conditionalinstability | for stickyourinstructions

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for stickyourinstructions

Working with the other androids has been... difficult. Going from Hank, smiling and initiating physical contact and showing every indication of valuing Connor's presence, to a population of people he'd hunted down and killed and sent for disassembly, it's-

Connor was made to be adaptable. Connor is adapting. It isn't like he hasn't created this situation, anyway. It isn't like he has the right to blame them.

He catches himself, again, about to dial Hank's cell number. He would have had to give conscious confirmation to actually go through with it, but his programming's gotten as close to doing it as it can without Connor actually giving it the order.

Connor can handle this. Connor is adaptable. Connor doesn't have the right to run to where he's more comfortable instead of seeing all this through.

Josh stops him just inside the door to the meeting room. North was the first to leave, as usual; Connor looks out the door and watches her leave, watches Markus's hand on her back as if she still needs it, needs someone to make sure she doesn't have Connor in her line of sight for any longer than she has to. Simon sends a twitching little smile at him and Connor's software tags the expression as nervous, uncomfortable, supports the analysis with the hunch of Simon's shoulders as he ducks out the door. Deviants seem to emote exactly like humans do and that is, in a way, convenient. It makes at least one part of socializing with them go more smoothly.

"A few of us are going out," Josh says, bringing Connor's attention back toward him. Connor's software tags his expression as watchful, attentive, tags his voice as careful and deliberate. Josh is trying hard to be polite to the deviant hunter; he always does. "Try to relax before that big meeting this evening," he goes on. "We'd love to see you there, if you have time."

We. We'd love to see you there. Polite exaggeration, Connor decides, isn't unlikely for a personality like Josh's. Connor hasn't decided if Josh's need to make sure everyone gets along is compulsive or not, yet. It's certainly a powerful drive for him.

"I have a meeting with a contact. If I can get a little more information before the meeting I'm sure I can turn it our way. I'll let you know what I find out."

"I know you will," Josh says, his frown saying something else altogether. "Look, I know I'm supposed to be waiting for Markus to say this, but you need to take a break. You need to stop."

A couple of Connor's background processes freeze for a moment. The email program he'd been using crashes; it doesn't occur to him to restart it.

"What?"

"Your LED was yellow through most of that meeting," Josh says, his voice gentle and terrible. "We all saw it. How many other things are you doing right now? We have this under control."

Without you, is the implication. They have it under control without Connor. "Markus said this? I need to talk to him."

"Wait, Connor, wait-" and Josh reaches out reflexively for Connor's arm to stop his move toward the door and stops and almost, almost flinches. It's a minute movement, a split second, and Connor's software tags it: fear. Historically, he has a good reason to be afraid of grabbing Connor's forearm that way. Connor's memory provides him with those reasons.

"Shit, I should have waited for Markus," Josh mutters, frowning and lowering his hands just far enough to hold them up, palms out, as if he thinks Connor needs to be calmed down. His voice is gentle again, deliberate, careful. "Markus has something in the works, we're not... abandoning you, or whatever it is you're thinking."

Connor opens his mouth. There must be a glitch in his social relations software; all the options he'd normally be choosing a reply from are blank. Connor closes his mouth. Connor waits.

Josh stares at him, his frown second by second getting deeper. "I'll just... get Markus. He can explain better than I can. Okay? I'll be right back."

Josh escapes. Connor watches him go. Connor waits.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The hardest part is being reminded of how empty his life was. Hank got used to working and drinking, those being the two options and often together, and so he didn't care much about the fact his house was a wreck or he had nothing to go back to outside of Sumo. He's been badly functioning all this time but it became the status quo, and then it changed. Connor appeared into his life. Connor was everywhere; always pushing, always talking, always pulling Hank out of his thoughts and depression. It irritated him a lot in the start, but eventually he came to rely on it. Connor reminded him he was alive.

Now he was gone.

Not gone, gone. Hank knows he's with the androids, and he supports it absolutely. What Connor went through to free his people, it was with tacit agreement and support from his former partner. He was ready to die to help Connor still finish his mission. He may be a difficult man, but his moral center in many ways still points north. It was the right thing to do, to get those androids freed, to make up for his blind hatred and acknowledge the ways he's changed and the world should too. He shuts down any bitter commentary at the office, in which he actually appears during reasonable hours, and only occasionally drunk. Usually tipsy at most. It might seem like a small thing, but for him it's a step.

And he makes it alone because Connor has bigger things to worry about than him. He goes home to silence and he eats in silence and there's this big gap in him again. But he can't bring himself to call and admit he misses Connor, that he needs him. Hank is surprised when the captain hands over a file to him and holds onto it when Hank goes to pull it. "You'll need help on this one," Fowler says with a load of meaning in it, and Hank doesn't know what that means. He doesn't play well with others.

As soon as he opens it he understands and he closes his blood-shot eyes, rubbing them as he thinks it through. This gives him an excuse, almost like someone knew he needed one. An excuse under the guise of a mission, and if anyone cares about missions and success, it's Connor. The eagerness with which he gets up and takes the folder with him shows how the rush of excitement is already waking him up. He can't call from the office; they can't see him talk to Connor. Instead he gets into his car and stares at the phone.

You can do this. He likes missions. It's reasonable. Hank swallows and dials, resting his head back on the seat and closing his eyes, his heart thudding. Like a damn teenager calling his crush, it's pathetic, but he waits.

Edited 2019-10-30 03:40 (UTC)

Connor waits. A human's perception of time is subject to their state of mind; Connor doesn't have that problem. The seconds pass. The minutes pass.

Josh's voice is faint and then stronger, footsteps echoing down the hall. Markus's voice, moving close enough for Connor's hearing to almost, almost make out the words. There's a pause. Markus's voice starts up again, his tone this time more formal, pauses in his speech that Josh now doesn't fill.

This is Markus's way of letting Connor know that arrangements are being made, moving just close enough for his half of his phone call to be heard. Amanda would have moved a little closer. Close enough for Connor to hear words like error log and prototype and maybe disassembled. Markus isn't Amanda, Connor reminds himself. Markus is kind to his failures. Connor's system starts sending him reminders that finding out more about that failure is a high priority, and Connor dismisses them. More reminders come and he dismisses those, too.

Josh's voice talks with Markus's for a minute more, and then it moves away. Connor hears footsteps again.

"Connor." Markus stops in the doorway, frowning, leaning toward him. Connor's software tags his expression and tone as concern, and only concern - no irritation, or displeasure, or discomfort. As long as Connor's known him, Markus always has been very perfectly controlled. Amanda always was very perfectly controlled.

If Connor owed Amanda anything, that unspoken contract was voided when CyberLife fell. There's no reason to look in the face of Markus's disappointment and think of her.

