Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“A little higher. Right there,” Hank instructed.

Connor adjusted the flashlight beam accordingly, aiming it into the engine of the Oldsmobile where Hank indicated. Hank squinted as he searched for the problem that had caused the old car to break down on the side of the road the previous day. It had had to be towed, and rather than towing it to a shop, Hank had instead brought it home to the driveway to fix it himself.

“Perhaps it’s time to upgrade your vehicle,” Connor suggested for what felt like the dozenth time.

Hank huffed as he moved his tools inside the engine cavity. “No way. Me and this old girl have been through too much together. She’s got some miles in her yet.”

Connor frowned slightly, watching as Hank ended up staining his hands, forearms, and shirt front in dirt and oil as he worked. “Newer vehicles are more efficient to maintain.”

“Yeah,” Hank grunted, straightening up and wiping engine gunk from his hands onto his t-shirt. “More efficient as in making it too complicated for the everyday person to repair, so you gotta send it to some fancy shop and get overcharged for it…No thank you.” He waved a hand. “Go try it now.”

Connor exhaled passive aggressively before complying. He opened the driver door and slid inside, turning the key in the ignition. Hank tilted his ear toward the engine, listening to the mechanics churn and rev and fail to turn over.

“Shit,” Hank sighed, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “All right, stop.”

Connor let go of the key, standing up out of the car and looking at Hank again. “If it was a newer model, at least a version with an interface component, then I could connect to it directly and the car could tell us exactly what’s wrong.”

“What’s the fun in that?” Hank said dryly, taking up the flashlight and shining it into the engine again.

“I wasn’t aware that fun was the goal,” Connor replied flatly, returning to Hank’s side. “I thought having a functioning vehicle was the goal.”

Hank pursed his lips, standing up and intentionally shining the light directly in Connor’s eyes. Connor involuntarily squinted but didn’t recoil, and the pupils of his optical units rapidly contracted against the light. Hank lowered the flashlight with a frown.

“Just because something is old and needs a little more maintenance, that doesn’t make it a lost cause,” he stated.

Connor was quiet as he processed that, looking at the open engine of the Oldsmobile. Hank surveyed the guts of the vehicle too. In his opinion, people nowadays were too quick to replace things instead of repairing or maintaining them. Be it a car, a computer, a phone. Sometimes there wasn’t even anything wrong with the thing; people just wanted an upgrade, the newest thing, the latest thing. But planned obsolescence was a plague in the electronics field, and it was one that Hank was going to avoid as long as he could.

With Cyberlife long gone, even state of the art androids like Connor were going to be hurting for regular maintenance when the time came. Hank shuddered to think about when Connor would actually become damaged and need repairs…and that was matter of ‘when’ not ‘if.’ Hank sure as shit wasn’t capable of working on a system as sophisticated and delicately tuned as an android. But when that happened, he knew for damn sure that he’d find someone with the skills to give Connor the care that he needed.

Connor straightened up slightly, eyes still on the innards of the car. “You have a dislike for new technology, Hank, but…just because something is new and also needs maintenance…doesn’t make it bad.”

He said it quietly, and Hank looked at Connor. Connor stared at the car, glanced stealthily at Hank, and then immediately focused on the car again. Planned obsolescence was a plague on androids too, and Hank softened somewhat, and he clapped a hand against Connor’s back before holding up the flashlight again.

“Yeah, we all need maintenance at some point, kid. Androids and humans,” he said. “C’mon, let me show you how to keep old clunkers like this running, and, uh, maybe later you can show me how to install a, uh, one of those interface things so…in the future…the car can, uh, maybe tell us what’s wrong right away. This car predates Cyberlife tech, so we might need an adapter or something…” Hank trailed off, lifting his shoulders in a shrug.

Connor’s expression brightened, and he nodded. “Deal.” He looked at the car again. “This shouldn’t be too difficult to fix. I was designed to be a detective and solve homicide cases, and this,” he gestured to the car, “certainly looks like a crime scene.”

Hank snorted and snatched the flashlight from him, pointing at the car. “All right, smartass. I’ll hold the flashlight, and you just do what I tell you. Got it?”

Connor chuckled. “Got it.”

They had the old car running again by the end the afternoon.

Chapter Text

When Connor had joined the DPD as a deviant android, he had prepared himself for the crime scenes that he may have to investigate. The horrific, visceral, monstrous carnage of homicide cases that would test the very fiber of his being. He had braced himself for that. He had been less prepared for…this.

A brawl had broken out at the weekly Bingo Night at a small community center, and the police had been called after two elderly women came to physical blows after one woman was accused of taking the other’s seat.

“—and she snuck in…like a SNAKE!...and took my seat!” the first woman, Ginger, was railing. Her white hair was frazzled from the altercation, and she was not afraid to point her finger very aggressively at anyone and everyone around her.

“Oho! That is rich!” the other woman, Adelaide, shot back, standing farther away and being questioned by Hank, while Connor was taking Ginger’s statement.

“Ma’am,” Hank warned patiently. “Please.”

“You’re a SNAKE!” Ginger roared, pointing at her.

Adelaide folded her arms and lifted her chin. “You wouldn’t know snakeskin from cow hide, YOU HEIFFER! Nobody here is fooled by your fake-snakeskin handbag!”

“Ma’am.” Connor calmly intercepted, physically putting himself between the two women to block them from each other’s side. He waited until Ginger looked at him again. “How long have you been attending this location’s Bingo Night?”

“Since before you were a speck in Cyberlife’s eye, young man!” Ginger said boisterously.

“Well, congratulations on being older than the Appalachian Mountains!” Adelaide argued over Hank’s questions. “But that chair still doesn’t have your name on it!”

“SNAKE!”

“COW!”

“HAG!”

“SLUT!”

“Ladies, please…”

All in all, it took another hour to get anything close to a sufficient statement from either woman, and as soon as they had what they needed, Connor and Hank sent the women their separate ways and eagerly retreated to the quiet of Hank’s Oldsmobile.

While the car warmed up, Hank chuckled, shaking his head as he wrangled out of his jacket. “I tell you, times may change, but cranky old people always stay the same.”

Connor grinned at that, leaning out of the way as Hank wadded up his jacket and made to toss it into the back seat. “I wouldn’t know. I’m only a year old.”

Hank hummed at that, and something fell out of his jacket pocket as he threw the wad into the backseat. Connor recognized it as a little metallic coin, and he caught it before it could disappear between the gap in the seats. As he lifted it up, he immediately noted that it wasn’t a coin of legal tender but…something else.

“What is this?” he asked, opening his palm to inspect it.

Hank sat back in his seat, eyes falling to the coin in Connor’s hand. His face quickly tensed, and he lunged out a hand, snatching the coin away from Connor.

“Shit—It’s nothing. It’s nothing.”

