and if he does somehow wake-up, he'll be charged with attempted murder of a detective. You won't need to worry about him anymore, and you can sleep well tonight."
Feeling tired and still needing time to heal Connor just nodded a little and slowly laid back on the table to rest for a moment longer. At the moment he wasn't in any rush to leave the facility or go back to the precinct. He had enough excitement for the day.
Using his left hand to steer the car along the now quiet and nearly deserted streets, Hank ignored the consistent ache in his right shoulder as he continuously glanced over at Connor sitting forcibly quiet in the seat next to him. Occasionally Hank was tempted to ask the deviant a question, but quickly remembered that he couldn't verbally respond and the stress of being unable to communicate might accidentally upset Connor in the process. The fact that Connor looked exhausted and miserable made Hank's heart sympathetically for the deviant. They had both been through a lot of mentally and emotionally taxing events and the last thing either detective needed were a couple of knife or bullet wounds.
It didn't take much to convince Captain Fowler to give the two detectives the rest of the day off, and Hank was determined to make sure Connor got some decent rest and recovered comfortably. Even though Connor had made peace with Lucas's death it didn't mean Connor had fully recovered from the ordeal just yet.
"Almost home." Hank stated obviously as he turned the car onto their block. "Fowler already knows what happened so we don't have to report to the precinct until tomorrow."
Connor pressed his hand to his throat again as he tried to swallow but the resulting pain caused the motion to cease as quickly as it began.
"Still sore, huh?"
Only able to nod to respond Connor kept his hand over his throat as his suddenly red L.E.D. went back to yellow.
"Is there any way that you can focus you healing program entirely on your throat and then work on your voice box later?"
Unable to speak at all Connor shook his head 'no' to respond and grimaced slightly as the motion caused his throat to hurt for a moment.
"Well... That sucks."
The comment was casual and lighthearted. Connor smirked a little at the comment as he was ever appreciative of Hank's understanding.
"When we're inside, find something to write with." Hank suggested as he parked the car in the driveway beside the house. "At least then you can still talk to me until your voice comes back. I don't want you blowing up my phone with text messages all day long."
Slowly the two detectives walked into the house together with a tired gait. Sumo greeted the duo as they entered through the front door and into the livingroom by pressing his wet nose against Connor's hand and then Hank's hand in turn.
"Hey, boy." Hank greeted the loyal Saint Bernard while Connor patted the dog's head. Hank dropped his ruined coat down on the back of the couch and pressed his left hand to his sore right shoulder as he tried to relax for a moment. "I'm going to go shower off and change my clothes."
Remembering Hank's advice, Connor's L.E.D. blinked yellow as he grabbed the nearby pad of paper and pen sitting on the bookshelf and quickly scrawled out some information in perfect CyberLife sans for Hank to read. Holding the pad out for Hank to take Connor watched as the senior detective read what he had hastily written.
"I'm good." Hank gave the deviant a slight shake of the head as he read the question. "It's not the first time I've been stitched up, son. I know how to keep them from getting wet in the shower."
Connor nodded and pulled the pad of paper back to write a second message to present to Hank.
"Yeah, go ahead and let Sumo out for a while. It shouldn't rain anymore tonight, but I don't want to risk the big furball getting soaked."
Needing the distraction Connor opened the backdoor and watched as the lovable Saint Bernard trotted outside before Connor himself stepped back into the livingroom to also try to relax. Slipping off his Thirium stained gray blazer to hang on the hook by the front door Connor noted the tear in his left sleeve of his white dress shirt and decided it'd just be best to toss the shirt than try to mend it.
Again...
Tossing the pad of paper and the pen down onto the couch as he passed by Connor let out a weary, inaudible sigh of understandable exhaustion.
Changing out of his work uniform into more casual clothes Connor took the moment to watch the brightly colored fish in his aquarium swimming about gracefully as the tranquil sight often helped him feel a sense of calmness. The aquarium had proven itself to be as soothing as it was beautiful for the deviant time and time again. Catching the sight of the white bandage wrapped around his neck in the reflection of the aquarium's glass Connor's hand began rubbing at his sore throat again and he ran another self-diagnostic.
His vocal modulator was still offline; recalibration at forty-four percent and climbing. But it was a slow climb and Connor was becoming impatient with needing to wait to heal, especially since he couldn't verbally communicate.
After a quick shower Hank stepped out of the bathroom with his hair wet and a fresh change of clothes on his person.
