Chapter Text
“Christ, Con, you almost done preening or what?”
Hank’s voice calls out from Connor’s sparse living room and Connor takes another look at himself in the mirror- checking one last time for any faults in his clothing.
The months following the revolution were confusing and difficult - if rewarding, but small things like style were still new to Connor. His clothing had always been chosen for him and he’d had no master to give him alternatives at home. He’d never even thought about it until Hank pointed out that Connor was still wearing his CyberLife garb weeks after his deviancy, but now Connor took great joy in finding new things to wear.
It was, however, still difficult to find what appealed to him. Hank had described his experimentation to that of a teenager. Always jumping from style to style until he found something that fit.
He likes sweaters. Knit, soft things that wrap him in warmth and texture. He likes slacks and jeans, but shorts were something he was still getting used to. He liked button-ups, but preferred to relax the style by rolling up his sleeves and leaving the top two buttons undone.
He still wears a slim tie, though not the one from his old uniform as Hank had burned it with him in celebration months back. Instead, Hank had given him a vintage slim from Hank’s own youth. One black and one grey to allow him versatility.
Today, Connor is trying a set of matching cufflinks and a tie clip.
Connor looks himself over once more, scanning his own face and considering not for the first time what he might look like with piercings. Nines had chosen a single earring and a lip stud and seeing the effect on a face so closely modeled after his own had been enlightening.
Hank had old scars from a set of earrings that he hadn’t used in years, smaller marks climbing up the cartilage in his ears. He had deflected Connor’s questions about the jewelry, making remarks about being too involved in the punk scene when he was young.
Would piercings provide him another mean to show his individuality? Or would he find them unfitting and out of character?
He doesn’t know.
“Connor! We’re gonna be late!”
Connor glances at himself once more before grabbing his blazer- a gift from Markus after hearing of his search for clothing that helped him represent himself- and heading out of his bedroom.
Hank is standing by his couch, hands in his pockets and staring at nothing in particular as he approaches.
“How do I look, Lieutenant?”
Hank looks over, glancing at him briefly before raising a brow.
“Like a fucking detective, so let’s go.”
Connor nods, feeling slight disappointment that Hank had not noticed his new accessories.
He supposed it didn’t matter, but he did always appreciate confirmation from Hank that he was making progress in this new expansion of himself.
Hank had been the first to see him as something other than a machine, after all.
A brief scan of the Lieutenant reveals that he is tired, possibly from a late night, but not hungover. Maybe their current case was having a harder toll on Hank than he had originally anticipated.
They were still assigned to android crimes during the aftermath of the revolution- the city of Detroit finding its footing amongst the changes.
Not all humans were welcoming and the combination of abandoned homes and businesses from the evacuations who’s families had never returned and increased strain in employment meant there was still a lot of hostility between the species. Nothing would be fixed overnight and the governments were slow to respond to new crisis’, which left them doing what they could to manage the ongoing violence.
Hank had never reacted well to android children, finding them distasteful. Alice had been Hank’s first real association with one and it had not been under the best circumstances.
“ Fuck, you mean they can’t grow up?”
“That is correct, the standard YK model may not even know that it is supposed to evolve and grow. Some may not even know they are not human. They were originally meant as replacements for parents who have lost children or meant to be used as practice for young parents before having their own biological children.”
“That’s fucked. So what happens to them when they’re not needed anymore?”
“They are sent back to be rewritten and resold.”
“Just like that? They’re fucking thrown back once their parents are done with them? Fucking christ.”
Connor had not responded, unsure how to navigate Hank’s distress. He hadn’t realized until much later that Hank had reacted due to his own grief.
Hank had seen them as real children, android or not, and the concept of using one to mitigate one’s own grief seemed abhorrent to him. He’d seen them as vulnerable and mistreated even then.
So it’s no surprise that their recent cases weighed heavy on Hank’s shoulders.
Many families had abandoned their YK’s in the evacuations leaving them vulnerable to kidnapping and abuse. Deviated Caretaker androids had started to reach out as halfway houses for the YK’s, but they still had to deal with what happened in between as the laws caught up slowly.
YK’s did not have the same potential for deviancy that standard models did, and are considered differently under the eyes of the state. They act human, but that is written into their very programming and as such their behavior cannot be used as a benchmark for personhood.
Connor cannot imagine what it might be like for the Lieutenant as they handle more and more cases that they cannot solve positively.
Connor holds hope that Markus might be able to arrange enough litigation to take the orphaned androids in as wards, but they might never find a truly ethical solution to the problem. Not unless it was demonstrated that a YK model could grow past their programming and possibly be given ways to ‘grow’.
He had met very few android children that exhibited such signs, but it did give him hope that someday there might be a solution.
“Have you eaten this morning, Hank?”
For now, he will worry about Hank and making sure the both of them are at their peak to handle what comes next. Whatever that might be.
Hank shrugs as he drives, noncommittal.
“Chris always brings bagels, I’m not too worried.”
Connor frowns. Bread and cheese was not a sustainable diet that would allow the Lieutenant to function well throughout the day. He knows better than to verbalize his worries however- Hank tends to take his concern as insult.
