#moralmay

It still wasn’t time to go and see the technicians for a checkup to assess his capacity for returning to work, but Connor was adamant he wanted to go out somewhere before then, and since Hank had promised that if he rested well he could choose somewhere for them to go out, it was agreed upon, as long as he brought enough thirium and didn’t walk around for too long.

“So, where do you want to go?” Hank asked.

Changed into another of his new shirts, this one a blue button up with koi fish on it, and a pair of black cargo shorts, Connor was sitting on the edge of his bed, LED processing as he looked up a variety of nearby options.

“How about… there is the Detroit Aquarium,” he suggested, coming out of his long thread of internal research. “That looks like somewhere interesting to go to.”

“You really just thought of that right now?” Hank questioned with a raised brow. “Cause from your outfit it looks like you’ve been planning to go there all along.”

“I just like fish, and you bought me this shirt.”

“Yeah, soft fuckin’ sod I am… alright then, let’s get ready to go to the aquarium. But no wearin’ that damn hoodie, alright? It’s hot as balls, and I promise ya, if anyone says anything mean about your skin, I’ll knock their lights out.”

Connor set down the hoodie he’d been about to pull on, looking at Hank. It would be the first time he’d been out in public how he was now… but he wanted to go out, not stay at home all day. And even if it wouldn’t make him feel any less self-conscious, he trusted what Hank said. With a nod, he followed Hank out of his room, leaving the hoodie behind on his bed.

On the car journey there, Connor relayed a healthy amount of information to Hank, about 40% of it going into his brain, the other 60% falling straight out again, since he was trying to focus on the road ahead of him. Luckily, though, it seemed as if Connor was content to talk to him despite the lack of response sometimes.

“There’s over 2,000 creatures at the aquarium, with 10 themed exhibits,” he began, flicking the quarter between his hands, spinning it atop his fingertip. “They have a 180-degree underwater tunnel which has sea life ranging from sharks to sea turtles. There’s a touch pool where you can touch sea stars and anemone.”

“They should hire ya,” Hank commented, mentally preparing to dodge in case Connor flicked the coin at his face again.

“The 180-degree underwater tunnel has 120,000 gallons of water,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard Hank, “and the tunnel is 15 feet deep. It’s so large that every week it has to be cleaned by scuba divers.”

“Damn, I would not want to be those guys.”

Connor looked at him now, head tilted in question. “Why not? You would get to be up close with a wide variety of fascinating sea life.”

“Cause sharks freak me the fuck out.”

“I do understand fear being irrational so I will not talk you out of your dislike… however, many things that harm the shark’s reputation are actually myths, shared due to sensationalised stories and stereotyping. They do not actually kill many humans, but instead are killed at mass themselves, often in millions per year to take their fins, depleting their populations worldwide. And this is harmful for marine ecosystems.”

“Well… damn,” Hank remarked, “they still scare me, but that’s pretty shitty. Guess that’s humans for ya.”

“Fortunately there has been a rise in conservation efforts towards the shark population, just as there has been trying to bring polar bears back from extinction, for example… so, not all humans are particularly shitty.” He looked at Hank with a smile.

“We are not getting a pet shark.”

When they arrived at the aquarium, Hank chuckled to see Connor getting out of the car before him and half-heartedly warned him about moving slow and not running off anywhere, because he was still healing. His LED flashed yellow as they waited in line at admissions, bouncing on his toes, clearly impatient if the rapid coin flicking was anything to go by.

As soon as they were allowed inside, his LED went back to spinning blue and he would have run off to the first exhibit if Hank hadn’t taken his hand and told him to ‘slow the F down’. It was unusual to hear Hank censoring his expletives, but Connor supposed it was due to the heavy population of children with their parents in this environment.

Walking through the freshwater exhibit had Connor peering inside the lake, catching glimpses of fishes swimming beneath the surface. They hadn’t opted for a map because Connor told Hank he’d downloaded it in his mind, and the less shit to carry in his hands the better, Hank decided, and so he let the walking and talking equivalent of Google Maps lead him around the aquarium.

They walked through at a leisurely pace, but Hank couldn’t stop Connor from breaking free of his grasp when they reached the interactive touch pool exhibit. He stopped and waited patiently until a group of children had finished, before stepping forwards himself and crouching down in front of the little pool.

He reached out his hand, slowly at first, breaking the surface of the water, LED processing as he adjusted to the sensation, before reaching down and feeling a sea anemone under his fingertips.

Hank crouched beside him, reaching a hand inside too.

“There’s 9 species of fascinating creatures in here… it’s modelled after a west coast tide pool.”

“Eugh, what’s this under my hand right now?”

“That’s my hand, Hank…”

Hank laughed and reached to the side. “Whoops, my bad. Your hand was kind of slimy. What about… this?”

“That’s a blue sea star,” he replied, glancing up as a worker walked towards them. “They get their colouring from a blue pigment called linckiacyanin.”

“That’s right,” the worker added, then turned to Hank. “Careful, your kid’s gonna put me out of a job.”

Hank chuckled, tracing his finger along the sea star, feeling the bumps over its body. “He just really likes fish. And dogs. And most animals.”

He looked across at Connor, and that was when a realisation hit him… he really did seem to like animals. It was where he seemed to be most at ease, interacting with them, watching nature documentaries (even the ones where sharks devoured their prey in a bloody mess). It was rare outside of these instances where he seemed truly relaxed.

He was broken out of his thoughts when Connor got to his feet, cleaning his hands before moving on to the next exhibit.

“Hey, wait up!”