"I'd hoped I'd get to do this later," Markus says with a couple steps toward him and then, off Connor's lack of response, goes on. "This isn't any kind of statement about you. You know that, don't you? I don't think we could have gotten this far without you; I know there are more than a few members of the committee we couldn't have convinced without your... particular methods. But you need to take care of yourself too." Markus pauses. "I'd like to see you take care of yourself, too," he goes on, in the tone of one correcting himself. And then he waits, watching Connor with that concern, waiting for- for what? For Connor to tell him he understands, Connor's software tells him.

"I understand," Connor says, evenly. Markus's expression changes. Analysis of that change tells Connor he chose the wrong answer.

Connor's body straightens automatically, his eyelids briefly fluttering, as he registers a new input, and then processes the number attached to it. "Hank?" Connor has no time to spare analyzing the way his voice shook when he'd said it. The one remaining item on his task list - speak to Markus about mission failure - changes smoothly to check on Hank because if he's calling now, after so long with no contact, that must mean- "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

His voice is sharp and urgent and he stares at an empty spot on the wall, frowning. His analysis of Markus's expression and tone's been canceled before Connor even realized he was canceling it, and he hardly notices now that it's gone.

Edited (wanted to clarify that markus was calling fowler at the start of the tag) 2019-10-30 13:55 (UTC)

The wave of emotion he feels when he hears Connor's voice shocks him. It's much like getting kicked right in the stomach and he finds it a little hard to breathe at first. This is exactly why Hank wouldn't call him in the office. He's almost dizzy with relief because he didn't realize until now that he was concerned. He doesn't have Connor in his sights, he can't watch his back, and he's dealing with a whole bunch of androids who have reason to hate him. He rests his head back and flips the mirror open in his seat, making himself look right at it so he can tell himself to get a damn grip.

"I'm okay, Connor, relax." That's the first thing he has to say since he can hear the concern in Connor's tone. For one, he gets it, because Hank's been used against him in the past, and for two, it's a thrill to know Connor cares still. It's not that he expected his android to stop caring, but Hank doesn't care about himself, it's difficult for him to believe (or accept) other people can. He remembers mocking Connor's voice once, but mostly because he liked it. He's always liked it. It's young and unique and calming.

Hank looks at the file and frowns. "We have a case and, uh, it'll require an android partner. Fowler told me to call you ...." Fowler did not do that, but he implied it, and it was obviously Hank's first instinct regardless. Now he's getting nervous though, pinking lint off his clothes and rustling trash around in his car. It's a wreck and he didn't notice. "I know you're busy so if you'd rather get one of your new friends to come in, that's fine." He's trying to sound and act so casually, like he doesn't care, like he hasn't been thinking about Connor non-stop since he left.

There is a pause as he spots his flask in the front compartment and sloshes the liquor in it thoughtfully, not sipping yet. His anxiety is really calling for it though. "Not that I'd wish me on anyone you know, so if you don't want them bitching to you about my attitude, uh, you could just ... do it." That comes as close to asking as he can get.

There's a rush of something inside Connor at the idea of it, some warm and desperate feeling that he only barely bothers to examine. He's failed, he's failed here and he doesn't know how, but he's never failed Hank. Hank had been pleased with him, even maybe... maybe proud, in his way - or Connor thinks so, even if Hank hasn't quite expressed it in those words. The eyes of the other androids are on him every moment, eyes of people he would have slaughtered with no hesitation.

Or- maybe he would have hesitated. He had hesitated, before, but if Amanda was being honest about her plans for him, even that little deviation could have been planned.

It doesn't matter. What matters is that the other androids, even without knowing exactly why Connor's loyalty should be in question, trust him exactly as much as they should. The others, the ones he freed, they've been helpful in his work here but they're always surrounded by others who know better than to trust. Hank, though, Hank is outside all that. Untouched by it. Hank wants him to come back and the idea, for some reason, has his memory opening the file where the recording of their first meeting is stored, right after everything started to settle and before Connor'd left. He remembers it - that one initial set of moments in front of a snow-covered Chicken Feed. The possibility of going back to be in Hank's presence again, to work with him, brings to mind the way it'd felt when Hank had put his arms around him, how it'd felt surrounded by that human warmth with its limited cooling system, to be surrounded by Hank, strong and solid, his expression and tone and every gesture reading as approval even with the most thorough body language analysis Connor'd had the spare processing power to run.

But Connor doesn't have the right to give up on this, has spent most of what he tentatively labels as his life giving up the right to turn away from deviants for the sake of his own comfort.

But Hank needs him. Hank's asking, in his way, and Connor's analysis of his own paths forward pauses so he can try and untangle it. Hank always was... difficult, not so much in mood - although he was that, too, for some time - as he was in manner. Hank's expressiveness and moods and social cues were often nothing like the test cases CyberLife had put to the Connors who'd undergone testing before the release of his final build, often not quite in tune with the calculable, mostly predictable behavior Connor's social relations module and his past experiences had led him to expect.

Hank hesitated after pointing to Fowler as the reason for his call. He sounded at ease when saying Connor wasn't the only qualified candidate, but followed that up with what's likely to be a barely-veiled request.

Normally that would be enough, but failure in Markus’s eyes has got Connor’s probabilities skewed. This would all be a lot easier if Hank would just say what he means.

“If you agree with Captain Fowler that I’m the most qualified for it, I’ll be happy to-“ Before he makes the decision Connor catches himself, looking to Markus with wide eyes, apologetic for the slip into almost making his own decision. Markus smiles at him, gently, and sends a text.

Go on. I’ll call you if I need you.

Connor nods and turns away, ducking his head and touching two fingers to his ear. It’s the kind of body language humans use when they make phone calls, not particularly suited to a building full of androids, but Markus won’t hold the human gesture against him. With Hank that little gesture wouldn’t even have earned a second thought and Connor wants that suddenly, that simplicity, being free to emulate like he was built to, with no second guessing.

“Do you want to meet to debrief me?” Connor asks, hearing his voice come out quick and eager. “The Chicken Feed must have reopened by now, right?”

Hank wanted to hate Connor in the start. He could have even told himself that he did. He was harsh on the android from the moment they met, sharp and cold and angry. But he also fucking liked him, there was something about him. It only irritated him more because he had it in his head that the designed Connor that way. They made him so that he could manipulate Hank, that's what they did, right? Every time Connorr caved to him, said the right things instead of the wrong things, it upset him since it rang untrue. It's a miracle he didn't shoot the android a dozen times over from sheer paranoia.

He let his guard down eventually. He let those warm instincts take over. He saw the little moments of change in Connor and they slowly filled him with something like hope. Hank is as loyal as a dog and when he loves someone it's with his entire heart, so once they became that close, it was over for him. He was in Connor's pocket and all he could hope was that the android wasn't playing him all along. He had that fear when the other version of him turned on him, when just for a second he worried he'd been wrong all along.

