Sumo passes away half a decade after the Android Revolution.
it’s the greatest grief Connor has ever known. it’s only the second for Hank, because Cole, but Connor’s pain hits him hard. he’s barely into his fifties when they bury Sumo, but Hank’s been thinking about it for a long while. how he’s got less time than Connor. so much less.
Connor has outright admitted, in the past, that his deviancy was brought on by Hank. that if not for Hank, he would not have broken through. it scares Hank, how much meaning he has given to Connor’s life, without even trying. it scares Hank, how deep and dark the android’s grief is. he can’t help but think back to what Kara told Connor a long time ago, before he’d released her and Alice; that there was nothing worth going on for in a world without Alice, and that she would simply cease to exist should she lose the girl.
Hank won’t have that for Connor. as much as he tries to rationalize that he can’t possibly be Connor’s whole world, he’s not an idiot. there’s a reason Connor’s never brought up his fear of losing Hank: that’s because the day Hank passes, there won’t be a next one for Connor either. Hank knows Connor. Connor knows that Hank knows. it’s so simple, really, in Connor’s mind. it’s logical.
it’s stupid, is what it is, in Hank’s opinion. but he gets it. if it hadn’t been for Sumo, after Cole, Hank wouldn’t even be there. and how many times, even, had he come close to ending it all despite his good boy? Hank gets it. he really does. he just won’t have it.
so he gets another dog. a pup, tiny little thing, barely a month old. she was from a litter picked up by another squad of the DPD, after closing down an illegal puppy mill near the city limits. Hank thought it was almost too soon, a year after Sumo, but he also felt a sense of urgency, as if it were already too late.
he brings the little thing back to his desk, hidden in his coat, the baby shivering. he sits down and kept the pup there until Connor comes back to his own desk, back from one of his solo cases. he was just that good, now. flying on his own, respected by all. still he preferred to have Hank by his side. partners through and through.
Connor clocks Hank’s strange posture immediately, as well as an odd heat signature on his chest. alarm bells ring in his head for a millisecond before Hank opens up his coat and motions for Connor to come closer. there it is, the little thing, little dog, small and warm, burrowed into Hank’s chest. it brings Connor to his knees. the sight of it all… the pride in Hank’s eyes, the joy in his smile, his face regaining some youth and losing lines, just because of the small creature, just because he was doing it all for Connor.
Connor rests his forehead on Hank’s knee, trying to hide his tears of both grief and happiness. Hank transfers the little dog into one hand only and uses the other one to card through Connor’s hair. Connor is too curious and overjoyed to hide too long; he lifts his head to look closer at the puppy, in awe. he delicately holds out a finger and brushes it between the baby’s eyes. he loves her instantly. when he looks up at Hank and nods, eyes still watery, Hank holds out the dog to him, insistent, until the little thing lays in Connor’s arms, snug as a bug, for the rest of the work day, then in their car as well, and into their home.
there would only ever be one Hank Anderson, Connor’s Hank; there will never be another Sumo; and this little thing there, she’ll be the only of her kind. but there will always be dogs for Connor to take care of; always another one to move forward for, another one to save, to raise, to love. and technology’s progressed so much more still, no one knows the limits of human and android lives anymore. it’s hard to count the time.
it’s not hard to be in the now, when you’ve got a dog full of life eating at your socks and sofa. and Connor really does like dogs.
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