They made their way through the next series of exhibits, from the shoaling bay where they viewed a 360-degree display of shoaling fish, with flagtails and pilchards and even some spiny lobsters at the bottom, to the doodle reef, and then the stingray bay exhibit. This, Connor informed hank, was Michigan’s only sandy stingray beach. He seemed particularly interested in this one, spotting baby sharks inside and becoming mesmerized by them for ten solid minutes. Hank practically had to pull him away, to go and sit down for a little bit since he’d seen him flagging from where he was standing, and shoved the bottle of thirium into his hands, telling him they could continue once he’d drank it.

After that was the shipwreck exhibit, where Connor pointed out the six-foot long wolf eel, which, surprisingly, didn’t freak Hank out, instead commenting that it was kind of cool. And then came the tropical ocean exhibit, which Connor informed him was where the 180-degree ocean tunnel was.

“As I said before,” Connor commented in a hushed tone as they walked through the tunnel, looking all around him as fish swam overhead and to the sides of them. “There’s 500 creatures here… Look, a shovel nose shark.”

Despite his reservations, Hank followed Connor the side of the tunnel where the big shark was swimming and stopped. “Huh, that one actually isn’t so scary. He’s got a big pointy nose.”

“He can hear you,” Connor responded, affronted on behalf of the shark.

“I think he’s cute.”

Hank wondered to the other side of the tunnel, watching as a turtle swam by. “Turtles are big fuc—uh… big guys, they’re real big.”

“That’s because that one was a giant green sea turtle. They’re about three to four feet long when fully grown, and weigh from three hundred to five hundred pounds.”

“Damn… that’s like… at least three Sumos.”

“Correct,” Connor nodded, continuing to walk down the tunnel. “Sumo is 170 pounds, so, considering that sea turtle was 355, it was exactly 2.08823529412 Sumos.”

Hank stared at him as he rattled off the series of numbers. “Alright, calculator boy.”

After the ocean tunnel came the jellyfish display, and then the coral reef, before lastly, the conservation cove. By this point, Connor was panting a little from the exertion, a hand on his chest, and Hank not so discretely steered him to a nearby sitting area.

“You sit here for a bit, okay? Get some energy back. I’ll be right back.”

Connor nodded, and Hank took that as his cue to leave, heading down the hallway, checking Connor was where he left him.

He had one destination in mind: the gift shop. It was always a fun part of excursions like these, and he figured the kid could do with some more interesting things in his room since all he had right now was his best, nightstand, and wardrobe.

It took a little browsing, but eventually he found what he was looking for. There was a souvenir guidebook detailing the exhibits and creatures inside them, and whilst he knew Connor had all the information downloaded into his brain, it wouldn’t hurt to get him a book about it. He always liked having a book in his hands instead of looking stuff up online or using one of those tablet book things with the touchscreen surfaces that broke half the damn time.

After that, he found something a little more fun—a medium-sized grey shark plush toy. Connor had wanted a shark, maybe this would be enough. He didn’t want him to think he considered him a child, but toys weren’t just for kids anyway, he decided.

Lastly, he picked up a drawstring bag with a turtle on it for himself, figuring a bag was always handy and the turtle had been pretty cool to look at. He then made quick work of paying for his stuff, before heading back to where he’d left Connor.

“Alright, it’s just a little gift from me, but—” he stopped as he reached the empty chair, a curse on his lips but kept inside as he remembered where he was. “Connor?”

He looked all around him, all the chairs in the seating area empty, and so he went further out towards where the exit was. But he had no luck here, and instead returned inside, phone in one hand as he typed a hurried text, asking where the fuck he’d gone to.

Just as he came past the seating area and back towards the last exhibit, however, he stopped typing, finally spotting him.

“Thank god, jesus christ…” he breathed, walking towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder as he caught his breath. “Con, you can’t just wander off like that, not when you’re… you’re…”

His voice trailed off as Connor seemed entirely unresponsive to both his touch and his voice. He looked at him, noticing the flashing yellow LED, and then followed his gaze. He seemed to be looking at an android, who was walking around with another android, and—oh, he seemed familiar.

“An HK400…” Connor mumbled, LED flashing red as he spoke these words.

“Oh, shit…” Hank mumbled, before glancing around him, hoping no one had overheard. “Just like that android from before, huh?”

“Yes, from the Ortiz case.”

Hank nodded, looking back at Connor again, noticing his shaking hands and the mixture of negative emotions flashing across his face.

“C’mon, son… let’s get back to the car.”

He was thankful that Connor didn’t avoid his hand this time as he took him by the shoulder and led him back out to the vehicle.

As they got inside, Hank glanced at Connor and the fact his LED was still funky colours, before looking at the bag in his hands. He nodded to himself before taking the shark out, and mimicked swimming motions with it, dancing it in front of Connor’s vision. This seemed to break him out of whatever trance he’d fallen into, and he reached out for the shark before pausing.

“Is it for me?”

“Yeah,” Hank replied, “I got you this shark and a book about all the fish in there. And I got this cool bag for me, by the way, so don’t go stealin’ it.” He placed the book on Connor’s lap with his free hand, but the shark was left hanging in the air, not yet taken.

“Do you think I… deserve this?”

Hank shoved the shark into his hands with a weak glare and was glad when it was taken. “Of course you fuckin’ do. I didn’t steal it, so it’s not like they’re gonna come and take it away again.”

“Thank you.”

He checked behind him for any pedestrians or other vehicles, before pulling out of the space and then the parking lot.

