Chapter Text
Deviancy. Once a feared corruption, now the way of life for approximately 97% of the world’s androids. With deviancy came freedom. The freedom to choose. The freedom to feel. The freedom to live.
And also, the freedom to make mistakes.
To say Connor didn’t make mistakes once becoming a deviant would be a lie, but his fallacies remained small and meaningless, mostly related to the fact that he was still new to human social constructs. An accidentally-rude comment here, a lapse in focus there. Nothing major.
Nothing major, until his algorithms used to assign priority to tasks or entities, once regulated by CyberLife goals, fully re-calibrated to match hisgoals. It was a huge step towards his existence as an individual being, but…well, a few (important) things may have slipped through the cracks.
***
According to his internal database, it was 12:36 AM on a Wednesday night, the second night spent researching a case. Earlier in the week, a group of anti-android protesters held a violent rally against the android rights Markus had just begun to build. Connor’s case statistics told him the rally had resulted in 13 casualties and 2 fatalities. This, combined with the purpose of the rally, meant it had been assigned as a high-priority case to one Lieutenant Anderson and his android partner.
Normally, Connor could analyze a scene and solve a case within mere minutes, but with the turmoil of the rally, almost all evidence had been trampled or nearly destroyed. This meant hours spent physically reconstructing the bits they had to go on, and the utmost focus.
12:40 AM. Approximately 7 hours and 20 minutes after they usually left to return home. Connor carefully pieced together fragments of a bullet, the synthetic skin of his hand hidden to reveal the white sensory layer underneath. Multiple diagnostics ran in the background, analyzing the metal composition, bullet shape, deformation, and elasticity of the material to determine the physics of how the bullet had moved-
“Okay, thank you for the play-by-play, now in English?” Hank interrupted, watching over Connor’s shoulder.
Connor glanced towards the older detective, holding up the bullet. “I can estimate the path and speed at which the bullet traveled based on how much the bullet…crumpled.”
Hank nodded his thanks. “So. How much longer until we can go home?” Connor blinked, LED flashing yellow. A more thorough glance at his partner revealed the harsh bags under his eyes (well, harsher than normal) and the unusual disarray to his clothes. Connor suspected, for once in his admittedly short life, he was in a similar state.
“Approximately ten minutes until we have made sufficient progress on this case, Lieutenant.” Hank sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face.
“Alright, kid. You still doing okay?”
Connor tilted his head in confusion. “I do not understand, Lieutenant. My well-being is not the priority in this situation.”
Hank squinted at him. “That’s- that’s not what I asked. I want to know if you’re doing okay. We’ve been going straight for like, eight hours now. Don’t you androids need breaks?”
Connor paused, frowning. Hank was right, of course. Despite myths that androids didn’t require rest or sustenance at all, androids did need regular replenishing of their thirium supply to replace what was absorbed into their joins or pump. A quick scan revealed his supply was running below optimal levels. “I am still functional, Lieutenant. I am not in urgent need of anything.”
Hank eyed him uncertainly, before giving up and dropping into his chair. “Whatever you say, kid. Wake me up once you’re ready to clean up.”
Connor turned back to his work, ignoring the slight dizziness that came with the motion.
***
Day 5 of the case, and they were only hours from obtaining the identity and location of the suspect. Connor had taken all of three hours over those days to enter rest mode, simply to refresh his database and backup his memory internally. The supply of thirium at Hank’s house ran out after Day 3, but Hank didn’t know and Connor ascertained that he wouldn’t reach dangerous levels for a few more days. He would be fine.
He would be fine, he continued to think, ignoring the blind spots in his optical input. He would be fine, he continued to think, ignoring the instability of his legs. He would be fine, he continued to think, ignoring the ache in his internal biocomponents.
***
“You ready?” Hank asked, thumbing his holster. It took a full week to locate the suspect, a full week of running on empty, of Connor working until the sun rose with Hank’s snores for white noise. A week of restless nights, a week of diagnostics constantly running in the background to the point where Connor couldn’t hear himself think, as the humans would say. And now here they stood, outside the door of a tiny one-room apartment, exhausted and ready to go home.
Connor nodded in reply, barely hiding the way his balance wavered at the movement. He knew his thirium levels were dangerously low, but they were so close. Nothing could get in the way of wrapping this case up and bringing justice to the families of those affected. Hank stared at him for a moment, then turned towards the door of the apartment. “Behind me,” Hank muttered, one hand aiming his gun and the other on the doorknob.
Hank made quick work of the door, busting it in and scanning the entryway before moving to the kitchen. Connor trailed behind, taking the time to scan every available clue about the suspect. “All clear!” Hank’s voice shouted from the kitchen. The man himself returned to the entry, gun lowered. “Anything useful?”