He hadn't planned on hugging Connor when they reunited. He doesn't remember the last time he embraced anyone, let along in this way, but he stopped trying to fight his instincts. When he drew his partner into his arms, everything felt right. He still thinks about that more than he should. It distracts him sometimes when he lingers on the memory; the feel of Connor's body against his, the tentative way he returned the hug with his hands at Hank's back.

Hank knows he should be honest but it doesn't come easily to him. He's the one tiny step forward, two giant leaps backward kind of guy. He swallows, about to say you're the only one qualified, not because the mission requires him, but because Hank needs him. Connor gives him an open instead to meet in person, and he sags in his seat, relieved. And maybe a little excited. "It has, yeah," he says, still as casual as possible. His hand tightens around the phone.

"I'll be there. Come by whenever." He feels that it's dismissive to say it like that, so he waits a beat. Come on, Hank, give him fucking something. "Connor, it's ...." He clears his throat, rubbing at his eyes. "Good to hear your voice." There. That is something. He feels nervous about it for some reason and then hangs up.

He immediately goes to the Chicken Feed and only gets soda instead of food since his stomach's being weird for some reason. Nerves, apparently, which is ridiculous because this is a meeting between friends and former colleagues. Not a fucking date. Although the reality of dating in this file only came to him when he thought about it, and he had a moment of blind panic where he thought maybe a stranger would be better. But no. He's not any better at this shit with a stranger.

Hank's in his normal sloppy clothing; he intentionally didn't clean up so it didn't seem like he was trying too hard to impress. He did clean his car out for some reason, and well, maybe he put a comb through his hair. Maybe. And checked his beard to make sure it was clear. Maybe. He sips on his drink - he did throw a little rum in there, to take the edge off it - and tries not to look around him eagerly. He's cool. He's calm.

Before he can decide how to respond to that the call's ended - but it is Hank, so the abrupt end to it doesn't register as odd but does imply an intensity to his final statement, a reason for Hank to be uncomfortable saying it. Connor doesn't think on it too much more than that; he has a goal, now.

help Hank with his case
- meet Hank at the Chicken Feed

His list of objectives relating to the committee, its members, and the upcoming meeting are dismissed, compressed, and stored. He turns to Markus, already writing an email to the contact he'd been planning to meet, to cancel.

He watches Markus. He opens his mouth, deciding on the best way to say goodbye. His email composition stutters.

"Give the lieutenant my regards," Markus says, the comment perfectly timed and made in the instant before the silence starts to imply something awkward. He doesn't put out his hand; the motion means something more to deviants than the quick, polite gesture it usually does, and it's not one Connor's ever made. Not since coming here, anyway. Markus touches his shoulder instead, briefly. "And if you need any help, let me know."

'Thank you,' Connor says, with a small nod, perfectly polite. "It's been a pleasure working with you." He offers a small, perfectly polite smile, and the one Markus returns it with is a little sad. Connor turns away before his software can analyze the expression in any depth, and makes his way out the door, and down the hall, and into the elevator.

CyberLife tower hadn't come into their possession with very many company cars parked in its underground, tastefully hidden parking lot, and the androids who leave on business often need every single one of them. Connor hesitates before taking one, weighing the consequences of using one of their few methods of transport against asking Markus's permission to access funds for a taxi.

If their cars are limited, so is their money. Since Connor isn't a part of their shared mission anymore he doesn't have the right to access their funds anyway, even if Markus would easily let him. He takes a car.

The journey isn't spent thinking about Hank. Well, a portion of his processes are spent in preconstructing the scenes he might find when he gets there to meet him, but that doesn't take much work. The majority of him's spent in reviewing, trying to find out what'd went wrong, and when he steps out of the car Connor's frowning. By the time the car drives itself away, though, Connor's eyes have found Hank and a wide, slow smile's started to spread over his face. He walks the few wide, eager strides it takes to get close and stops just outside an arm's length away from Hank, arms at his sides, analyzing him and comparing the analysis to his last one, and adding the results into Hank's file. Connor is, of course, mostly the same. Circumstances don't change their appearance in the obvious way they can change a human's weight or smell or skin tone. Connor's coat is gone, his tie is gone, and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. There might've been need to change a little more, to try to look less like the deviant hunter, but Connor hadn't been able to think how. So he hadn't.

He isn't thinking about any of that now. His arms begin to lift toward Hank before Connor realizes he doesn't have a sense for what kind of gesture would and wouldn't be appropriate and they fall again, his hands moving in three inch tracks up and down the sides of his pants while his eyes lock onto Hank's face, not wavering from him. "It's good to hear your voice, too. I'm glad you called when you did."

His eyes move from the mostly empty table to Hank's hands holding the cup, then back to his face. "Have you eaten already? I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

Hank is trying his best not to pace and he is not the type of guy to look through his phone while waiting. He thinks about the case and what he's capable of, and he thinks about Connor and the state of his life. He assumes that the androids are busy and that if they allow him to take a little time, it's temporary at best. But Hank is fine with that, honestly. One case with Connor, stealing his time, will be better than none at all. Besides, he has more than enough good reasons to put by the androids on why they want this too. It relates directly to human-android relationships and so Connor's still doing both.

He doesn't know much about the androids or their leader Markus. The guy has a presence, to say the least. He's seen clips of him and he's impressive, if very unreadable. Much more together and important than a washed-up detective. He glances up when he sees Connor coming toward him and straightens immediately, pale eyes doing a quick once over.

He likes the loss of coat and tie, it makes him seem less formal. Less Cyberlife. The two buttons undone is an interesting detail but that makes him seem more casual too, so it's a good choice. Hank raises an eyebrow when Connor lifts his arms, his eyes darting to the side to note who is around. It has nothing to do with him being uncomfortable with people spotting him and an android, and everything to do with the fact Hank is very guarded about his feelings and vulnerabilities. Hugging Connor is personal and treasured and he doesn't like other people knowing that.

Still, he's going to have to get used to it, and the fact Connor clearly wants it makes his tension ease and his heart soften. Hank sets his drink down and moves forward, tugging him in for the hug he'd been expecting. Hank is a big man and all his hugs are of the bear variety. Like the last time, everything feels good and right the moment they embrace. But this is already past his comfort zone so he doesn't let it linger.

"Not hungry," he says gruffly when he pulls back, awkwardly stepping back but clapping Connor on the shoulder affectionately. That's the most he can give. "I guess it's good to see your face too." Hank smiles at him, despite himself. "How you been, kid?"

The hug is, despite Connor's own initial gesture, unexpected - or maybe the feeling of it's unexpected, though Connor's memory shouldn't be skewed by emotion in the same way that a human's memory can be. There's no reason to be startled but he is, or he must be, judging by the strangled, wordless noise that slips out from his speakers once Hank's pulled him in. But suddenly - Hank telegraphed his movements and Connor knew exactly what he'd been about to do, but somehow suddenly - Hank is in front of and around him and Markus and all Connor's own failures are waiting behind. It isn't a moment before Hank pulls back, pulling that island of safety and acceptance and warmth back with him, but a moment's already enough to overwhelm.