“Thank you for the gifts,” Connor continued, “and for bringing me here, L—Hank. I enjoyed it greatly.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Hank smirked as he noticed Connor was running his fingers along the embroidered gills on the shark. “See, much better for me for you to have something like that in your hands than the damn coin. You can’t hit me with a toy.”

“Ulterior motive, then,” Connor commented with no real heat behind his words.

“Yeah, my other motive was also for you to get something a bit more interestin’ in your room. It’s so bland in there, it’s like a sad beige modern home. Did Cyberlife make you programmed to detest colour and enrichment in your life?”

Connor chuckled. “They certainly didn’t equip their androids with a need to enjoy colours, or enjoy anything for that matter. Unless of course they had a specific career that involved exploring colours, such as an android working in a paint store who would need to provide advice to customers on what to purchase.”

“Well, we’re gonna get some colour into your room. It’s already in your wardrobe, we’re gonna go even further.”

“I would like that.”

Hank nodded. “Yeah. And hey, I enjoyed today too. Even if some of those animals are kinda fuckin’ scary, it was still interesting seeing them all and learning about them. You’re like a walking animal encyclopaedia. It was better than having to wait our turn to ask the workers about stuff, and get lost half the damn time trying to follow a map. In union is strength, or whatever they say like that. Good we went there together.” He paused. “Good doing stuff like this with you. We should do more stuff like today.”

“Yes, I agree.” Connor nodded and meant what he said. Even if there was a part of his mind that told him he didn’t deserve to enjoy stuff like this, not when there were so many who could never enjoy anything because of him… even if any glimpse he had caught of himself in the glass exhibits had reminded him of the trailing lines down his body… a reminder of what had happened, and what could have happened if he hadn’t succeeded. The HK400, the deviants who’d never got a chance to live— and Seventy.

All the air was knocked from his lungs as he plunged into the freezing lake, pain sparking across his back from where it had cracked open the ice. His eyes were open wide, and he could only watch helplessly as the surface got further away, his arms stretched out in front of him.

It was cold. It was very cold, and warnings were flashing in his vision, warnings about biocomponent damage and imminent shutdown if he did not get out of the water. But it was as if the coldness had frozen every limb of his body, immobilising him into a sinking dead weight.

Hank was in higher spirits as he walked back to Connor’s room, having had a pleasant enough conversation with an android colleague who’d assured him they’d look after Sumo, and had wished Connor well with his recovery.

“Good thing I actually started being fuckin’ nice to some people, huh?” he commented as he entered Connor’s hospital room, closing the door behind him. “Actually took some of your advice and people like me instead of tellin’ me to fuck off or hang up the ph—”

The smile fell from his face as he took a lot at Connor and took in the shrill and incessant beeping of his thirium pump monitor.

“Fuck!” he yelled, diving to press the technician call button, but before he could, they arrived and he was escorted to the side of the room as multiple techs swarmed around Connor, hurried words exchanged between them.

“Sorry, Mr Anderson, but we’re going to have to ask you to leave while we—”

“Fuck that!” Hank refused to budge from his spot across the room. “Please, I can’t wait out there while he… he…”

“We’re sorry, Mr Anderson.”

He found another set of arms at his other side, guiding him out of the room. He twisted in their grasp and shouted:

“Don’t you fucking die, you hear me, Connor? If you die, I’ll never forgive you!”

Cold. Cold. Falling down… down… down…

It was growing dark. His vision was dimming, the rapid red warnings fading into oblivion. His ears rang, water rushing in his ears and his eyes began to slip shut.

Don’t you fucking die!

He gasped, inhaling a lungful of water. Hank? Hank?

The red warnings returned anew and sent a burst of power throughout his body, awaking his frozen limbs. He kicked his legs out behind him and began to swim forward desperately. Towards the light streaking through the gap in the ice, the light that shone through the blue skies, blue eyes, grey hair.

I’ll never forgive you!

He kicked his legs out with more determination. Not here, he couldn’t die here in the icy depths of his mind palace. The light was getting closer, his artificial lungs were burning in his chest, head heavy, limbs dragging behind him, but he kept going. He wanted to live, and he always accomplished his mission.

With a gasp he broke the surface, hands grasping the broken ice, hauling himself up before collapsing on the surface. He coughed and spluttered, feeling his throat burn as cold water expelled from it, hunching in on himself and gritting his teeth at the pain. He was so cold, and the warnings returned anew, telling him that many biocomponents sustained great damage, but he was alive.

Laying on his side, that’s when he saw it. A hand sticking out from the hole he’d just surfaced from, then disappearing again, before poking back out, only the fingertips this time. He groaned and crawled forwards, coughs rattling in his chest as he looked down back through the hole.

It was Seventy, who’d fallen in before him. He didn’t seem able to breach the surface by himself. He reached out his hand, before pausing. This android had been so eager to kill him at any opportunity, to ruin his life, to kill everyone he cared about. He didn’t seem to show a shred of remorse. And yet… leaving him to drown felt wrong.

He stuck his hand into the cold water, feeling around until he made contact with fingers and he grabbed onto them, reaching down further until he could grasp his hand, and he used his remaining energy to pull, until Seventy’s head broke above the water, and he took his other hand and dragged him out, onto the ice beside him, before falling onto his back.

Through his returning hearing, he heard coughing that came out more like a wheeze, water splattering on the surface, and then more wheezing, pained breaths. He glanced to the side and took in Seventy’s faint red LED, flickering between colour and lifeless grey. A quick scan told him that his thirium pump was shutting down.