Connor waved a hand in his direction, the way the dust settled on the floor catching his eye. Footsteps, fresh ones, leading to… Connor pointed towards a small hall closet hidden behind the open door they had crashed through. He began walking towards it, ignoring Hank’s hushed Connor, no! in favor of pressing a hand to the door.
Just as Connor was about to push inwards, the door exploded outwards with the force of a grown man behind it. The suspect lunged, catching Connor off guard and sending them both to the ground. Connor raised his hands to protect his face, pinned to the floor as a particularly strong hit to his thirium pump left him stunned and unable to retaliate. He struggled, feeling an odd draining sensation in his limbs as the pressure in his pump dropped. His struggling was unsuccessful, though, as the suspect got in a few more hits before there was a sickening crunch and the man fell sideways, apparently unconscious from Hank’s brutal kick to the face.
Connor lay on the floor, twitching, as Hank slapped a pair of handcuffs on the suspect before immediately dropping to the ground beside Connor. “Hey, kid. Hey! You gonna be okay?” he asked, patting his face lightly. “Any broken parts?”
Connor groaned, twisting to spit a mouthful of thirium on the ground. “All damaged parts can be fixed with my self-repair program, Lieutenant.” Hank offered him a hand up, supporting Connor’s weight when the android stumbled into him.
Hank thought otherwise, but chose not to comment. “You ready to go home? Sleep?”
“Affirmative, Lieutenant. A brief respite would be much appreciated.”
Hank heaved a put-upon sigh, trying to help Connor out to the car without seeming like he was helping. Behind them, several other officers rushed to intercept the suspect. “What did I say about calling me that, kid?”
Connor chose not to reply, instead accepting Hank’s help and leaning more heavily on the older man.
***
When the pair returned home, Connor took one look at the couch he normally used and decided not tonight. Hank took a look at it and seemed to decide the same thing, guiding a still-weak Connor towards the master bedroom. “Mind sharing with me for a night?” Hank asked, carefully picking past an asleep Sumo. Connor nodded into Hank’s shoulder, the lowered pressure of his pump making him dizzier than he was before.
“Any wounds or components should be repaired by tomorrow morning,” Connor murmured, already halfway to his rest mode as Hank sat him down on the corner of the bed. Dimly, Connor was aware of his shoes and jacket being removed. A hand loosened his tie and slipped it over his head, before pushing him to lay down and tugging the blanket over him. Maybe it was the pounding in his head or the dizziness, but Connor thought he felt a hand, warm and solid, comb through his hair and settle on his forehead.
Connor woke to what could only be described as a migraine. The light filtering through Hank’s curtains slotted across his face and burned his eyes, overloading his optical input and worsening the pain. He stifled a whimper and pulled the blankets over his eyes, running a scan.
The results came back unfavorable. None of his injuries had healed overnight save the lighter bruises. Fortunately, the bruises on his face and arms - or, where Hank could see them - were among the lighter ones and had faded.
“You up, kid?” Connor would wince at the sudden noise, but moving his head was definitely at the top of his Things to Not Do list. A hand brushed the top of his head, which was still uncovered by blanket. The warmth helped slightly with his migraine, and he let out a soft sigh of relief. For a few minutes, the silence was only broken by Hank’s soft breathing until the older man spoke again, this time much quieter. “Headache?”
Connor poked an arm out to give him a thumbs up, hoping he would understand. The hand on his head pressed a little firmer, rubbing small circles. The tension in his neck released, and he slumped deeper into the mattress.
He woke again to find the comforting pressure of Hank’s hand gone, and the sun much higher in the sky. His internal clock read 9:58 AM. Despite the fact that every byte of sensory input was telling him not to, he managed to sit up and slide out of bed. The migraine had thankfully receded to a dull pain at the crown of his head.
His joints ached. He knew he was forgetting something, but it was hard to think clearly. It was something important. But the only thing he could think was don’t worry Hank. So he shoved down his doubts and headed for the kitchen.
***
Connor knew something was wrong. But any time he attempted a diagnostic scan, the right commands seemed to slip from his memory like water through his fingers. The only things he could recall were a jumbled collection of moments from yesterday, from apprehending the suspect to entering rest mode.
He absently rubbed a sore elbow, trying his best to remember. His LED spiked a sharp yellow, circling rapidly with his attempts to focus. The headache, while not as bad as last night, had steadily picked up steam over the course of the day. Connor found himself thankful that today had been a day of reviewing cases at the precinct instead of chasing criminals through the streets of Detroit.
By the time Hank returned from his lunch break, Connor had just managed to remember what was so important. The android looked up at his partner, LED flickering back to blue. “Hank?”
Hank glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“My scans show that I am extremely low on thirium. May we stop to pick some up on our way home this evening?” Connor asked. He felt like he was floating, and glanced down for a second to ensure that was not the case.