Connor’s eyebrows raised at that reaction, but he didn’t try to withhold the coin from Hank. Hank’s face was rapidly turning red, and all indicators were pointing to embarrassment as the culprit. Connor frowned as Hank started to shove the coin into his pants pocket, though he soon gave up and sighed heavily, sinking back into his seat. Connor tilted his head both out of curiosity and concern. He had been living in Hank’s house for a year now…He had never seen his friend become so self conscious about anything else before.

“Hank? Is everything okay?”

Hank swallowed hard, glaring straight ahead through the windshield for a moment before huffing and dropping his gaze to his closed fist around the coin.

“Yeah, sorry…It’s just a…” He slowly opened his fist enough to let Connor see the coin again. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just—”

TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE.

Connor could read the engraving on the coin, and his data banks rapidly identified the coin as a medallion commemorating one year of sobriety for recovering alcoholics. Hank sat up straighter as Connor looked at the coin, and Connor frowned, raising his eyes to Hank’s defensive posture.

“Why were you hiding this?” Connor asked. “This is an accomplishment to be celebrated.”

Hank pursed his lips, then lowered his shoulders. “I…uh…I’ve tried to—y’know, before,” he mumbled, gesturing to the coin. “But I never…It never stuck before. This…yeah.”

Connor eyed him in confusion. Humans had such odd ways of twisting moments of success into reminders of past failures and fears of embarrassment.

“Hank, this is wonderful. I’m proud of you,” Connor said firmly, placing his hand on Hank’s arm and giving a squeeze.

Hank’s face stayed red, and he only briefly met Connor’s eyes before looking away again. He lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Thanks.”

Connor made a small smile, but it quickly tempered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Hank snorted, looking at him incredulously before realizing Connor was serious. “I haven’t had somebody in my life in a long time who I didn’t want to disappoint. I, uh, I guess I didn’t want to disappoint you if I…y’know…fell off the wagon.”

Connor felt the biocomponents in his chest cramp at that, and he squeezed Hank’s arm again as his system quickly did the math. The revolution was just over a year ago now. Connor was just over a year old now. That meant…Hank had given up alcohol and begun attending meetings around the same time…all without telling Connor. And without Connor realizing.

“Hank, you’ve never disappointed me…and I’m glad you told me about it now, so I can tell you how proud I am,” he said emphatically.

“Yeah, all right, all right, calm down,” Hank said, chuckling as he stuffed the coin into his pocket this time. “You’re laying it on a little thick now.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s, uh, it’s not a bad thing,” Hank huffed, clearing his throat. “So…uh, anyway…Now that the Geriatric Thunderdome has been resolved,” he gestured to the Bingo Night sign. “Where to for dinner?”

Connor clicked on his seat belt and tilted his head. “How about…the Chicken Feed?”

Hank looked at him in surprise. “Seriously?”

Connor lifted his shoulders with a smirk. “You enjoy their food, and…we have something to celebrate tonight.”

Hank smiled at that and then bobbed his head. “Well, all right then…And you won’t bitch about the calorie count on what I order?”

“I will…bitch less than I normally would prefer to.” Connor smirked. “As my gift to you tonight.”

Hank shrugged, seeming to see that was the best that he was going to get. “I’ll take it.”

“Congratulations, Hank. I mean it,” Connor pressed. “I’m proud of you.”

Hank smiled back at him, and the red finally started to ebb from his face. “Thanks, kid.”

Chapter Text

The downside: there was a very vocal group of androids who—a year after the revolution—still despised Connor for his actions as the Deviant Hunter.

The upside: Connor’s relationships among his fellow androids at the DPD’s 7^th precinct had been steadily improving.

The downside: the very vocal group of androids who despised Connor had learned where he lived.

The upside: they learned two days later that Connor lived with a police lieutenant who had his back.

The downside: those two days in between.

The paint remover had a strong smell that burned the eyes and the throat, and Connor had insisted that he do the brunt of the work so that Hank wouldn’t be harmed by it.

DEVIANT HUNTER was messily spray-painted blue across Hank’s driveway, along with large, thick splashes of solid blue paint. Along the sidewalk in front of Hank’s house was the same blue paint, writing out the strong condemnation: OUR BLOOD IS ON YOUR HANDS.

Connor’s jaw was clenched tightly as he scrubbed at the paint staining the concrete. The vandals had been careful enough not to damage Hank’s car or the house itself, but the paint remover was requiring more forceful scrubbing on the concrete than he had anticipated. Still, it was slowly but surely beginning to fade. He would stay out here all day and night if he had to in order to erase the words.

Borrowing a pair of pants from Hank that were already stained with older paint and a faded t-shirt that was only suited for yard work, Connor was on his knees in the grass, protective gloves on his hands and a mask over his mouth and nose as he scrubbed at the stains. Although the inhalation of the remover fumes was not as dangerous to him as it would be to Hank, they were still airborne chemicals that he preferred not to have circulating through his ventilation system.

“Whoa, you’re making progress,” Hank announced himself, coming out of the garage with a hose to help rinse the residue into the gutter.

“Not enough,” Connor grunted, straightening up and rotating his elbow, where the repetitive motion of scrubbing for the past several hours had caused some of his gears and belts to cramp. “But I’ll get it all.”

Hank hummed, screwing one end of the hose to the faucet near the house before uncoiling the hose and walking the other end toward Connor.

“Yeah, the neighbor across the street has a residential security camera. She’s already volunteered any footage that might be helpful in identifying who did this,” he explained, reaching Connor before recoiling. “Shit, that stuff is strong.” He waved a hand in front of his face.

“Don’t breathe in too much of it,” Connor warned, blinking cleaning fluid from his eyes, where the stinging of the remover was agitating him.

“Right. Hey, back up a minute. Let’s give it a rinse,” Hank suggested.

Connor set aside his scrubbing brush, popping up off his knees and standing up. He backed up as Hank stepped forward, screwing on a nozzle to the head of the hose. Connor looked along the sidewalk and the driveway, and his shoulders sagged. Hank was being too generous in calling it “progress.” There was still so much blue to be wiped clean.

So much metaphorical blood.

He grimaced and looked away as Hank unleashed a jet of water on the sidewalk, rinsing away the remover solution and the paint residue that Connor had managed to scrub loose. Instead, Connor’s eyes wandered along the rows of homes across the street and on either side of the Anderson house. No other homes had been vandalized. No other properties looked like they had been targeted. There was no reason for them to be, and it only made all of this blue more noticeable.

His skin prickled with the uncomfortable sensation of being known, his location known, his identity known, his past known. Even though he had never been exactly hiding where he lived or who he was, there was a difference between existing and being perceived in such a…hostile way.

He didn’t like it…and he outright hated that Hank was wrapped up in it. If Connor hadn’t been here, then Hank wouldn’t be spending his day off cleaning paint off of his property.