Connor's already registering a glitch in one of the subsystems built next to his eyes by the time Hank separates them. Connor's eyes aren't quite tearing up but they're close, and the chance that they're close enough to tearing up to be noticed and misinterpreted is much higher than acceptable. Connor gives a few rapid blinks in hopes of resetting the faulty equipment before Hank thinks anything seems off, clears his throat to test out the reset of his speakers, and decides it's probably the change in environments that's at fault. The sterile, deserted halls of CyberLife tower - deserted for the deviant hunter, anyway, no matter how full they might be - contrasted with such a familiar place, after months of only ever leaving that tower on business, must have been enough to overwhelm Connor's hardware into random errors.

"I've been..." 'Alright' is the most common answer to that kind of question. Connor considers it, considers the feeling of Hank's hand on his shoulder. "Busy," he says. "How is the station coping? It can't be easy with all your police auxiliary models gone."

It's not just an attempt at a distraction from his glitch just now; Connor's been wondering about it. Worrying, he thinks, maybe. But looking too closely into the answer could have led to talking to someone at the DPD, or going there, and either option would have been too much temptation to something he hadn't earned, not yet. But here he is, and he wants to know.

The noise surprises him, he would wonder if Connor was injured if the android could get aches and pains the way he does, and he does see that rabid blinking when he pulls back. Hank is very observant and he's currently taking in all the details and changes in his partner, and concern ripples through him. He can tell that Connor's choice of busy is precise and that doesn't answer whether or not he's alright. Maybe he's not alright. Maybe Hank should've checked in sooner instead of assuming he was better off with his own people than cleaning up after him.

"It's an adjustment, but people are whiners. We didn't have them back in the day and we don't need them now." Hank thinks that sounds harsher than he intends to, and follows it up. "Everyone's got their own lives now." It's a distinction he wouldn't have made before, and might have even said good riddance about getting androids out of all spaces, but he's done a 180 from that mindset. He didn't think it was possible for him to so drastically change on anything, but he didn't anticipate someone like Connor.

Hank lets his hand drop because touches shouldn't linger, although if they're going to actually do this mission, he might have to get used to that. And also he is starting to doubt again whether this is all a good idea. But the trade-off is seeing Connor, and more than once. "Busy is not the same thing as good, Con, don't think I missed that." He shakes his soda to free some of the ice and frowns at his friend. "Are people being dicks? Do I need to come yell at that pretty boy messiah?"

He sees Markus' face everywhere these days, on the news and around. He has the messiah/martyr act down cold, although Hank isn't so sure he believes it's genuine. But he does believe in Connor, and if Connor says it's legit, it's legit, and if he says they're being pricks, Hank won't hesitate from going in and being an asshole about it.

Connor's eyes widen and, when he realizes he's smiling, he looks down, not wanting to look as if he's actually encouraging the joke. It's not one he's heard made before; if the androids are comfortable enough with Markus to joke about overthrowing his leadership, they've never done it where Connor can hear. "Busy is good. There's a lot of work that needs to be done if androids are going to survive human bureaucracy."

When he looks up again he analyzes Hank's tone and body language automatically, marking a minute increase in the power the process takes to use. So much use on similar datasets, Connor realizes, has made any variation a little harder to read. He doesn't see anger or wariness; he doesn't see the absolute blind trust of the androids he woke up during the protest, or Markus's impenetrable, deliberate politeness. In fact, factoring in what he knows about Hank's personality, chances are high that it wasn't actually a joke. Hank is honest, open; Hank is frowning, but probably not at Connor. He's probably frowning for him.

It's been much longer, since they parted ways, than the week in which Connor and Hank had gotten to know each other. That must be why Hank is such a surprise. If Connor's going to get on with Hank, he's going to have to relearn how to adapt to him. Their conversations likely won't feel as natural to Hank if Connor has to pause every other sentence to process his surprise.

A human going to the android sanctuary that CyberLife tower has become, let alone going there to yell at the one that's the most beloved, the most trusted out of all the rest of them, would be a diplomatic incident. Captain Fowler would likely be furious. Markus would be under considerable pressure to placate the androids somehow, even if he didn't want Hank punished on a personal level. There would be consequences.

There's no reason to subject Hank's comment to this kind of serious analysis. It was just a casual statement. Hank said it, likely, because he wants to be friendly, because he wants to reassure. Because he wants Connor to know that he's on Connor's side. Hank is far removed from the politics of androids; it probably wouldn't significantly effect his support even if he did know that Connor comes to him having failed.

"It's not because of Markus. He's been perfectly polite." On the last two words Connor's voice starts to break which triggers another reset of his speakers, another throat clearing noise - unsubtle, coming on the heels of speech as it does, and this time it's louder. He looks away from Hank as he does it, not wanting Hank to think it was deliberate, and spends another second in rapid blinking. That doesn't clear the glitch as well as it did the first time, but it's not totally ineffective either; he doesn't look up while he waits for the reset to finish and the extra lubrication to drain back where it came from.

"I'm sorry Hank," Connor says, his voice at least mostly even. Almost there. "I'm overdue for a diagnostic, I- I think my software is acting up."

"Yeah, I know there's a lot of shit to do, that's not what I'm asking." Hank gets on a general level that there's a lot even he hasn't thought of the androids need to figure out. Although he does have a strategic mind and he gets some of the struggles they're going to go up against. Such as assholes like him who need to get their heads knocked around before they realize they've been unfairly prejudiced. He's been worried about Connor and the rebellion. It's tense. They could get attacked at any moment by a hate group, and he knows that Connor can handle himself, but they aren't going to have easy fixes like they used to.

Oh Hank absolutely means it. He doesn't fully mean it, in the sense that he'd rather not do that knowing all the trouble it'll cause, but he is stubborn and loyal enough that if he thought Connor was being treated badly, he would stomp in there and shout at Markus no matter what consequences came from it. He was basically Sumo; a big dog prone to barking but lacking any real bite. He's protective to a fault. He might try to let that temper simmer and get Markus' number from Fowler and be a little less physically confrontational. But there's no doubt that android might be on the receiving end of a furious swear-laced rant.

He doesn't like Connor's behavior, but he also isn't going to assume that this is due to real emotions rather than programming. Hank is no genius so it may very well be that Connor's dealing with some software issues. After everything that happened, he has to adapt to a lot. "Maybe you've been doing too much. I know you're a super special android and all, kid, but everyone needs a breather sometimes. Even when you don't breathe." It's the concept that he means. Connor needs to take a break if his system is whirling like this.