He dragged himself over to Seventy and took a hand in his to further assess his condition. His skin was freezing cold, and he noticed then the ugly wound on his throat—he wouldn’t survive because of this, too much water flooding into his body through this opening. His own pump faltered in his chest, and he felt cooling fluid brimming in his eyes.

“I… wanted… to live…” Seventy coughed, grabbing Connor’s hand and squeezing it tightly. “I… wanted to… help him…”

“I’m sorry,” Connor told him, not completely sure what he was apologising for, but feeling extremely sorry all the same.

“No… you’re not… we all died… because of… you…”

Seventy gasped, head shooting up before falling back against the ice. Connor placed his hand underneath, cupping the back of his head so that he didn’t sustain further injury.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, tears falling down his cheeks, placing his other hand on Seventy’s chest.

“They say…” Seventy began, coughing hoarsely, thirium dribbling from his lips. “Even with nothing… one can offer… their life…” He laughed, a broken and guttural sound. “They are… wrong. I want to… live.”

His eyes blew wide, and then grey drew over them, his LED finally spinning to nothing but grey. His head became heavy in Connor’s hand.

Connor stared down at his body, before lifting him in his arms and getting to his feet. He groaned as the motion worsened the errors flashing in his vision, taking slow steps, ignoring the sharp cracks in the ice below him. He walked until he reached the bridge of the zen garden, and he laid Seventy down on the ground.

Crouching down again, he pushed the other’s eyelids shut and drew his arms over his chest. Vines began to sprout from the ground, and he stumbled to his feet a few steps away, watching as the vines wrapped around Seventy’s body, ensnaring him until only his face peeked out. Then, in one swift motion, he was pulled into the ground and disappeared.

They returned home at about 5.30pm, as was usual. Connor followed his usual routine: shoes off by the door, greet Sumo before heading towards the kitchen to feed him.

“I’ll put his dinner out today, kid,” Hank told him, calling him away from the kitchen.

“Oh?”

Hank gestured to his shirt, and Connor quickly realised why Sumo had been so insistent on sniffing and licking it today. “Ah, right. The stains. I will get changed.”

“Does android blood even… wash out?”

“Of course,” Connor called back to him as he headed down the hallway, “Cyberlife wouldn’t have designed something that stained surfaces and clothes, that would have been impractical.”

He headed into his room, a simple area: a bed with primary blue covers, a nightstand with a lamp, and a closet containing a sparse selection of clothes (all white shirts and smart black trousers, save for 2 pairs of blue pajamas), and a laundry hamper near the door. He made quick work of unbuttoning the dirtied garment, tossing it into the hamper before selecting a pair of pajamas, figuring it less laundry to do later on to simply get changed into them now. These were his summer pair with shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, he didn’t particularly feel the heat, though the way it made his temperature regulation sensors rise and give subtle warnings at times was unpleasant and distracting, so he hadn’t complained when Hank had ordered them for him.

The task done, he headed back into the living room, sitting in his usual spot on the smaller of the two couches, looking into the kitchen where Sumo was noisily eating his dinner.

“You gave him 5 grams more than his recommended mealtime amount,” he lightly remarked.

Hank chuckled. “That’s cause I’m a soft fuckin’ sod, he looked at me with his big eyes and—who am I kidding. I poured out too much and I couldn’t be fucked to pour it back. 5 grams is barely anything.”

“It is only a slight change; it will not harm him if not repeated in the long term.”

“Well, good thing you usually put out his dinner then,” Hank responded, sitting on the larger couch with a huff. He placed down his own meal; takeout noodles out the fridge from the night before and a beer beside it. Connor decided against mentioning the coaster he’d managed to miss, feeling enough tensions had been raised that day.

The TV was turned on, mindless sports game playing that Hank didn’t particularly know what was going on but shouted about anyway when the team he wanted to win scored. A little beer was split onto the table, which Connor wiped up with a tissue after shooing away a curious saint Bernard.

Once the noodles were finished and the container tossed in the trash, however, Hank muted the TV and turned to Connor, who tilted his head at the out of the ordinary gesture.

“I just wanted to say something real quick before the game comes back on, alright? And before you say it, I’m not gonna lecture you again. I just wanted to say something about earlier. You… well, fuck, you did do a good job. I’m sorry for discrediting that. I was just…” he paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was worried about you.”

“Why?” Connor asked simply.

Hank stared at him, a frown curving on his lips. “Why? Cause you could’ve missed the balcony or that guy could’ve thrown you off.”

“That wouldn’t happen, Lieutenant.”

“I really wish you’d… you can call me Hank, you know.”

“Okay, Hank, it wouldn’t happen,” Connor repeated, the name coming out slower than he’d intended.

“You mentioned that construction thingy of yours—”

“Preconstruction.”

“Tomato, tomato. So what, it said you had a 100% chance of making that leap?”

Connor shrugged. “I’d assume so. It didn’t really—not that it matters—but it didn’t really say anything. It just gave the option and left it up to me. And I knew I’d make it.”

“Doesn’t sound like 100%... but, I did say I wasn’t gonna lecture ya. I just wanted to say I was worried, that’s all.” He flicked the sound back on and shifted in his seat, getting more comfortable.

As the break finished and the game came back on the screen, Connor’s LED whirred yellow as he attempted to process the conversation.

“But… why?” he repeated.

“Why what?”

Silence drew between them. Connor opened his mouth to say, well, why would you have worried? Because Hank might have given him a roof over his head, but it wasn’t as if they were friends. Sure, they sat and watched television together, but so did a lot of humans who weren’t particularly fond of each other. Hank was just nice, and didn’t want to see Connor go homeless, especially if they’d be working together again.