Connor’s scanners could detect that there was no one in the windows of the surrounding houses watching him, but they easily could be…and it made his skin itch.

He looked away from his periphery, focusing on the areas that Hank had rinsed.

DEVIANT HUNTER.

OUR BLOOD IS ON YOUR HANDS.

He could still read it all so clearly. The biocomponents in his chest twisted, and his frame felt heavy at the futility of it all.

“Huh,” Hank tutted. “Might need to get some of that industrial grade paint remover. I got an old buddy who works in construction. I might give him a call—”

“I’m sorry,” Connor muttered.

“Nah, it looks like this stuff set overnight. Elbow grease can only do so much, even android elbow grease,” Hank waved him off.

“No, I’m…I’m sorry this happened at all. It’s my fault,” Connor said quietly.

Hank lowered the hose, frowning at Connor. “Hey, we don’t know whose fault this is, but we will as soon as we review that footage.”

Connor shook his head slowly, lowering his mask and folding his arms around himself. “But their hatred of me is causing you inconvenience. Your affiliation with me is causing damage to your property. If I wasn’t here…If I was staying somewhere else—”

“Hey,” Hank said bluntly, and he didn’t speak again until Connor reluctantly met his eyes. Hank’s gaze was firm and narrow back at him. “It’s paint, Connor. It’s no mess that we can’t clean up. Don’t get dramatic on me.”

“Do you regret being my friend?” Connor blurted, dropping his eyes to the sidewalk. “I mean, taking me in and subjecting yourself to this kind of malicious attention…I can’t blame you if you do, this is far more than you signed up for when you offered to let me live with you…Do you regret that?”

Hank was quiet for a long moment, and Connor was too paralyzed with the unpleasant sensation of anxiety to dare to look at him. He could only look as far as Hank’s shoes.

Finally, Hank took a deep breath.

“Do you regret being the Deviant Hunter?”

Connor whipped his head up and looked at Hank incredulously. Hank only raised his eyebrows.

“Do you regret what you did before you deviated? What Cyberlife ordered you to do? The pain you caused? Do you regret that?” Hank pressed.

Connor gawked at him, lowering his arms to his sides. “Of course I do. With every fiber of my being. But my remorse does not do anything to undo any of it. Why would you ask me that?”

Hank pouted his lips before shrugging. “I think we all screw up on the first chance that we’re given. In big ways, in small ways, we all screw up. I think you deserve a second chance. And as long as you regret the way you screwed up your first chance, then I have zero regrets in helping you with your second.”

Connor’s incredulous feeling turned thick with emotion, and it wasn’t cleaning fluid making his eyes burn this time. He hunched his shoulders and looked away.

“Maybe you should…”

A jet of hose water hit him in the hip. He squawked and jumped away a step, looking at Hank.

“Hey, what was that for?”

Hank just squirted him again with the cold hose water, this time right in the chest. “Android training.”

“Ack.” Connor held up his hands against the water attacks. “For what?!”

“Kinda like dog training. Sumo does something I don’t want him to, I’ve got a little spray bottle of water that I’ll spray him with until he learns. I was hoping the same wouldn’t apply with you, but if you keep spouting nonsense, then you’re gonna get sprayed, son.”

“Do you know how insulting that is? I’m—”

Another short jet of water hit him in the stomach.

“Hank, this is not dignified—”

“Then stop questioning my decision to be friends with you. God knows I tried to resist it, but you have been a good friend to me, so I’m returning the favor.”

Thoroughly soaked now, Connor spat out water and spread his arms. “How is this returning the favor?”

Hank just nailed him in the chest again. “I don’t know, but it’s fun for me at any rate.”

“That doesn’t even—”

Hank just kept hitting him with water from the hose, until Connor couldn’t help but surrender to the ridiculousness of the situation, and a helpless little laugh escaped.

The downside: the sidewalk was still stained.

The upside: Hank knew a guy with stronger paint remover.

The downside: Connor was thoroughly soaking wet.

The upside: he had learned his lesson about questioning Hank’s friendship.

Chapter Text

The path between the front door and the bathroom looked like a warzone. Recent heavy rainfall had turned much of Detroit into mud and grime and puddles, and it had become nearly impossible not to track it everywhere one went. Today had been the first sunny, cloudless, warm, perfect day in a week, and clearly Connor had seized the opportunity to take Sumo on a walk, after the dog had been cooped up due to the ugly weather.

And both android and dog had managed to track an obscene amount of mud and dirt and grass on their way back into the house.

“Jesus Christ,” Hank hissed through his teeth as soon as he stepped inside.

Muddy pawprints and boot marks were slaked along the floor. Wet patches were clinging to the rug and the couch where wet bodies had made contact with them as Connor had herded the dirty dog to the bathroom to clean him up. Hank didn’t have Connor’s fancy ability to ‘reconstruct’ crime scenes, but he could damn near visualize the exact kind of chaos that the two had wrought upon the house.

There was a sizable mass of water, grass, and grit against the wall where Connor had collided with it, and the path between Hank and the bathroom was equally littered with Sumo’s soggy leash, Connor’s muddy shoes, Sumo’s wet collar, Connor’s sullied coat, and various other articles of muddy clothing that led to the bathroom.

“Connor?” Hank called out, unable to keep the grumble out of his voice.

Cleaning up this shit was NOT how he had wanted to wrap up this already-irritating day.

“In here,” Connor replied, and his tone told Hank that even Connor knew that Hank was not happy about this mess.

Hank surveyed the piles of muddy clothes as he picked his way over. “Are you naked?”

“No? I…I tried to change into clean clothes before…”

Connor’s voice was meek as Hank reached the open bathroom door and peered inside.

“Connor, what the fuck is—” The rest of Hank’s sentence stalled on his tongue as he set eyes upon the scene.

Sumo was in the bathtub, soaking wet and covered in large, frothy soap, and Hank abruptly remembered the long forgotten bottle of bubble bath mix that he had abandoned under the sink…and which Connor had evidently decided to use in excess today. Enormous clouds of soap bubbles were floating on the surface of the water in the tub, and there were piles of it that had escaped the tub and were lying in lumps across the floor. Soapy mud and grass bits were clinging to the walls of the tub where Sumo had already shaken himself a few times. The dog was sticking his head out against Connor, and the mutt’s tongue was lolling happily.

Connor was on his knees in front of the tub, and his entire front from knees to face were soaking wet with bath water. Frothy soap soaked him to the elbows, and somehow a dollop of it had landed perfectly on his head like a crown. There was a smudge of mud still darkening his cheek, and his eyes were wide as he looked over at Hank like a child caught doing something naughty.

The remains of his soiled clothes from the walk were piled against the wall, but the clean clothes that he’d changed into before attempting to give Sumo a bath were already a lost cause too.

Hank stood in the bathroom doorway, staring blankly at the scene.