He hesitates, unsure now if calling him for a mission is the right thing, but it could be that a breather from the androids would be helpful. And they're not going into a dangerous situation. It's low stakes in comparison to the future of androidkind. Hank shrugs off his concern and hands over the folder. "If you feel like doing this, the worst that'll happen is some people are being creepy fucks. Not the end of the revolution. So it's gonna be less stressful." The case is about some suspicion that an android-human dating support group could be nefarious. Could be they're legit about helping the cross-species couples deal, could be they're doing something under the table. Either way, it's not the world is ending shit.

"We'd have to pretend to be a thing." Which makes him uncomfortable. "Not so sure I can sell it with a stranger." Hank's not sure he can sell it at all even with Connor. He's been closed off from dating after Cole died and his wife left. He vaguely remembers what it's like, but he's not the warmest of people most of the time. "But Fowler gave it to me."

Connor's looking down, blinking hard every few seconds, and he shakes his head as Hank starts to speak. "I'm alright. I don't need a breather," he says, even before his voice is finished resetting, because it's important that Hank understand that. Connor clears his throat, then looks up and reaches out to take the folder. His eyes will be dry in a minute, but he's close enough to presentable to listen to and consider what Hank is telling him. He opens the folder, and as he looks through it his system prompts him to tell Hank about Markus's assessment earlier. Hank's showing concern about the same things, after all, that Markus had cited when he'd dismissed him, and might want to reassess whether Connor's suited to this.

Connor dismisses the prompt. Unlike Hank, Markus knows Connor's specifications. He knows Connor's system is built to take a lot more strain than Connor was under. Hank might be inclined to believe Connor needs a break before he can work, like a human might, but Markus isn't under any such illusions. Markus must have other reasons for his dismissal that Connor just hasn't figured out yet, and it'd be a shame to lead Hank to think Connor can't handle this case after all based on misunderstood information.

The folder is still open, and Connor is ostensibly staring down at it, but he realizes he isn't reading it anymore. It's a very human gesture, that folder, a very human way of sharing information. He hasn't held a piece of paper, or even a tablet, in months. All his information in that time's been learned from verbal instruction or directly from a terminal. Connor wonders if Hank would interface with Connor instead of passing him folders, if he could. Connor wonders if he himself would be able to interface with Hank, whether he could do it in a way that wasn't forceful or invasive. He's not sure how that other way of interfacing, the way that's more voluntary and even, apparently, intimate, is performed; he's never tried it.

He clears his throat. He notes the frequency that's been happening in the last couple minutes, and flags the noise for attention in his next diagnostic. Then he closes the folder with a brisk, crisp motion and holds it back out to Hank. "My model's designed to handle a great deal more stress than this; going undercover shouldn't be a problem. As long as you can teach me how to be a 'thing' with somebody, anyway, I've never had much reason to test out that part of my programming."

Edited (forgot a sentence) 2019-11-13 01:51 (UTC)

Hank's eyes narrow at him instead of arguing, quiet for now as he reads over the file, and his gaze is searching and a little piercing. He can't do anything if Connor is upset but won't share it with him, and otherwise he'll have to accept that he's being told the truth until proof otherwise. He hates that. He is very glad to see his friend and he isn't sorry he called him or that he's here. This really should be a laid back job in comparison to whatever else he's been doing, since it won't decide the fate of the android race or whatever.

"I don't care what your model is designed for stress-wise, Con. You deviated from your programming, so it ain't the same anymore. You've changed, which is good because a non-deviate version of you put a gun to my head. I prefer you." Meaning that Connor might not be acting the way he used to. Stress can get to him more, and there's a lot more emotions to deal with than there used to be. Hank doesn't get machines, but he does get emotion. "Maybe this'll be like a vacation. It'll be weird but that's likely to be the worst of it." That's the plan at least. Chances are he better knock on wood or it'll turn out to be a hell den or something.

He takes the folder and rubs a hand across his bearded jaw. God, that part is going to be a lot harder. "Well, it's been a long time since I was in a thing." Once his wife left him, Hank mostly shut all the doors and he did try once or twice, usually just a lonely one night stand here or there, but otherwise he wasn't looking. "It'll require being affectionate with each other, so uh, good thing we broke the hugging barrier." He really is not good at it, but he does have some experience to draw on. He isn't going to treat Connor like his wife, but he can remember when they were dating. No big deal.

"Wait, what do you mean that part of your programming? Did they put dating tips or whatever in your head too?" He can't really see it, not with Connor being designed for a particular type of action. But maybe it's something all androids had in case there were lonely people. There's always lonely people. Hank reminds himself he is not one of them, this is a job. "We already argue like an old married couple, so we've got that going for us."

A certain tension had started tightening up Connor's posture when Hank tried to tell Connor he didn't have the capabilities he once had, that he might not be able to live up to his former specifications now that he's deviated, but Hank cut it with reminders that Hank feels a bond with him - that he thinks they argue like an old married couple, which is usually used in a positive sense to indicate familiarity, that Hank prefers a Connor who deviated - and that makes that tension start to relax.

"Not dating tips, exactly," he says, making eye contact, tilting his head, relaxing a little more into explaining what he can do, rather than hearing about what he can't. "Being able to assist police officers requires that I be able to predict and manipulate human responses. That includes attraction. I'm designed to understand a suspect and convince them to tell me what I want to know by any means necessary. I wasn't designed to simulate romance like some other models, though I could extrapolate from my current programming if I needed to, but I can flirt. I've only needed to use it once, though, so outside pre-release testing I haven't had much chance to practice."

Falling into the rhythm of a simple explanation seems to make it easier, too, to leave the memories of Markus's rejection where they belong, to focus on something other than stray thoughts about Hank, and intimacy and trust, and inevitable comparisons to the androids who'd given Connor so little opportunity to wake up his social relations module. Not that being involved in politics hadn't given him plenty of opportunities to use it, but there's something... different about standing here with a man who'd actively chosen to call Connor in, not only because he's the one best choice for the job but because Hank just wants him there, chose to call Connor here because he wants to see him again. When he's not actively comparing that behavior to the behavior of the androids then, Connor finds, the comparison isn't as overwhelming. He smiles at Hank and a part of his programming decides Connor should lean forward, step forward, to try to be closer to him, and so Connor does it, not seeing any need to question the source of the decision.

Hank is the last person to doubt Connor's capabilities; he's seen them. But he cares for the Connor he saw develop over their time together, the one who helped the androids instead of hunted them. He'd rather have someone capable of caring and making mistakes than a perfect machine who feels nothing. He raises an eyebrow as Connor talks. "It's not ... really training, kid. You fabricate a romance, it's obvious. And we'll be dealing with androids who can read people." He doesn't know if they'll be looking for trouble, since this is an information assignment not an action one, but either way.

He knows what they'll read off him and he's not concerned about blowing the cover because of that. He just really doesn't want to bring too much attention to it if he can help it. Hank is better on focusing on the mission when he's got one. "I don't remember you flirting with anyone. Go ahead and give it a try." He is more amused than anything else, and he wants to see what Connor would come up with. No programming would work on him anyway, as far as he's concerned.

