for stickyourinstructions

[conditionalinstability]

 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.

Comments

[stickyourinstructions]

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.