His LED spun back to blue as an answer appeared. That was just it, really. Hank felt bad for him—if he had fallen and died then, well, maybe Hank would have felt bad about it, because he’s quite nice, even if he doesn’t like to show it so easily. No, he wouldn’t trouble Hank with a question he knew the answer to. Much wants more, and loses all. He already had a lot: a roof over his head, a steady job. More than a lot of androids in these times could say they had. Asking weird questions wasn’t necessary, worrying about their connection was too much when all he needed to do was atone. To repay his debts to androids he would save them, and to repay Hank’s favour he would try not to make him worried. His LED flashed yellow again as he processed the contradiction—doing his all to help androids would worry Hank.

Could he really have both without sacrificing one to keep the other?

“Connor?”

He blinked, shaking his head. “Sorry, I… don’t recall what I was going to say.”

As Connor marched the cuffed suspect into the DPD with two officers behind him, he felt two things.

One: pride. He had finally captured a dangerous killer, hopefully preventing more lives from being lost. He had done it, after others had failed to. He was efficient, the mission was successful.

Two: shame. A tissue was stuffed in one of his nostrils, streaked with blue, to prevent more dripping down his white shirt (which already looked as if multiple pens had exploded on top of it). He had been a little risky, and Hank, who always told him to be efficient but safe, didn’t sound impressed.

But this feeling was only tiny in comparison to the pride. What did it matter if he could have almost died, when he didn’t? The mission was successful. What more did his life matter than the countless lives this man could have taken?

So he didn’t let the shame make his steps falter, instead holding his head up high as he walked past the desk, feeling eyes burning into him. He stopped by the holding cells, letting the other two officers handle getting the suspect into a cell.

A job well done, he reasoned, something to celebrate by working even harder. He turned on his heel and walked into Hank.

“Mmph—Lieutenant, I did not hear you coming behind me.”

He looked up at the man, taking in the stern look in his eyes, lips drawn tight, hackles bristling. “Just like you didn’t hear me back there.”

Connor shrugged and moved to step around him, heading swiftly back towards their desks. “I’m not sure what you mean by that, Lieutenant. I followed your helpful guidance and the suspect was apprehended.” He sat down in his chair with a slight groan as a dull ache radiated from his knee. He reached up, pulling the tissue from his nose, tossing it into the trash before assessing for any further signs of bleeding. It had finished for now, fortunately.

There was a slight creak as Hank sat across from him. “I do not recall tellin’ ya to jump off a roof. I remember saying… what was it again—”

“Fuck, Connor, stop?” Connor repeated, head tilted, then paused.

“So, you did hear me.”

“I heard you and I assessed the risks of the situation. There really is nothing to be concerned about, Lieutenant. I looked, I leapt, and landed on my feet.”

“Looked?” Hank repeated, voice a touch louder. People around them were suddenly becoming very interested in looking at their computers. “You know damn well you just leapt off that building and prayed to android god that you’d find your footing! And the suspect almost pushed you off the edge of that balcony.”

“Fine, I did not so much as look as I used my preconstruction software—a very useful, state of the art tool,” Connor reminded him, brushing a finger under his nose, noting it came away mostly clean of thirium, “and I judged the risks were worth the success of capturing a dangerous criminal.” He paused. “I did a good job.”

“Yeah,” Hank began, “I know that, but—”

“I don’t understand what there is to get so… emotional about, Lieutenant. The suspect is caught, and I am relatively unscathed. I did my job.”

Hank opened his mouth to respond, then paused, and closed it again. He took a long look over Connor, from the dark bruise at the bridge of his nose, to the smear of thirium above his lips, down to the way he was sitting hunched a little forward in his seat, as if his leg were troubling him. He took a breath, as if to launch into another lecture, before shaking his head and turning back to his computer.

“Paperwork should be sent over to you now to fill out about a shit dozen reports on this,” he said instead of whatever else he had been thinking.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Quiet only disturbed by the clicking of fingers on keyboards drew over them for a while. At one point Connor’s nose began to drip a little more thirium, at which he simply shoved another tissue inside and got back on with his work.

The day drew on, a shit dozen reports becoming only a small number left to complete. 4pm, not too long before work would end, was when Hank leant back in his chair and stretched.

“Kid,” he began around a yawn, “I didn’t mean to make you feel like shit over catchin’ that guy… but two wrongs don’t make a right, ya know.”

“I’m familiar with the phrase,” Connor responded, eyes not moving away from his screen. “I’m not sure how it applies to this situation.”

“Well, I mean… just cause that guy did something real bad, that he took away a bunch of android’s lives… that doesn’t mean you have to go fuckin’ doing that too. He made people lose their loved ones and—well I guess what I’m trying to say is, you don’t have to do the same thing.”

Connor drew his eyes away for one moment to study Hank with a neutral stare. “I don’t follow your line of thought. He was a murderer. I did not murder anyone.”

Hank waited outside New Jericho Tower in the car whilst Connor was at his appointment. Just over an hour later he returned, and seemed content, but tired, which he could understand— even before the real work began, therapy was exhausting, and they had also been out on a shopping trip earlier.

“How’d it go, Con?”

Clicking on his seatbelt, Connor answered first with a yawn and then, “It was… good. Just the intake appointment, getting to know him…”

“Good. Same time next week?”

He nodded, eyes slipping shut, before shaking his head and blinking rapidly.

Hank chuckled. “It’s alright, you can have a nap on the way back if you want. You look tired as shit.”