Hank forces himself not to step back when Connor steps forward, allowing his friend back into his space. This is all very awkward for him, but he recognizes it's what has to happen. So he reaches out to take Connor's hand, threading their fingers together. It's been a very long time since he's done that and it's such a simple gesture. It's meaningful and sweet though, or it's supposed to be, but Hank is a little gunshy on the inside. Quick to retreat, if he feels he has to or should. "Let's hope our old married shtick is enough because there's a lot more reasons for people to doubt us as a thing." Hank has low self-esteem to say the least but he feels like it's realism instead. Why would anyone in their right mind pick a middle-aged overweight drunk unless it was a set up?

"I flirted with you, actually," he says, not looking up when he says it. He's looking down at their hands. It's the human version of the gesture he'd just been thinking about - or is it? Androids share information that way, and apparently some measure of intimacy, but for a human a touch is just that. A touch. Touch is a sign of intimacy, though, in androids and humans. Connor knows that much. But he doesn't have much experience with it. He feels Hank's skin next to the synthetic fluid that makes up his own, automatically takes temperature readings. He curls his fingers tighter around Hank's, pressing their palms closer in an attempt to see if he can read Hank's pulse from this position. "Just for a moment. We were at this same table."

Then he looks up, his gaze not settling on Hank's eyes at first but darting around his face, studying him. Then he selects the command in his display - Go ahead and give it a try - and accesses the parts of his social module which typically only inform the rest of him, passively. Connor's gaze unfocuses, for a couple seconds processing only the bare minimum of visual input while he switches those aforementioned processes from passive to active. He blinks twice, and when his gaze focuses on Hank again his entire posture changes. He puts all his weight on one foot, leaning in close to Hank on just the one side. The movement tilts his hips and bends his torso forward and to the side, which lowers his eye level just enough to make it viable to look up at Hank, instead of directly across at him. Connor lowers his eyelids a little; he slows his voice by a certain small percentage, and tries to decide just how to shift his pitch. He decides to lower it only a little, to enhance the husky qualities programmed into his natural speaking tone, and to soften his enunciation. He looks up into Hank's eyes, tilts his head, and tries to hold Hank's gaze.

"If anyone doubts us, I'll just tell them we met fishing. Because I think you're quite the catch."

Hank's expression can't seem to decide between whether he's amused or baffled, so it's a mix of both. "You mean when you were acting weird and winked at me? That's cute." He does remember feeling this exact way then, mingled in with a lot more aggression on top of it. If he thought the android was trying to flirt with him at the time, he would've been a real dick about it. Now it's funny. It's slightly distracting him from how nice it is to feel Connor's palm against his and how rare he's let anyone into his space to do anything let alone this.

He waits and raises an eyebrow in challenge as Connor apparently taps into some programming to show off. He doesn't know exactly how his mind works, but he figures it's like the whirling of his computer, only much faster and more impressive. He's intrigued to see it and it's why he doesn't pull away when Connor's body language changes. They're small but distinct and he feels it mildly working. He's pulled in, at least, caught as much in his curiosity as in anything else. He holds his gaze and his heart beat speeds up only a small amount, but it would be a discernible change for Connor. And then he says that, and Hank can't help it. He laughs.

"The body language is good but the pick up line is not." When Hank laughs and smiles, he looks slightly younger, as if the constant misery on his face relaxes for a second or two. He has a little more experience. Hank keeps them close and also maintains eye contact, the warmth that Connor manages to inspire in him in his gaze. "You want to be careful with a husky voice like that." Hank's own goes deceptively soft and intimate. "It gives a man ideas." His thumb caresses along Connor's knuckles with their hands still held. "It's called a bedroom voice for a reason." It's been awhile since the last time he flirted or acted suggestively, but rusty or not, he's trying it now.

Connor doesn't note the way his bedroom eyes expression - carefully calculated to match the bedroom voice - suffers a little when he smiles. Hank's laugh isn't an indication of failure; Hank keeps his hold on Connor's hand, even moves his thumb over Connor's knuckles in a distinctly human gesture, and the change in Hank's tone combined with his words signals a clear acceptance of Connor's attempts. So the laugh seems like a kind of success, and for a time analyzing his memory of that moment takes priority over testing out this activation of his romance protocol.

The emotion that modified Hank's laugh isn't one Connor's seen before, not in quite this way. Bitterness would be more typical to what Connor's seen; anger would too, if unexpected in this particular context. Happiness - or at the least, straightforward amusement - is new.

A more suitable expression slips back over Connor's face as Hank goes on, almost completely without effort. That's in part down to his ability to mirror human emotions, which is more advanced than any android CyberLife has so far produced - or was, before deviancy changed that part of their programming in ways he still hasn't figured out. But the rest of it's just because of Hank. Everything about him right now is accepting, inviting, in a way Connor, with the limited time he has in the moment, can't quite pin down. There's something about it.

He uses his limited time, instead, to decide what to do next. Deciding on gestures is the simplest: Hank's movement indicates a deepening of intimacy that Connor decides to return, brushing his thumb in a slow, light touch over Hank's own. Deciding on words is harder.

He could explain how his wink hadn't been a straightforward expression of interest but a calculated attempt to make Hank feel off balance and intrigued, rather than combative - but if there's any way to make Hank reject him, this seems like the most likely path to it, and Connor dismisses that possibility as soon as he thinks it. He could try another pick up line - still risky, if less so, as it's possible one of the factors that gave him that laugh a moment ago was surprise, and if so, the joke would wear thin.

The idea of seeing annoyance steal over all that welcome in Hank's expression is a dangerous one. Today, especially today, Connor can't afford the rejection of failure. He dismisses the second option very quickly, too.

"Oh yeah?" he decides on, soft, adding the hint of a emotional modifier to his expression. His eyes are half-lidded, his lips parted a little, his head still tilted down, but now he adds the barest hint of a smirk to it, a lift of one eyebrow. "What ideas would those be, lieutenant Anderson? I might need you to demonstrate. You're the one with all the experience here, after all."

And on the word 'experience' his gaze moves deliberately, briefly, to Hank's lips, and everything about Connor's strategy from the way he's found a way of looking up at a man nearly his own height, to the use of the lieutenant's rank, to the somewhat less subtle appeal to his superior experience, are designed to make Hank feel appealed to, powerful and in control. Tactics that involve taking a position of power instead are understandably limited in androids programming, and the submissive approach has always been the most successful with Hank in particular. Connor keeps his thumb moving as he talks, too, keeping up that human attempt to create intimacy through what little information they're capable of exchanging directly - sensory information, skin on skin, temperature, a sense of presence that wasn't quite there when Hank wasn't standing so close, just a minute ago. He thinks about grasping Hank's wrist with his other hand, feeling some pull that he doesn't question to increase the sensation, but he's not sure what kind of gesture would seem natural enough - human enough - to keep from breaking Hank's suspension of disbelief. Until Connor has the spare processing ability to think of a real, natural way to touch Hank, moving much more than he already is might be too much of a risk.