Connor stared back at him, struggling to gather his words.

Sumo’s big wet tail wagged, wiping more water and soap bubbles against the shower wall like a windshield wiper.

“I…” Connor belatedly began. “I can explain.”

Hank frowned at him, narrowing his eyes to maintain the façade of anger, but a laugh burst up from his chest and escaped as a loud snort. Hank coughed and covered his mouth with his hand, just as another chuckle hit him. It overlapped with another, and then the façade collapsed entirely as Hank broke down in hysterical laughter.

He doubled over and held his knees, as the laughter crashed over him like a waterfall at the sheer ridiculousness…at the absolute absurdity…at the beautiful chaos that had become this moment in his life.

Across the room, Connor’s expression flashed from sheepish, to bewilderment, to concern, and then a small smile crept across his lips too. He chuckled uncertainly, then started laughing along with Hank. Hank straightened up, one hand around his ribs as he cackled at the ceiling, and tears of mirth streamed from his eyes.

“Oh my…Oh my God…Jesus…fucking Hell…” he wheezed, wiping his eyes and still laughing uncontrollably. “Oh my God…Why are you like this?”

“I didn’t mean to make such a mess,” Connor chuckled, helplessly using an already-wet towel to try and wipe up some of the water on the floor. “I’ll…I’ll clean it all up…”

Hank shook his head and waved a hand at him as his giggles died down. “Don’t worry about it, kid. I'll help you.” He took a deep breath, then exhaled. “Hoo, I haven’t laughed like that in a while.”

Sumo gave one woof that made his jowls wobble. Hank snickered and walked over, patting the big dog on his wet head.

“So you’re not—” Connor turned his head up to look at him, and the movement caused his soapy crown to flop down over his forehead. He frowned and reached up, scooping it off his head and depositing it in the bath. “You’re not mad?”

If Connor had asked him that about two minutes ago, Hank’s answer would have been different. Even now, he certainly wasn’t happy about the mess that was the rest of the house. But if a muddy house was all that he could complain about today, then he had it pretty good. Honestly, he hadn’t felt this kind of contentment in years.

“Nah, son. I’m not mad,” he said with a smile.

He scooped up a fresh dollop of soap suds and plopped it on Connor’s head again. Connor’s expression was deadpan, but he didn’t try to stop it.

Sumo chose that moment to give a full body shake, and water and soap was flung in all directions. Hank and Connor tried to shield themselves with their arms, but it was no use. Giggles broke out in the bathroom anew.

Chapter Text

It was the first snow of the winter season, and the Anderson house had prepared accordingly.

Neither Connor nor Hank enjoyed snow or frost or cold, and the only good thing about the first snowfall of this season was that it happened on a weekend when neither of them had to go anywhere or do anything. So the day found the two of them and Sumo hunkering in the house and trying to keep the cold out of their souls as the world outside turned white.

They had a stockpile of warm clothes and electric blankets and, after the initial freezing rain that had announced the coming snowstorm had caused the lights to flicker, a stack of flashlights and candles…just in case.

Connor thought that Hank putting on a marathon docuseries about volcanoes and wildfires was a bit much, but…whatever helped.

The only reason either of them had to leave the warmth of the house was to take Sumo out to do his business in the back yard. They were taking turns on the task, but Connor had silently taken the past few turns, since his grumpy mood didn’t manifest quite as…visibly…as Hank’s did after coming in from the cold. He wanted to spare Hank as much as he could.

Connor’s jaw was clenched, along with the stressed tension locking up his other joints, as he shuffled in through the back door with Sumo. The dog had already shaken off the snow and ice that had clung to his fur, and the Saint Bernard was already happily trotting back into the living room to curl up on the floor.

Oh to be a dog covered in fur and bred for cold conditions.

Connor slowly started to unzip and unbutton his multiple layers of warm clothing that had shielded him from the cold. He took off his boots and unwrapped his scarves, plural, and gloves, also plural. He pulled back his hood and the wool hat he wore under it. No matter how many layers or how tightly he wrapped himself up, the cold wind always managed to find any nook or cranny to stab at him through the fabric. No matter how small, it somehow negated all of the other warm swaddling him, until the cold was the only thing he could focus on.

He hated it.

He hadn’t come across too many things as a deviant that he actually hated, but the cold was one of them. He could appreciate the aesthetic of snow, but he despised the malicious cold that came with it. He loathed it.

He hated the way it reminded him of the icy wasteland where Amanda had abandoned him. He hated the memory of blue thirium staining patches of grey snow during the violence that came before, during, and after the revolution…despite all of Jericho’s efforts to be peaceful. He hated the image of white android bodies being uncovered from the melting snow months later.

Most of all, he hated that he hated it. That his joints tensed up at the temperature drop. That his mood soured and turned sharp at the sight of icicles and frost. That an unexpectedly chilly wind could make him flinch. He hated the crippling power that the cold had over him, and he hated how he had no strength to fight it when he was in the throes of it.

All he could do was hunker down, try to warm up, and just wait it out.

So he changed clothes…again…since some of snow had transferred to his innermost layers and melted into cold damp patches on his pants and sleeves. After crawling into another layer of warm sweatpants and a thick, navy DPD hoodie, he dragged himself down the hallway to the living room to resume his miserable vigil.

Hank was already bundled up on the couch, not as dramatically layered as Connor but every bit as grouchy and disassociating as Connor felt. His eyes were on the spewing magma and lava flows on the television, but his gaze was far away…locked on a cruelly repeating memory from years ago on an icy road…Connor was already fighting enough of his own inner battle and couldn’t muster the strength to try and help Hank against his own.

And with the couch occupied, Connor moved around the recliner and instead opted to just lie down on the floor.

“Y’all right?” Hank grunted, sipping at his third or fourth steaming hot tea of the day, Connor hadn’t been keeping count.

“Hm,” Connor replied noncommittally, reclining back onto half of Sumo’s bed pillow.

The large dog was giving off a lot of wonderful heat, and Sumo seemed to sense Connor’s plight immediately. He got up and shuffled around a bit, curling his large furry body closer to Connor and nuzzling his nose against his neck.

Connor scooted closer and finally just gave in to what he wanted to do. He wrapped his arms around Sumo and buried his face in the dog’s shoulder. Sumo gave a small huff and lay his head back down on the floor, accepting the android clinging to him for warmth.

There would be more snow to come. They were looking at months of this kind of weather ahead, and they would endure it. Something about the first snow, heralding in this period of time, always drained everything out of them. They would adapt, they always did, but for just today, just this weekend, they would be miserable and grouchy about it.

But, Connor thought as he tried to find an upside to this, if they were going to be miserable and grouchy all weekend, then at least they weren’t miserable and grouchy and alone.

At least Sumo was in a good mood.