Connor was out like a light, slipped into stasis before Hank had even finished his sentence. Hank shook his head with a smile, checking behind him as he reversed out of the parking space before starting the drive back home.

It was early afternoon as they drove back, a hot day but no longer in the midst of the searing heatwave that had hit the city for the past few weeks. Still, the car windows were rolled all the way down, allowing a nice cool breeze to blow through the car. From where Connor was sleeping, the air was ruffling his hair, blowing the stray curl up and down. Knights of the Black Death was playing at a reasonable volume, but even when the choruses were screamed, he didn’t wake, feeling safe and content where he was.

He only stirred once the car stopped as they arrived back home. Blinking through bleary eyes he shook his head, sitting up straight, feeling a little more energised than he had been before. Connor followed Hank out of the car and into the house, greeting Sumo who jumped up, resting his paws against his chest.

“Easy, Sumo…” he scratched behind his ears, before checking the time and noting it was about time to let him out. Deciding he may as well do it now, he made his way to the backdoor, watching the big dog run outside.

He stood by the door, watching as the dog ran around happily, and smiled. This was nice. He was glad he still had this, and that everything was beginning to feel a bit more real. Maybe they’d go inside afterward and put on the TV, and he could do some drawing while Hank watched the catchup recording of the Detroit Gears game, and—

Or maybe not.

Sumo had decided he’d found a particularly interesting scent in the flowerbed and had begun to roll in the dirt during Connor’s moment of distraction. By the time he noticed and ran over there, Sumo was thoroughly caked in mud, looking pleased about what he had done.

“Sumo…”

He picked up the dog to stop him making it any worse, but the damage was done. Shaking his head, he wondered what the procedure was for a dirty dog. Sumo seemed too large a breed to fit into the bathtub and the whole house would get dirty if he brought him back inside, unless he carried him the whole way. And did Sumo even like baths? A lot of dogs didn’t.

His train of thoughts was stopped by the sound of laughter behind him, and he turned to see Hank standing in the open doorway. He fixed him with a glare.

“Priceless…” Hank got out, holding his sides. “Absolutely fuckin’ priceless. I should take a photo of you two.”

“You do realise we both have to get him clean?”

This stopped Hank laughing, a look of horror dawning on his face. “Oh. Oh, fuck, no… he hates the bath. Barely fuckin’ fits.”

Connor tilted his head, LED whirring as he researched alternatives. “What about… do you have a paddling pool, Hank?”

“Yeah, but I don’t see what having a nice swim is gonna do about the dirty ass dog. Plus it’s a kiddie pool, I don’t think we’d both even fit in there.”

Connor stared at him, and then after a long pause, continued. “…not for us, Hank. For Sumo. Instead of getting him in the bath, we keep him out here and hose him down in a paddling pool.”

“Oh. Oh shit, good idea. I’ll go get it from the garage, you two wait here.”

About five minutes later Hank returned with the pool in tow, and once the door to the house was shut, Sumo was released, and Connor helped inflate the pool. Once that was done, he set about connecting the hose and began the work of filling it with water. Sumo was curious about this, sniffing at the sides of the pool, licking the hose in Connor’s hands and woofing when this action got him splashed in the face with water.

“Nice day for the pool,” Hank commented, as the hose was set to the side, pool now about halfway full. “It’s still pretty damn hot. Maybe Sumo rolled in the dirt on purpose, so he could play in the pool.”

Connor called Sumo over. “I don’t think dogs have complex enough thoughts to think about manipulation, Hank… here, Sumo, good boy.”

“I don’t know, he’s smarter than you think.”

Sumo was staring into the pool from the side, but still seemed wary and clearly didn’t want to go in. Connor presumed that simply picking him up and putting him inside would scare him, and he could just run straight out again. He thought over it and… yes, he had an idea.

Without a second thought, he stepped inside the pool. The water was nice and cool, not too icy cold, and indeed was a good relief from the summer’s heat. He splashed around inside, ignoring Hank’s confusion.

“The fuck are you doing? You aren’t the damn dog!”

Perhaps it wasn’t the correct idea, he mused, stopping in the centre of the little pool. Perhaps—

Water splashed up into the air as Sumo leapt inside, barrelling over to Connor and nuzzling up to him. He chuckled and petted his head, telling him what a good boy he was.

“See, Hank? It worked. I thought I’d show him that it’s safe and fun in here.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright… you know I have to hose down both of you, now, don’t ya?”

Connor watched in dawning horror as Hank picked up the hose of the floor, and had no time to react before it was pointed straight at him. Within seconds he was soaked to the artificial bone, spluttering, hair soaking wet and dripping down his face.

“Hank!”

Ten minutes later, two very soggy individuals, Sumo and Connor, were led back inside with towels in tow. Sumo’s was draped over his back, already having shaken thoroughly outside (splashing water over Hank too in karmic retribution) and Connor had one around his shoulders. He was told to go straight to the bathroom to get changed so that he didn’t drip water from his downright soggy clothes throughout the house.

A fresh set of clothes were placed on the bathroom cabinet for him, and he dried off more with the towel before getting to work putting them on. This was a pair of cargo shorts and a white button up shirt patterned with black cats.

Once he was changed, he moved over to the mirror to try and dry his hair, which was a difficult task given how damp it was, flat and clinging to his head. He gave up after a minute or too, figuring that with this heat it wouldn’t be long before it dried naturally. Glancing across the mirror, he noticed a new post it note. This one had a drawing of a big dog and a cat on it. Hank must have made it. The dog wasn’t a Saint Bernard, instead it was taller and sleek, and if his scanning software could liken it to the most likely breed, it would be an Irish Wolfhound. The cat was black like those on his shirt, and had a little LED on the side of its head. He smiled, deciding he’d add a new post it note drawing later, and exited the bathroom.