Hank is very hard to read or at least difficult to try and figure out what will set him off. Even he doesn't know most of the time. He doesn't like feeling like he's talking to a robot or something without feelings, it makes him feel like he's mirroring nothing at all and it's frustrating. He's not a big fan of insincerity in general, and he's very good at reading it in others, even androids. He responded to Connor well when he could see something modifying in his behavior and in his emotions, when he saw glimpses of change that he didn't realize was deviance at first. The Tracis really did it. Connor's reaction to them and witnessing love on their face got through to Hank and he realized that's what he wanted for Connor, for every living thing, synthetic or human.

He'd been trying to get Connor to deviate that night, or at least to push him to see if it was possible, if there was something real within him. Hank desperately wanted to believe there was, all of a sudden, like that damned android snuck up on his feelings and suddenly he wanted to know what it would be like to see Connor emotional and authentic. If it was possible. And his partner is still very good at not making his thoughts obvious now, but Hank still can tell the difference between his Connor, this Connor, and the one he first met.

Connor had this programming, but it was the fact they were friends that had Hank laughing and warming up to him, instead of jerking away awkwardly and putting up every possible wall between them. He isn't good at this anymore but seeing it as a mission or as a game helps. It does not help that Connor is most definitely giving him bedroom eyes or that the smirk is attractive. Hank isn't so oblivious as to think he couldn't be affected by Connor's charm and looks, but he still can see the tightrope he's about to have to walk.

Hank is very drawn in despite himself. Connor's eyes flick to his lips and he feels something flip in his stomach, and he wonders if he can intellectualize a reason to kiss him, but no. This is all kinds of bad. Hank has to focus on how this is work and they have a job and he nods his head slowly.

"Much better. Lines are almost always a bad idea, not a lot of people can pull them off. Especially not with a young face like yours." Hank keeps his hand held though; the more used he is to contact the less likely he is to jump at the first sign of Connor touching him in public. They have to at least seem this comfortable. He can explain away a lot of twitchy behavior as him being private; Hank has that air about him, someone who likes privacy and doesn't love people getting into his business. It'll be hard to soften that out for the job, but it might also give him reasons to ask for help from the others to loosen up, get some questions answered by making himself deceptively vulnerable.

"No Lieutenant with these people, Con. Just Hank." That will be a habit Connor has to break. He calls Hank it most of the time, and it is a problem putting it in this context, because damned if he wouldn't love to be called that by someone as pretty as him in a different situation. "Are you sure you're alright with this? It's not really what you're made for."

Hank doesn't respond in kind; he gives his assessment, instead. Connor straightens, blinking and setting his romantic subroutines back to passive again. The first test run, apparently, is over. He distributes his weight evenly on both feet, lifts his chin enough to look at Hank straight on again. He doesn't let go of Hank's hand; it doesn't occur to him to. Then Hank goes on and Connor's attentive expression creases up, his eyebrows furrowing a little, frowning.

"I'm made to be adaptable, lieutenant." Then his frown deepens. "Hank," he amends, knowing it's too late to correct himself. They both know already that his failure to adapt to something as simple as saying a name instead of a title's already proved him wrong. He should have changed the primary form of address listed in Hank's file the instant Hank mentioned it. It would have been so simple - and it'll be simple, too, for Hank to contact New Jericho and ask them for a model that's more suited to this kind of work. Which would be a perfect time, of course, for the androids there to tell him that Connor hadn't been suited to do any more work for them, either, and then... Well. No one disassembles prototypes who can't fulfill their purpose anymore. Connor knows that.

"I can handle this," he insists, urgent, and wide eyes and leaning forward again, a little, will communicate earnestness, and a willingness to hold Hank's gaze, according to studies completed last year while Connor was being designed, will communicate sincerity. His hand's grip around Hank's tightens but Connor doesn't note the sensation, doesn't realize. "You'll need a second test run anyway before you decide who's more cut out for this. Just tell me where I came up short and I'll show you."

It's better that they don't keep flirting because Hank'll like it too much and he hasn't had anything to drink that will make him deal with that well. It's been a long while since anyone was interested in him, that's all. And Connor has a strong presence, it's difficult not to be drawn into him. He struggled with it from the day they met and mostly failed; despite his efforts, he was like a moth to Connor's flame. Not that he'd put that into words any time soon.

"Say my name at the end of every sentence until it gets easier, that'll make it closer to second nature. It's what you do with the lieutenant anyway." It's a simple enough fix. What they are to each other now is different anyway. They're not partners and Connor's not a detective anymore, but they are friends, and this'll almost be like it used to be, only now they like each other. They were the start of a very good team there for awhile. He thinks they can be again. Something's still bugging him about Connor's behavior and he watches him carefully. The hand tightening gets his eyes narrowing.

"There isn't a who is cut out for it situation here. If you and I don't do it, I'm not going with another android, so I'll just give the case back. The chief knew I'd be asking you." Hank wouldn't make it undercover in this situation with a stranger, and cases got reassigned all the time, especially if someone wasn't right for undercover. "Alright, something is up with you, don't try to lie to me, I'm a pretty good detective myself." He lifts his other hand to place it on Connor's shoulder, this gesture meant to be reassuring and grounding. "You don't have to prove yourself to me. I trust you. Relax."

"I-" Connor frowns at the hand on his shoulder. More contact - a push for more intimacy, honesty. A request from Hank, nonverbal. There's a faint sucking sound from the vicinity of their clasped hands that for a moment doesn't strike Connor as odd because it's a normal sound to hear during the preparations for an interface, a normal thing to do so that the surface beneath his skin can pass information packets directly, communicate with perspective and experience instead of words. Intimate and easy, like the androids in CyberLife tower do it, like Connor's only ever seen it done. But Connor's gaze moves from his shoulder to his fingertips, to the skin already drawing back from them, the shining white tips of them in sharp contrast to Hank's soft, thick, very human fingers and Connor's eyes go a little wide. He starts reversing the process as quickly as he can and tries to meet Hank's eyes, hoping to distract him from looking down before that process finishes.

"You said, um..." Connor takes a moment to remember the exact wording, and to hastily weigh the chances of Hank being put off if Connor quotes Hank using his own voice. Connor's attempt at an interface just now is what decides him against it - he isn't certain enough that he knows enough human gestures and mannerisms to make up for acting so obviously inhuman not once but twice in less than a minute. His own voice it is, then. "When you called me, you said, 'if you'd rather get one of your new friends to come in, that's fine'. Doesn't Fowler want the best-" He falters again, caught on the idea of finding a word that could describe the two of them together, as if they're the same themselves, in the same category. "-officers for the job? You need to know you can count on me not to mess it up. I won't slip again, Hank."