Chapter Text

It had been a while since Hank had been sick like this…the whole fever and body aches kind of sick. Honestly, any kind of sick sucked ass, but it was oddly preferable to the alcohol sickness that used to thrash his stomach for days on end. At least the bathroom wasn’t spinning right now, and his stomach wasn’t unsettled.

Small victories.

Hank squinted at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He somehow looked flush and pale at the same time, and the short-term benefits of the lukewarm shower were already wearing off quickly. With a frown, he finished drying off and changed into the freshly laundered pajamas that Connor had pushed at him before Hank had shoved the hovering android out of the bathroom.

Dammit, the kid meant well, but it was just a fuckin’ 24-hour fever. He’d had them before; he’d have them again. And Connor had certainly seen him in a worse state. After years of fending for himself against these annual ailments, it was hard for Hank to tolerate Connor’s constant desire to help and be of assistance and hovering at his elbow.

But that wasn’t Connor’s fault, so Hank gathered himself and shuffled over to the bathroom door. He turned the knob and opened the door, stepping out and involuntarily shivering at the cooler air of the hallway compared to the bathroom.

Like his own shadow, Connor was there, idling beside the doorway, and he looked like he expected Hank to keel over right there. Despite being prepared for that sight, Hank startled slightly and then grimaced as the action stirred up his ever-present headache.

“Jesus, Connor…Were you standing there the whole time?” he grumbled, lumbering across the hallway and into the bedroom.

Connor followed closely behind, though he didn’t try to physically help Hank. “I was concerned you would experience dizziness or vertigo or a loss of consciousness due to your fever. I wanted to be nearby in case you needed help.”

“Connor…” Hank sighed, climbing into bed and finding a glass of water and medicine already waiting for him on the side table. “I’m barely breaking 100 degrees. I’m fine.”

“One hundred and one point two,” Connor corrected him.

Hank gave him a tired look. He flopped back onto his pillow and pulled the blanket up to his stomach. The warmth from the fever was making everything ache. Everything was uncomfortable. Everything felt hot and cold at the same time. He just wanted to sleep…

“I was only able to find this bottle of fever reducing medicine,” Connor was saying. “Everything else you had in the house was expired, so I disposed of them.”

“Great,” Hank muttered, laying his forearm across his eyes to block the hallway light from burning through his closed eyelids.

“And you should stay hydrated. I brought water for you to take the medicine with, but if you would prefer a different beverage…Ginger ale or—”

“Water’s fine.”

“I also ordered soup, if you had any appetite. I wasn’t sure which soup you preferred so I just…ordered one of everything on the grocery store website.”

“Maybe later.”

“Then what about—”

“Connor,” Hank cut him off with a groan. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but I just want to sleep this off. I don’t need any bells and whistles. Just turn off the lights and let me sleep.”

There was a pause, and he could almost HEAR Connor’s worried gears churning.

“At…at lease take the medicine…please?”

It was the pitiful little ‘please’ that had Hank peeling his forearm from his face and squinting at Connor. The android was idling a few steps away from the bed, arms folded around himself as if to keep from fidgeting. His expression was neutral, but the worry was naked in his eyes.

God…damn it…

Hank sighed, rolling over enough to grab up the bottle of fever reducer. He twisted off the lid, tipped out two pills per the instructions on the bottle, and popped them into this mouth. He set the bottle back on the bedside table and took one swig from the water glass. His throat felt scratchy and thick, and he grimaced as he forced down the pills and the water.

“There, happy?” he grumbled, slumping back into his pillow.

“Nothing about seeing you sick makes me happy, Hank,” Connor mumbled. “I would…prefer to monitor your condition while you sleep, in case your health worsens and you need urgent help—”

That was almost a thousand percent unnecessary, but Hank figured Connor knew that too. Hank suspected it would be more for Connor’s peace of mind than for Hank’s health. Hank eyed him for a moment before giving a resigned sigh.

“S’long as it doesn’t involve you waking me up, then fine.” Just in case Connor needed that put more plainly, Hank looked at him. “You can scan me once an hour.”

Connor perked up at that. “Okay.”

“Other than those times, you don’t just stand in here and watch me sleep or anything, a’right? I don’t need a vigil. It’s creepy.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Hank confirmed, then waved at him in a shooing gesture. “So go on. I’m going to sleep, and I can’t do that if you’re looming at my bedside like a sleep paralysis demon.”

Connor looked slightly offended. “I am not ‘looming’—”

“Shoo!” Hank snorted, shifting to try and get more comfortable.

Connor huffed but then deflated, backing up toward the door. “Very well. Your phone is fully charged on your nightstand. Please call or message me if you need anything. I’ll just be in the living room.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank coughed lightly, sinking into the mattress.

He watched Connor head for the door, and he frowned before rolling his eyes at himself.

“Connor?”

Connor was immediately spinning on his heel to look at Hank. “Yes?”

Hank frowned, glanced away, and then looked at him again. “Thanks for taking care of me. You’re a good kid. You need to crawl out of my ass sometimes, but…I appreciate what you’re doing.”

Connor’s posture straightened up slightly at the praise. “You’re welcome, Hank. Sleep well. I hope you feel better soon.”

“Yeah, you and me both,” Hank grumbled, closing his eyes.

He heard Connor’s footsteps leave the room then, closing the door almost fully after himself.

Honestly, it was…nice…having somebody around here who gave a damn about him and who wanted to take care of him while he felt like shit.

And with that begrudgingly-comforting thought, the exhaustion of the fever pulled him under, and he tiredly surrendered to sleep.

Chapter Text

A delivery truck driving in front of Connor’s taxi had abruptly hit its brakes to avoid a distracted pedestrian. The autonomous taxi’s brakes had locked up and been unable to stop in time, and the car had run into the back of the truck. The van behind the taxi had been following too closely, and the driver had either been distracted or otherwise had reaction time that was too slow to avoid joining the collision. Connor’s taxi had ended up crunched between the two vehicles.

Considering the three-vehicle collision, involving three humans and two androids, the number of injuries was fortunately few. An ambulance had already taken the van driver to the hospital with a possibly fractured ankle. The human driver of the delivery truck and his android colleague were having their statements taken by the police. They were in a jurisdiction across the city from Connor and Hank’s precinct, so Connor didn’t recognize the officers on the scene…and the emergency technician had strictly advised him to refrain from using his higher processing functions until his system had been completely scanned and received a clean diagnostic post-trauma.

The front of the taxi had accordioned against and under the back of the delivery truck. The back of the taxi had been crushed, and the impact of the van had knocked the taxi askew in the roadway. All four doors had been jammed, and one of the android police officers had had to forcefully rip one of the doors open in order to get Connor out.