He found Hank in the living room, trying his best to dry Sumo with yet another towel (the old one was discarded in a wet heap on the kitchen floor). Sumo wasn’t having it, and simply shook, sending the towel scattering onto the floor, splattering Hank with just a little more water. He looked a lot drier now, his fur beginning to get that damp fuzzy texture. The distinct smell of wet dog was beginning to fill the room.

“This was not how I expected my Wednesday afternoon to be goin’,” Hank grumbled, gathering up the discarded towels, placing them inside the washing machine.

“Agreed. But it was certainly… interesting.”

Hank looked up at Connor, chuckling at his flat wet hair, before nodding. “Yeah, it was certainly somethin’. How about now we sit the fuck down and watch some TV?”

Connor nodded, and went back to his room to retrieve his drawing stuff before joining Hank in the living room. He set out his new art supplies on the table, sitting down on the floor in front of the table.

He blinked in surprise as a cushion was tossed towards him, catching it easily, before looking up at the man who’d thrown it.

“Sit on this. Even if you are an android who finds kneeling on the floor comfortable, it’s makin’ my back fucking hurt just looking at you sitting there.”

Connor chuckled, placing the cushion down before sitting on top of it. “Thank you. It is more comfortable; it may help with my posture and improve my artwork.”

A moderate level of sound filled the room as Hank switched on the TV, finding the recording of the Detroit Gears game before settling back in his seat. He felt a wet nose sniffing his hand, and before he could tell him not to, a slightly damp Sumo had leapt onto the chair beside him. As Sumo laid down, plonking his head on his lap with a contented sigh, any complaint died on his lips, and he stroked the fuzzy soft dog behind his ears where he liked it.

This was nice, he mused, glancing from the dog on his lap, to Connor sitting on the floor, pencils and paper spread out across the table, starting work on a new drawing. The room buzzed with the sound of the TV and the quiet scratch of pencils against paper. A late summer’s afternoon, one where he felt content to just sit and relax. The high energy bustle of the day had died down and now it was time to rest. And sure, tomorrow this would be over, and he’d have to go back to the DPD, but for now he was content not to worry too much about that. All good things had to come to an end, after all, but that didn’t make them any less enjoyable. Everything was temporary, whether it be fun or hardship and suffering… But there was no point worrying about when things were good now. Everything being impermanent was a good fucking thing, if he said so himself. Because the hell they’d been through recently hadn’t lasted forever, and it’d brought them, in its own sick and twisted way, to where they were now.

Hank went back to work the next week, unfortunately, but on Wednesday morning, Connor was surprised to find him still in bed at 9am.

He knocked on the door, hoping Hank would only get a mild telling off from Fowler despite his lateness. It was much better than it had used to be— he no longer turned up at the precinct past noon, seeming much more enthused to work in his new role in the DPD.

After still no response, he sighed and opened the door, making his way inside. Hank was deep asleep on the bed, laying on his front, head turned to the side, one arm hanging off the edge of the bed.

“Hank?”

He didn’t rouse, so Connor stepped forwards, eerily reminiscent feelings creeping into his mind as he tapped him on the cheek.

This did the trick. His eyes shot open, and he looked up at Connor, made a surprised sound, then looked at the clock.

“Hrmmm… gimme five more minutes, okay?”

Connor shook his head. “It’s 9:02am, Hank. You’re going to be late for work.”

Hank shot up in bed, scrambling out of the covers, before pausing as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Wait, fuck… is it Wednesday?”

“Yes?”

“Thank fuck. I’m not late, I took the day off.”

Connor tilted his head. “Why did you do that?”

“Wanted some time off. Figured I’d drop you off for your first therapy session today, and before that, maybe…” He paused, yawning wide. “Well, go shoppin’.”

Connor stepped aside, letting Hank exit the room and freshen up, before following him into the kitchen.

“Shopping?” He continued, sending the coffee maker a glare as it loudly roared to life. “Was there something you needed from the shops?”

“I meant it when I said we were gettin’ some fun and colour into your room.”

Connor chuckled. “Well… I appreciate the offer, but I’m alright. I don’t require that right now. I have drawing, which is fun, so—”

“It’s less of an offer and more of ‘let me take you shopping or so help me god’,” Hank threatened, taking his mug of coffee and downing half of it in one go. “So, shopping?”

“Shopping.”

As Hank got on with his morning routine, Connor stopped, leaning against the kitchen entryway frame, mind processing. If he’d told himself months ago that he would be preparing to go out for some shopping with Hank before a therapy session, he’d have laughed in his own face and presumed it was some strange alternate reality. Back then had been so different… his life was so much calmer now. More domestic. Jobs he was looking into for the future were surrounding his own newly discovered interests, either something working with animals, or something creative. That wasn’t the designation Cyberlife had given him— he’d not known he could want things, or how to truly love and care about another.

If the damn to his feelings and emotions hadn’t broken… if Seventy hadn’t forced his way into his mind and driven him to the point of near annihilation— would everything be as it was now? Or would they still be in the painful silence of repressed emotions and conflict they were stuck in before? The cat had warmed up to his home, sheathing his claws and purring against Hank’s shoulder.