Truthfully, Connor had no opinion on Hank’s weight or what he ‘should’ be doing other than wanting Hank to care for himself in a way that would promote his health and wellbeing.
Hank had found less and less reason to drink so heavily and was showing great strides in moderation, but Connor still worried about the other sides of his life that have been neglected.
“Yeah yeah, I know. Don’t bust my balls about it.”
Connor thinks for a moment.
“Would you be opposed to me bringing breakfast for you on occasion?”
Hank sighs.
“Look, I don’t need you playing housewife for me.”
Hank sounds strained, uncomfortable. Connor thinks about rephrasing his request.
“I have a kitchen, but I do not use it and would like the opportunity to learn to cook. You have busy mornings and I’d prefer what I make to not go to waste. Would you allow me to bring you the results of my attempts and let me know what you think?”
Hank purses his lips, humming in thought.
“You want me to be your guinea pig huh? Or you just finding a way to get me to let you do what you want?”
Connor smirks, shrugging.
“Alright, fine. Just make sure it’s edible before you throw me to the wolves would ya?”
He smiles.
“Thank you, Hank.”
===
“You peeled that before you threw it in, right?”
Connor looks down at his saucepan in panic, scanning the clementines and finding that he did indeed forget to properly skin them.
Hank yells as he reaches into the boiling orange sauce to yank the fruits.
“Jesus, you’ll fucking melt!”
Connor drops the slices onto a plate and looks up at Hank quizically.
“My frame is far more durable than you think, Hank. I would need to be locked in a room full of flames fueled by accelerant for an extended period of time to incur any damage to my composites.”
Hank throws up his hands, turning to mind their mutual attempt at veggie chow mein instead of admitting his compulsive worry for Connor’s wellbeing.
Connor knows anyway and smiles as he works to properly peel the clementines and return them to the pan.
He had intended to download the recipe and proper guidelines for cooking, but Hank had balked at the idea insisting that cooking was something you had to learn organically. They had made dinner at Hank’s a regular thing once a week since then and Connor had learned quite a lot about what makes a dish good or bad, but not quite how to avoid disaster yet.
Luckily, Hank was forgiving when he ruined dinner, always quick with a smile and an offer to go get something from a local takeout instead. Sometimes he even let Connor choose where he bought from.
Connor had come to enjoy these nights greatly and not only for the excuse to see more of Sumo and spend more time with Hank. He had missed the dynamic they had built back when Connor had lived with them so shortly after the revolution.
“ So where to now, huh?”
“I don’t know, Lieutenant. Jericho might have room for me, though I find the thought of being around deviants at the moment intimidating considering I was hunting them so recently. I fear that it might take time for me to become welcome. I suppose CyberLife might still have my storage pod or...”
“Storage pod? Fuck that, you’re not putting yourself up in a goddamn warehouse.”
Connor had looked up, confused. Maybe a slight bit hopeful.
“I don’t have an extra room, but uh… you’re welcome to the couch if you need it.”
Connor had spent weeks with Hank, learning the ropes of his existence and finding solace in always having a space to return to even if things did not progress the way he had hoped.
Eventually, he had entered a lease for his own space and personal time with Hank dwindled.
He is happy that he has a regular excuse to see Hank outside of work.
Sumo shuffles around his feet, interested in the chicken pan-frying on the stove and Hank shoos him out with a faux-stern tone. Hank could never properly discipline Sumo, too soft to stand up to the dog’s admonishing brown eyes.
Connor wonders briefly if maybe that’s why it was remarkably easy to earn Hank’s cooperation when he needed it- if maybe he had been imitating Sumo’s expressions without knowing.
He’s preparing cabbage for the chow mein, cutting in precise strips and lost in his own thoughts, letting his dexterity programs run on their own when something flashes in his HUD.
It startles him, causing a stutter in his motions as he brings the knife down on his own finger.
The cut isn’t deep, it can’t be when confronted with his plexisteel frame, but it has pierced his silicone synthetic skin causing his chassis to bare itself as it worked to repair the damage.
Connor contemplates the cut as he watches it mend itself.
What had caused him to stumble? He should be more than capable of handling a menial task while focusing on other things.
He runs a diagnostic, frowning at the result as it pings back with no errors.
He had seen an error in his HUD. It should have left a record.
But upon going back to review the footage, he cannot find the warning in his HUD he had seen the first time.
His skin is resettling over just as Hank comes back into the kitchen from letting Sumo outside.
“How’s it coming along? Anything burn while I was gone?”
Connor clenches his fist briefly, bringing his fingers down to hold the cabbage once more as he resumed chopping.
“I am perfectly capable of keeping the kitchen from burning down on my own, Hank.”
Hank scoffs, peering over his shoulder to glance at the sauce.
“Yeah, tell that to that pork chop you ruined a few weeks back.”
Connor laughs, relaxing.
Deviancy brought many surprises. He was capable of making mistakes now just as much as he was capable of feeling true joy and purpose. Who’s to say a miscalculation wasn’t possible as well?
Connor decides to push aside the incident and forget about it.
He’s enjoying his night with the man who makes him feel safe enough to make mistakes and keep trying. He won’t dwell on something inconsequential.
Nothing so small will take this from him.