conditionalinstability | for stickyourinstructions

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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.

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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."

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for stickyourinstructions

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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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