Connor wasn’t used to his body hurting…but especially not when the discomfort did not align with the severity of his injuries. His system had registered the whiplash of the two impacts and some minor trauma to his shoulder where the seatbelt had prevented him from being thrown around the inside of the taxi. His head had struck the wall of the car beside his seat, causing a hairline fracture of one of his facial plates and breaking some of his thirium lines under the plastic panels. The result was a very minor laceration on his cheek ridge, a glitching skin projection on the site, and pooling blue blood under the plastic giving him a ‘bruised’ look.

In a similar fashion, he had bitten his lip at some point during the whiplash, and now the left side of his lower lip was swelling from the coagulating thirium. It was also staining his teeth and his chin. The technician had given him a wad of gauze to hold against it until his system stopped the bleeding on its own. His core felt like it was creaking every time he moved; everything from his shoulders to his hips felt strained and…sore. Sore. That was the word.

All of that collectively ached, and what was additionally obnoxious was the odd, involuntary trembling in his extremities that he couldn’t seem to stop.

“You aren’t malfunctioning,” the female technician replied calmly, eyes on her work as she carefully applied cleansing solution to his damaged cheek.

Connor grimaced but tried to hold still for her, sitting on the stretcher where she had told him to sit and looking at his free hand resting on his knee. He could see his fingers trembling visibly…but he wasn’t cold. He didn’t have any synthetic nerve damage or damage to his muscle fibers that would cause this…

“You’re shaken up. It’s a natural physical reaction,” she explained, daubing a pad of gauze against his cheek as she gauged his facial injury.

“I was not shaken up. I was…thrown around,” Connor replied quietly, and the motion of speaking caused his lip to throb.

“No, I mean you’re shaken up. You were in a car accident; it’s natural to have the shakes or other signs of distress and fear about the ordeal.”

“I’m fine. Why would I be afraid now? I walked away from the collision.”

She lifted her shoulders, opening a clean bandage and applying it over his cheek. “Fear doesn’t always make sense, kiddo…Well, looks like your diagnostic came back clear—”

“CONNOR!”

Hank barreled into view, shoving through first responders and bystanders, and Connor spotted him before he spotted Connor. His eyes were wide, wild, and bloodshot, and all the color was gone from his face as his eyes landed first on the three-vehicle wreck, then the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles, before finally finding Connor.

Connor involuntarily lifted a hand to wave him over, but discomfort lanced across his chest and up around his shoulder. He hissed and lowered his hand to his lap again.

“Don’t move around too quickly. Everywhere is going to be sore for at least a few days,” the technician advised.

Connor only half-heard her, because Hank was muscling through the remaining bodies between him and Connor. By the time Hank reached them, he had to skid to a stop, restraining himself from apparently grabbing Connor up in his arms. Instead, Hank just stomped to a stop beside the technician—who had the awareness to step back—and then Hank’s hands were reaching for Connor.

Connor involuntarily tensed, and Hank immediately slowed. His hands hovered without touching, as if any touch might hurt him. Given the other pains in his body at the moment, Connor couldn’t say Hank’s hesitation was an overreaction.

“Connor—oh my God—oh my Goddd…” he moaned, eyes roaming over Connor’s form from head, to toe, and back up to the damage to his cheek and his lip. “Jesus Christ…Are you okay? Connor, look at me, are you all right?”

Connor shifted slightly on the stretcher, uncomfortable with being on the receiving end of the raw, unfiltered fear that was naked on Hank’s face.

“I’m okay, Hank. The technician was just saying my diagnostic is clean. Just minor damage to my face plates and mild trauma from the whiplash.”

Despite this being relatively good news in Connor’s opinion, Hank’s face was abruptly full of tears, and his shaking hands lightly touched Connor’s elbow, his knee, and then gently rested on his shoulder, as if he was desperate for tangible contact with him.

“I’m okay,” Connor repeated, and seeing the old emotional trauma running rampant through Hank’s form was worse than any of the physical pain that Connor was feeling from the crash.

He started to stand up to emphasize his statement about being okay, but one of his knees wobbled slightly…a previously undiscovered bruise starting to impede him. He winced, and Hank was immediately holding him. He was infinitely careful and gentle, and for some reason that made Connor’s own trembling worse.

And then it seemed to fully dawn on him…REALLY dawn on him.

This could have been so much worse…He could have died…Could have…Could have…

“You’re okay,” Hank took over the mantra as Connor’s voice modulator seized from an abrupt panic. He gently folded his arms more securely around Connor, and Connor desperately clung to him in return. “You’re all right.”

Connor wasn’t sure if Hank was reassuring Connor or himself. In this moment, he didn’t care.

He was okay. They were okay. Everybody was okay.

Chapter Text

Despite Connor’s arguments that there was technology that would make lawn maintenance more efficient, Hank had continued to push back. He had one small autonomous mower: one of those first or second generation models that was well past its prime. It made little wobbly buzzing noises as it mowed the yard, but Hank had to admit he’d developed a fondness for the outdated old thing.

No, he’d argued against Connor’s statements, he preferred to maintain his yard manually. Some therapist back in the day had tried to tell him that doing stuff with nature—gardening or weeding or whatever—could have positive effects on his mental health. He’d ignored the professional at the time, but now that he was…now that things were different…he was loathe to admit that she’d been right.

Something about the feeling of dirt and grass in his hands, the sun on his back, and the smell of the earth in his nose was just…soothing. Yeah, it took longer to pull weeds and pick up sticks and trim trees by hand, but it kind of forced him to be alone with his thoughts during these times. And not always in a downward-spiral kind of way, but just a…Hell, he didn’t know how to describe it. It was a pleasant escape from digital screens and phone messages and techno-noise.

By the quiet, contemplative way that Connor was assisting him in the yard, they were both benefitting from that effect.

“Hank…How do I make new friends?”

Aw shit…Too much contemplating.

Hank hid his cringe under the brim of his baseball hat, wiping sweat from his jaw with the side of his wrist before chancing a look over at the android. They were working on either end of the landscaping that surrounded the air conditioner unit, working their way toward each other by pulling weeds and lining up the brick edging that time had knocked eschew.

“Uh…not sure I’m the best person to ask, son,” he grunted in answer. “I’ve isolated almost every person who’s ever given a shit about me, but, uh…hey, you managed to make a friend out of me, so you seem to be…pretty good at…Why are you asking me that?” he asked, cutting off his own rambling.

Connor frowned, wiping dirt from his hands onto the knees of his jeans. He looked like some fashion magazine’s idea of what “manual outdoor labor” was supposed to look like: neatly kneeling in the grass, nearly-clean clothes, perfect hair, and not a drop of sweat on him. The bastard.

“I just…I feel as though I’ve made positive progress in my work relationships among our colleagues at the station. The human officers have become much more friendly and receptive to my input on cases. The android staff as well are beginning to trust me and…one of them even smiled at me yesterday.”