"Hey, there's a game on." Calling out to Connor as he made his way down the hallway and into the livingroom, Hank sat down in the recliner and propped his tired feet up on the coffee table and turned on the television. Rubbing his palm over his right shoulder Hank made sure the stitches didn't get wet in the shower and would avoid an infection. "The Gears are ahead by seven, so you know it's going to be good."
Wanting to spend time with Hank and not worry about anything Connor sprinkled some flakes of food into the aquarium before joined Hank in the livingroom and sat down on the couch tiredly with his hand still over his throat.
"Try not to think about it." Hank encouraged as he watched Connor from the corner of his eye. "You'll be better before you know it."
Needing to express himself and let Hank know what he was thinking and feeling. Connor picked up the pad of paper from beside himself and wrote another message for the senior detective to read: 'I dislike being unable to speak. It makes me feel vulnerable.'
"Yeah, I know what you mean. When I was about eight years old I had my tonsils removed and I couldn't talk for almost two days because my throat was so swollen and sore from the surgery."
Connor wrote another message beneath the first two messages he had given to Hank: 'Were you frightened?'
"A little. My mom kept me company and my dad kept bringing me some ice cream, so that was a bonus."
'Androids cannot consume ice cream.'
"It must really suck to be an android sometimes." Still trying to lighten the mood Hank joked and succeeded in getting another faint smile from Connor as a result. Pointing at Connor's neck Hank homed-in on the white gauze still wrapped around his throat curiously. "Did your throat heal yet, or do you still need the bandage?"
Connor's hand slowly reached up for the bandages and began to carefully peel them back to expose his throat. There was only the faintest of lines in his artificial skin over his throat where the deep laceration had previously been, but there was no sign of bleeding or the white plastimetal frame beneath. Connor ran his fingertips along the healed wound and looked to Hank for confirmation that it appeared okay.
"You can't even tell you were ever injured. It just looks like your damn ugly tie was a little too tight."
Satisfied with the response Connor nodded and crumpled up the unneeded bandages into a ball in his hand and stood up from the couch to toss them into the garbage can in the kitchen. The healing process was annoyingly slow but evidently effective.
"I'm sorry I wasn't watching your back today." The remorseful senior detective shouted as Connor walked into the kitchen to throw away the bandages and to then let Sumo back inside the house. "That was too damn risky, and I won't do it ever again. I'm sorry."
Returning to the livingroom hastily with Sumo at his side Connor wrote another message on the pad of paper and practically shoved it into Hank's hands to read for himself: 'I had been distracted by the numerous police broadcasts as well as the gunfire when I saw that you had been struck by a bullet. I wasn't paying close enough attention to what was happening around me. It wasn't your fault.'
"Maybe not, but someone still should've been watching your back today. It was a fuckin', literal, gang-war out there!" The frustration in Hank's voice was as palpable as it was righteous. "We're both lucky that what happened to us wasn't any worse than it was..."
Hastily Connor wrote another message on the pad and held it out for Hank to read from where he sat in the recliner: 'You were watching my back. You saved my life tonight. I trust you entirely.'
"Thanks, kid." Hank gave Connor an appreciative nod as he read the message with immense relief in his eyes. "I'm relieved to know that. I trust you, too."
Pressing his hand to his healing throat Connor forced his vocal biocomponent back online and his voice modulator into motion just long enough to speak to Hank, regardless of what his systems were reporting.
"...You're welcome."
The deviant's voice was raspy and strained, but he still sounded like Connor and the emotion in his words was unmistakable as he spoke.
"See? You're already getting better." The senior detective smirked as he looked away from Connor and cleared his own throat as he tried to concentrate on the game playing out on television. The game's score was nerve-rackingly close, and Hank wanted to stop thinking about pain and injuries for a while. "Want to make a friendly wager? The winner gets to pick the next movie night, and the loser can't complain about the choice."
Showing some amusement in his soulful brown eyes Connor sat down on the couch and scribbled out another message on the pad of paper while Sumo jumped up onto the couch to lay over his lap and cuddle. Casually Connor handed the message over to Hank with a sly smile on his face and just waited for a response as he casually ran his hand down Sumo's furry back in a means of letting himself finally relax after the tense day.
"Not on your life, son." Hank quickly tossed the pad back to Connor playfully and watched as it bounced off of Connor's shoulder before it fell to the floor in front of the couch with a noted 'flop'. "I ALWAYS bet on the Gears. Nothing will change ever that."
-next chapter-