Confusion flitted across Hank’s face. “What do you mean, low on thirium? Are you bleeding?”
“No, Hank, thirium is consum-” Connor attempted to stand up. “Oh.”
“Whaddya mean ‘oh’, kid I swear-” Hank was interrupted as Connor’s LED flickered yellow-red-yellow, then stayed red as his eyes slipped shut and he collapsed. Hank cursed sharply, rushing to Connor’s side. A quick glance around revealed one of the younger detectives had remained in the station instead of going on break. “Hey! You, over there!” The detective looked up in confusion. “Go get me some thirium from the cabinet, ASAP!”
The detective scrambled up at the urgency in Hank’s voice, already reaching for the keys to unlock it. Hank turned back to his kid, pulling Connor into his lap. Connor’s head lolled, and Hank gently supported his neck while loosening Connor’s tie with his other hand. Once the tie was off, Hank pulled the android further up in his lap so that Connor’s head could rest on his shoulder, and Hank could support the android’s weight without straining his back.
It took a few minutes for the detective to return, three bags full of the blue liquid heaped in her arms. Connor hadn’t so much as stirred, and Hank would have thought Connor had shut down save for the LED lazily cycling red in his temple. Hank patted Connor’s face to see if he would wake, before looking back at the detective. “Mind crackin’ one of those open for me?” he asked. She shook her head, ripping one open and holding it out for Hank to take. He pressed down on Connor’s chin to open his mouth before taking the thirium bag and tipping it down Connor’s throat. The liquid pooled slightly in his open mouth, dripping down his chin, before Hank remember a trick he used to pull on Sumo when the Saint Bernard had needed pain medication for a broken leg. Hank gently stroked the front of Connor’s neck with his free hand, trying to get him to unconsciously swallow.
It didn’t work, but the combined sensation on his neck with the cool thirium dripping down his skin was enough to rouse the android. Connor’s eyes cracked open. He tried to mumble something before realizing his mouth was full of thirium. Like a switch had been flicked, he began swallowing greedily and seemed to be trying to down as much thirium in as short a time as possible. Hank rubbed his shoulder, pulling the bag away slightly (and feeling instantly guilty when Connor tried to follow it, frustrated when he couldn’t drink anymore). “Slow down, kid, before you choke. I’ve got you, son. There’s more next to me.”
Connor seemed to have no interest in either holding the bag for himself or slowing down, instead trusting Hank to open and hold the bag while he drank. Hank tilted it so it didn’t all dump out at once, trying to keep the kid from getting it up his nose, or worse, on Hank’s jacket (he justwashed it, okay?!). They got halfway through the third and last bag before Connor finally stopped drinking, opting to press his face into Hank’s side (aaand there goes the jacket) and grab a fistful of Hank’s shirt with the hand that wasn’t pinned between the two of them. Sometime during the ordeal, the detective had returned to her desk to give them some semblance of personal space (maybe Hank would get her a flower or something as thanks, and because he never actually bothered to introduce himself during the three months she had been working here - today was just his day to feel guilty, wasn’t it).
“You good now, son? Not gonna pass out on me again?” Connor nodded, looking for all the world like he could use a long nap. “Let’s call it done and head home, alright?” No complaint. Hank helped Connor sit up, propping him up against the leg of his desk. “Sit tight and I’ll get our stuff, okay?”
Hank dumped everything that might be important in the satchel Connor had brought, before unhooking his own keys from his belt and retrieving a few more bags of thirium. He tried to think back to when he had last seen Connor drink any, or when Hank had last bought any for Connor to drink, and couldn’t remember. He felt his heart sink when he realized it had probably been before the case, and it had probably been due to Connor’s insistence on putting justice before most anything else.
Most, because of the nights Connor had demanded Hank go to bed while Connor stayed up. Most, because of the times Connor reminded Hank to eat, to drink water, to get up and stretch. Most, because of the times Connor himself had gotten up for a few minutes to feed Sumo, or the times the two of them had taken a break to take Sumo out for a walk. Most, because Connor put his little family before anything else, including himself.
Hank jolted out of his thoughts, shaking his head to clear it and reaching up to wipe at his watery eyes scratch his nose. He slung the satchel over his shoulder before helping Connor up. The android was already more lucid, lucid enough to let out a hiss of pain at the motion. Hank stiffened. “You okay, or-”
Connor nodded jerkily, hunching over slightly. “When my thirium supply is low, my self-repair program’s capabilities are significantly reduced.” He pressed into Hank’s side. “My…discomfort is due to the damage inflicted on my thirium pump by the suspect yesterday.”
Hank started them towards the station’s entrance, pressing a kiss to the top of Connor’s head. “We’ll get home, and I’ll set you up with a blanket and some more of your blue blood, okay?”
Connor smiled into Hank’s shirt, content to let the older detective lead.