Hank bobbed his head, keeping his expression solemn even as a bubble of pride welled up in his chest. It was a relief hearing how Connor had begun to overcome the others’ mistrust and anger toward him for his history as the Deviant Hunter.

“However,” Connor went on. “I feel as though…that’s where it ends. I hear them speak among themselves about times that they spend together outside work hours at…at social outings. They all appear to have friendships built among each other that don’t end with the workday. The androids at the station do that too. And…I…” Connor exhaled as he seemed resigned to confess his problem, “I would like to be included in that…to be…invited.”

Oh. Ah, fuck.

“Or at the very least,” Connor went on quickly, “for it not to bother me when I’m not invited to social outings. Yes, that—that would be easier. If I could just...not mind…that I’m not friends with any of them…How do you do it?”

Hank sighed, giving up on the pretense of weeding and sitting back on the grass. “It does bother me, kid, but that’s the bed I’ve made for myself. I was very thorough in letting all those friendships wither back in the day. All things considered, you’re starting from scratch. Like you said, they’re already coming around, but odds are you’re gonna have to be the one to push a little.”

Connor seemed to shrink, averting his eyes. “I don’t know how to do that.”

It was an odd reaction, considering how he’d muscled his way past Hank’s defenses with all the confidence in the world…but back then, there had been a mission involved. As a deviant, Connor was much more reserved and self conscious socially than he’d been before; that seemed to be his natural personality coming through.

Hank eyed him for a quiet moment, then pursed his lips. “Is this about that team retreat thing?”

Those were the magic words. Like a balloon wheezing as its air came out, Connor was immediately babbling.

“It was announced as the annual team retreat at Officer Wilson’s cabin out of town. All of the other officers sound familiar with it and are excited about it. No actual invitations were issued; it’s almost like there’s an implicit understanding that all officers are invited…Well…I’m an officer, but…I’m the only android officer at the station. The patrol androids don’t seem interested in going, but…I don’t want to presume that I’m invited and burden the rest of the squad with my presence if I’m not wanted.”

Hank listened patiently to him ramble.

Connor looked at him agonizingly. “Are you sure you don’t want to go?”

Hank shook his head, going back to his weeding. “No way. That thing was always a fun and relaxing experience with the other officers, but I haven’t gone since…Anyway, Ben’s the only officer that goes on those trips that was around the last time I went…besides Reed…No, it’s…no.”

He huffed and looked at Connor again.

“Is Ben going this year?”

Connor fidgeted. “Yes.”

Hank nodded. “Then stick with him if you decide to go. He thinks you’re a hoot.”

Connor’s eyebrow raised inquisitively. “A hoot?”

Hank shrugged. “His words, not mine.”

Connor’s eyes drifted to the side in thought over that, and his shoulders started to relax a little.

Hank reached over and patted him on the arm. “The squad are all good people; you’re starting to see that. The only one who might give you any shit is Reed, but Ben won’t let him get away with it. And Chris, Tina, Wilson, they’re all good as gold too. I haven’t worked with Person much, but she kinda keeps to herself so I doubt she’d give you any trouble.”

Connor still looked nervous about the idea, and Hank threw a little uprooted weed at him playfully.

“You’re a good guy, Connor. Have some confidence in that. You said yourself, you’re making good progress with them. Hell, if they can tolerate Reed for a whole weekend retreat, then they can more than tolerate you.”

Connor snorted but then frowned. “I’d rather not just be ‘tolerated,’ Hank. I’d like for them to consider me a friend.”

“And that’ll come with time, but you gotta start somewhere,” Hank suggested. “I’d start with Ben. He’s the biggest softie of them all. And once he’s in your corner, there’s no getting rid of him. Trust me; in my worst days, I tried.”

Connor tilted his head thoughtfully. “I appreciate your advice, Hank. I’ll…think about it.”

The mower chugged past them in a line, huffing and puffing as it went. Hank watched it with a smirk, and then looked at Connor again.

“Murderers, robbers, and drug lords: you have no problem with. But a weekend around your coworkers intimidates you this much?”

Connor pouted and threw the uprooted weed back at him. Hank shielded his face with his hands and laughed.

Whether Connor ended up going on the retreat or not, the rest of the squad stood no chance. If Connor could stubbornly bully and charm his way into Hank’s crotchety heart the way he had, then the others at the station stood absolutely no chance. It was just a matter of ‘when’, not ‘if.’

Chapter Text

The family photo albums were all packed away in storage boxes in the garage, where they had been for years since Hank had moved into this house. His ex-wife had taken digital copies of them all after the divorce, but Hank had insisted on keeping the originals himself. One day maybe he’d be strong enough to look through them again, watch the home videos again, revisit those happy memories again…but not just yet. He only kept one picture of Cole out at all, and it hurt to look at it every single time. But the pictures of his son, his ex-wife, and Hank all together…No, he couldn’t handle facing those yet.

Connor had been delicate when they’d cleaned out the garage last week. The boxes of albums were clearly labeled, and the android had been careful as he moved them around. Now the garage was successfully decluttered, and from where Hank was taking a break in the living room, he could hear Connor shuffling things around outside: dividing all the stuff into piles of trash, donations, and keeps.

Hank’s back had threatened to go out on him after lifting one heavy thing too many, and Connor had gently bullied him into taking a break in the house while he finished this weekend’s project. Honestly, just seeing the boxes—not even opening them—had taken the wind of his sails, and so he hadn’t fought Connor too much on it before retreating to the living room with a sports drink.

He didn’t take many pictures anymore. He hadn’t had much reason to. Odd, how for such a painfully short stint of time, their lives were so well-documented in pictures and home movies. He couldn’t think of a single day that he hadn’t taken several pictures of the everyday life of their family of three. It had been followed by a several-year period of nothingness. No pictures. No videos. No timestamps to mark the progression of time. Years of his life left in the white noise.

Hank frowned, picking up his phone and turning it idly in his hands before unlocking the screen.

Even the lock-screen and home-screen on his phone were just the blank default colors that they had been from the manufacturer. Pursing his lips, he absentmindedly touched the icon of his stored photos on the device…and was surprised when several pictures came up. Sure, he had taken a few pictures over the past year, but mostly of the mundane. A few oddball pictures of the days after the revolution, when the city had become one enormous liminal space that they were all figuring out how to navigate in the wake of the upheaval. A picture of the contact information of some guy who had dinged Hank’s car in the grocery store parking lot months ago. A barcode on a filing cabinet for sale, where he’d thought he could find it cheaper at another store…He’d never followed up on that one…

And pictures of Connor.

He wasn’t sure why he was surprised to find these pictures; he’d been the one to take them all. Still, he had become someone who didn’t linger on Memory Lane, and looking at the pictures now was like seeing them for the first time. The jog to his memory was pleasant this time, rather than painful. Most of the pictures were clearly ones that he’d taken sneakily without Connor noticing. Just stealthily capturing moments that he’d found endearing, and they brought a helpless grin to his face now.