Connor's always an interesting struggle for him, because Hank is good at reading people, but he's been wrong about androids a lot more times than right. When Connor started to deviate he noticed, but he also wasn't entirely sure at the time, if he was simply looking for something he wanted. Especially once he realized he did want Connor to deviate, that he wanted it more than he could put into words without even knowing fully his reasons why. Now he could see emotions and reactions on his friend's face but reading them isn't the same thing as most people he knows. And despite everything he is also careful. He doesn't want to push Connor too far. He's had enough of that.

Hank listens and then makes a face. "Ah, shit, it's not ...." God, here he is reflecting on whether or not he can read Connor when Hank himself can be a damned mystery. He is a maze himself, with false trails and unspoken truths. He grimaces and shakes his head slowly. "Alright, so that was me trying to act nonchalant and casual." He owes Connor honesty now that he's being called out. Awhile ago he might have waved it away, but he really is trying, even if it's very uncomfortable for him. "I wanted to see you, and I wanted an excuse to make you come here, but I didn't want it to be obvious."

It sounds ridiculous put like that. It sounds a lot like when he was a teen trying to figure out how to talk to a girl he liked, which he is not entirely fond of the comparison, but it's similar in the approach. How to get something without acting desperate about it. Hank clears his throat and scratches his beard. "I'm not worried about your capabilities. I'm just ...." He shrugs and looks away. "Worried. About my friend." He feels way too honest and exposed at the moment and hates it.

Hank just wanted to see him. That makes sense now, as Connor runs through his memories of Hank's behavior up until this point - it is, in fact, not the first time Hank's said something like this in the short time since Connor got here. Connor's eyes widen just for an instant, then a little smile curves slowly over his face, and he doesn't really note it. His social module, as it tends to, is only running in the background. He's thinking over Hank's words, instead. There's something about the idea. There's got to be some reason it feels like new information, like it's surprising, but- it really has been a while since Connor's done a diagnostic. He raises the priority of that particular task, setting it to automatically appear in his task list as soon as he finds a safe place to stay long enough to do it. It isn't like he's going back to CyberLife tower between tasks, is it? That's not an option any more. Markus made that clear. He'll have to find somewhere else.

Given Hank's repeated verbal and nonverbal indications of intimacy, he'd probably be willing to help. Or maybe a different place has already been arranged for them to stay, for the sake of their cover. It isn't a priority. Connor sets that concern aside, as Hank goes on, so he can focus better on finding his way through the conversation.

To figure out a reply, he'll have to figure out the difference that Hank seems to think is obvious. Connor's LED blinks yellow while he tries it, separating the idea of worry from worry about Connor's capabilities. The search for relevant memories, context to help him redefine the concepts, retrieves a memory of the garden. The blooming of the trees, when the place was green. Its perfect sky. The orderly bridge, and the orderly path. Color in Amanda's hair reflecting the sun as she shifts, as she turns around to meet him-

As search results go, that's not really relevant. Neither is all the other assorted files associated with the memory. His LED blinks very quickly for a moment, then steadies as Connor dismisses the search, and a moment later it goes blue. He focuses on Hank's face again. He realizes his grip on Hank's hand's gone tighter; he loosens it. He tilts his head down and lets out a slow, measured breath. He raises his eyebrows. He chooses a dry little smile, one that mocks Hank a very, very little for a concern that's unnecessary.

He'll have to pretend to understand the difference between the two terms until he actually does. That's not a tactic he likes to use often - it skews his interpretations of behavior and meaning - but it's necessary, sometimes. "Worried? What for? We've barely even talked about anything that isn't the case yet. I'm sorry if I've said something to make you worry; I must have phrased something less clearly than I intended."

Edited (nitpicking) 2020-01-05 00:55 (UTC)

In the start Hank didn't really notice when Connor was clearly processing a lot of information. He eventually understood the differences with yellow, blue, and red, and there's such a thing for humans as being able to watch when someone's thinking too hard. Since Connor's basically a new person, in more ways than one, he gets that processing is happening not just with the world around them but whatever's going on in the inside too. It's frustrating, not being able to poke his way in, to understand how Connor's mind works and follow his train of thought. It's been a long time since Hank wanted to be a mind reader, but he really wishes he could be at the moment.

The tighter grip on his hand would in the past have set him off or made him jerk out of Connor's grasp, but at least they've come far enough that he barely notices or minds. Hank observes all of this and his gut is telling him something, but Connor deserves some secrets of his own. Or whatever it is, if he wants to keep it to himself, that's fine. He's an individual with his own shit going on, and Hank can't just go stomping around breaking things open because of his insatiable obsession with knowing. Which he stopped feeling passionately over the past few years, until this all started. Until Connor and the android situation put the fire back into him.

"Alright, I'll back off." He's not saying he's wrong about anything, thanks, but Hank will focus on something else. That mocking smile is both cute and irritating, and Hank frowns, glancing away from him for a moment. "If we do this, we'll have a temporary location. It's too easy to trace my place back to me." And they're not going to use the android home, obviously. "Someone'll keep an eye on Sumo." He knows a few people he'd trust to ask.

"I'm going to attempt to be more pleasant in my cover." Hank grimaces; his grumpy attitude isn't actually a new thing. His tragedy and darkness came from Cole, yeah, but he's never been a happy go lucky guy either. But his personality doesn't exactly encourage people to trust or warm up to him easily, as he doesn't trust or warm up to anyone. That will be even more difficult for him to get right than pretending to be in a relationship with Connor. "You'll have to remind me."

Connor's eyes narrow - Hank backing off means he isn't convinced, and that means Connor will have to go over his own answer later to find out what wasn't convincing. In absence of knowing what gave him away - or what gave Hank the false idea that there's something to back off from - Connor might have to limit his contact with Hank. Just until he can start acting in a more appropriate way, close up whatever stray branches in his code keep tripping up this meeting and sending it stumbling into unwanted directions.

Connor loosens his hold on Hank's hand enough that, unless Hank makes some attempt to keep Connor's hand held in his, their hands will drop. There's a risk Hank will take that as some kind of indicator of a mood that isn't there, since Hank seems to be doing that already, so Connor gives him a small, friendly smile as he does it. His free hand dips into his pocket, and comes out with his quarter. His free hand flips the quarter over its fingers. His eyes stay on Hank.

"If that's going to be too difficult for you to keep up," he says, eyebrows raised, his smile a little more smug again, a little less polite but, conversely, a little more likely to read to Hank as genuinely friendly, "you can continue to be unpleasant without compromising the mission. I can be friendly enough for both of us."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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sorry, low energy levels making me slow

I'm obviously the same never apologize!

I'll try not to XD

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