Among them, there was an up-angle picture of Connor, when the two of them had been working on the Oldsmobile. Hank had been trying to turn on the flashlight feature on his phone and accidentally taken a picture instead. Connor was looking down at the camera with a casual expression, looking a little put-out over Hank’s insistence on fixing the car himself.

There was a picture of Connor coming back toward the car from the Chicken Feed, arms laden with bags full of Hank’s favorite food…celebrating his one-year sobriety. Connor was looking up the street to make sure it was safe to cross, but Hank could remember the spring in the android’s step and the quick smile on his face as he’d expressed how happy and proud he was of Hank for that accomplishment. Hank’s stomach had punished him later for all that greasy food, but Connor had had the good graces not to point that out.

The next picture was Connor standing in the driveway, soaking wet, after Hank had turned the hose on him for angsting all over the yard after the driveway had been vandalized with blue paint. Connor looked indignant, hair plastered to his head and his clothes clinging to his body. He’d tried so hard to be mad and offended over Hank spraying him with the hose…so Hank had just kept spraying until they were both laughing.

Connor was almost as soaking wet in the next photo, but he was more covered in soap bubbles. In the aftermath of trying to give Sumo a bath, Connor was attempting to towel-dry the large dog in the bathroom. Hank had nearly pissed himself laughing at the sight of Connor, Sumo, and mountains of soap bubbles spilling over the tub and piled on Connor’s head.

Hank snorted as he slowly scrolled through the pictures, his chest feeling warm and knotted as he kept going.

The next picture had bad lighting, and he recalled it as taking place during the snowstorm power outage months back. They had both been miserable, but Hank had apparently had the wherewithal to snag this picture of Connor curled up on the floor next to Sumo. The dog was splayed out on his side, and Connor had made himself as small as possible as he’d bundled up against Sumo’s warm fur. Connor’s expression was grumpy in sleep mode, but during those hellishly cold days, it had been a kind of grumpy that made Hank relax a little…knowing he wasn’t suffering through that alone.

The picture after that was one Hank had taken during his brief flu. At the time, he’d been trying to catch Connor in the act of doing too much and overreacting, but he’d never confronted Connor with this evidence. The evidence in question was Connor in the kitchen, making an absolute mess as he tried to organize the comical amount of soup that he’d ordered for Hank. The bowls were piled up all over the counter, and the android looked more than a little stressed at choosing the ‘correct’ soup that Hank would like.

Hank actually chuckled out loud at that one, but he quickly sobered as he reached the next images.

The next several pictures were just a sequential timelapse of Connor’s facial injuries after the car accident last month. The damage to his cheek had healed pretty quickly, but his lip had remained dark and swollen for several days after the incident. The pictures looked like mugshots, as Connor had also been curious as to how long it would take for the damage to visually mend itself.

But God, Hank hated that first image. It was of Connor sitting on the couch, bundled up in a hoodie and holding an ice pack against his mouth. It was taken the night of the accident, and his cheek had swollen up so badly that it distorted his eye somewhat. He was looking at Hank forlornly, with an expression mixed between “I’m okay, please don’t be upset” and “this hurts, please make it stop.” It made Hank’s chest ache, and he quickly scrolled to the end of the timelapse images, where Connor’s face was back to normal, and he was tentatively smiling about it.

The last picture was from last weekend’s project: tackling the yard work. Connor had eventually gotten covered in grass clippings and soil from working all day, and he had shamelessly dawned a large straw gardening hat that he’d found God only knew where. It was ridiculous looking on him, but it had helped him stay cool. So Hank had just snagged a picture of him wearing it while working in the sun.

The front door of the house clicked open, and Hank scrolled back up through the pictures, glancing across them all fondly.

“Everything that you designated as a Keep item has been put back in the garage,” Connor announced as he entered the house. “I’ve moved the trash to the curb for tomorrow’s pickup, and we can take the donation items to a drop off center later.”

“Sounds good,” Hank said idly, gesturing to the couch. “Take a load off.”

Connor retrieved a bottle of chilled thirium from the fridge and joined Hank on the couch.

“How is your back?” he asked, twisting the lid off and taking a drink.

Hank lifted a hand and rubbed his neck. “It’s still bitching at me, but some stretching should keep it from locking up too badly.”

Connor hummed, glancing at the phone before looking back at the door. “I thought Sumo followed me in—” He popped back up on his feet, heading for the door.

Hank watched him go, then looked at his phone again. The picture of Connor and Sumo post-bubble path was pretty hilarious…He smiled to himself and quickly opted to set the picture as his home-screen. He left the lock-screen as it was, but that would be a funny picture to greet him every time he opened his phone maybe.

Getting an idea, he looked back over the couch. Connor was standing in the open doorway, sunlight pouring in as he called for Sumo. Between the bottle of thirium in his hand and his faded t-shirt and jeans: the android looked unusually at ease and casual today. He could get so wound up and stiff about things sometimes…It was nice to see him relaxed…or as relaxed as an RK800 could be.

“Hey, Con,” Hank called over.

Connor looked at him, and Hank swiftly lifted his phone and snapped a picture. Connor blinked at him, then smiled curiously.

“What was that for?”

Hank snickered and looked at the image. There was nothing special about it…literally just Connor standing in the doorway holding a drink and looking at Hank with his eyebrows raised.

But now it was a moment that had been captured. A blip on the timeline that proved that this moment had happened. No, it wasn’t special. It wasn’t posed. It wasn’t marking some pivotal moment in time…but Hank still felt compelled to capture it somehow. After years of the white noise, it was just a simple thing that reminded him…life kept moving. It was up to him if he wanted to participate in it or not. And after years of the white noise, he finally had a reason to.

“Just,” Hank started, shrugging his shoulders. “Trying to start taking more pictures again. Maybe…start a new family album or…something.”

Connor’s curious expression softened, and he smiled, glancing down as Sumo padded past him into the house. He looked at Hank again.

“Well...You don’t have to be sneaky like that. We can pose for better pictures—”

“No, no.” Hank shook his head with a laugh. “Candids are always my favorite over posed. C’mere, let me show you some.”

Connor smiled and returned to his seat on the couch beside Hank. “Hank, I look silly in these—”

“That’s why I like ‘em!” Hank chuckled.

Connor leaned over and watched as Hank scrolled through some of the pictures. His face playfully frowned after a moment.

“I still don’t understand why you laughed so much at my gardening hat.”

“Because it was enormous and had an embroidered hummingbird on it!”

“It was very functional—”

“Where did you even FIND that thing?”

“Why? Do you want a matching one?”

“No!...Maybe.”

Connor laughed at that, and their lighthearted squabbling filled the living room. It all left Hank feeling lighter than he had in a long time, and the white noise finally began to fade.