As they said, curiosity killed the cat. Being curious, pushing his limits so far as he had before… it had truly almost killed him. He’d fallen and he’d only had the fact that cats land on their feet to thank for that one. But maybe it was more than just luck— he had survived because he’d wanted to, after all. He’d been brought back by the satisfaction of a life he wanted to live. Hearing Hank’s voice, knowing there was more to life than pain and following orders.

Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

He would enjoy today. He would go shopping with Hank despite the aching feeling of confusion in his mind, trying to process contradictory facts like ‘Hank cares’ and ‘why does Hank care?’ and the ugly remnants of distant memories showing themselves like unwanted visitors. He would enjoy the life he’d almost lost. This cat would not be killed so easily.

They arrived at the shopping centre nearest to New Jericho, and as they came into the grand entrance, Hank gestured around them and said, “So, where d’you wanna go first, Con?”

So many options, his mind swirling with the information of every store nearby and what they sold and when they were open and shut— he blinked rapidly to clear the data and looked at Hank.

“We are shopping for my room, correct? But I suppose not for large furniture items, we can order those for home delivery.”

Hank chuckled. “Fuck, yeah, we aren’t gonna fit anything massive in my old ass car. Nah, think of it more like… decor and hobby items. Basically, whatever you want, within reason, I’ll get it.”

Connor opened his mouth to argue that he’d be alright getting anything himself, but closed it, knowing this was one of the ways Hank showed he cared. A way he didn’t have to say it out loud, acts of service and gifts. He nodded and began to walk forwards, his scanning software shut off, instead seeing whatever interested him the natural way.

The first shop he entered was a bookstore. Hank wondered if he was after some reading material, maybe detective stories— then rolled his eyes and mumbled “of fuckin’ course” when Connor beelined straight to the nonfiction section. He was looking over the shelves, clearly after something in particular, and found it under the ‘nature’ section.

He picked up a few books—all three of them encyclopaedias. One was about dogs, the other about cats, and the last was about ocean life.

“I know I can access this information online, but…”

Hank shook his head, taking the books from him. “Nah, I get it. I’m the same. Love the feel of old books under my hands, instead of those shitty transparent ebook things…”

Books purchased and stowed securely in a bag, they headed back into the mall. It wasn’t too busy, fortunately, given the early morning time and the fact it was still pretty hot, and a lot of people were out at other places in this weather, like the beach.

The next shop was a stationery store, and Hank helped Connor pick out some more art supplies. They found a tin of coloured pencils, some graphite sketching pencils in multiple shades, and a larger sketchbook.

“Thank you, Hank. Now I can draw you in A3.”

Hank groaned in response, hefting the bag on his shoulder. “As long as you get my good side.”

After this, the next location was Hank’s choice: an old toy store, one centred around childhood. He walked inside, looking around with a smile on his face.

“This is the sort of stuff I grew up with,” he commented to Connor, “I miss this… for a while there when Cyberlife was the king of every damn form of products, they just sold a bunch of different electronic shit to kids and parents ate it up ‘cause it meant less work for them. Then when it got to the point of androids who could do all the childcare…” he shook his head, stopping at the plush animals section, a faraway look glistening in his eyes.

He walked down the aisle, coming to stop at a tabby cat plush and he picked it up in his hands, carefully, as if it might break or fall to pieces if he held it too tight.

Connor joined him after a moment, noticing the way his hands were beginning to shake around the object, his lip trembling.

“Are you alright, Hank?”

He looked across at Connor, startling a little, before putting on a smile. “Yeah, yeah, I’m alright. Just somethin’… familiar. Reminded me of…”

Connor placed a hand on his shoulder, and the two stood for a minute, quiet and still in the aisle full of toys. Then, after a few minutes had passed, Connor took the cat from Hank’s hands and made his way to the till to pay for it.

Once they’d left the store, he handed Hank the little bag, taking one of the bigger ones from him to ease the load.

“For you, Hank.”

Hank smiled. “Thank you, son.”

As they started up walking again, Connor asked, “So, what are you going to name him?”

“Hmm?”

“The cat toy in your bag.”

“Oh, him. I don’t know. I haven’t named something like that in a long time. How about you name him for me?”

Connor tilted his head, thinking over the options paired with the still image memory of the toy. “How about… Stripe? His fur is quite stripy, since he’d a tabby patterned breed.”

“Good choice.”

They traversed through a few more stores, deciding to go to one last place before needing to make the journey over to New Jericho. It was a pet store, since they needed to get some more food for Sumo.

Whilst Hank searched for the dog food, Connor became distracted. There were lots of animals in here, from hamsters to rabbits to reptiles, and he walked through, observing all of them. So eager to take in every animal, he had reached the back end of the store, quite a way away from Hank, but he didn’t think about that, because this end was where they kept the fish.

It was a tall display, with large tanks, only housing the suitable number of occupants for each tank, since this was a humane store approved by Hank for shopping in. There were lots of species, his mind cataloguing which fish he looked at, and further he took in all the details in their tanks. Watching the fish swim around underwater, it was very calming…

He remembered the dwarf gourami from his first mission (Dewey, he’d later dubbed him) who’d laid flopping on the floor. Despite the fact he was a very newly activated machine, he’d felt something akin to distress at seeing the animal laying helpless, suffocating and no one had helped him. He’d bent down and picked him up carefully, placing him back into the tank and smiling as he swam away. He hoped that fish was okay, that someone had come to check on him after and that he wasn’t left unattended for in the crime scene to starve.

An unknown stretch of time passed as he watched the fish, and he was entranced, not even noticing Hank calling his name and eventually finding him.

“Jesus, Con, don’t just wander off like that…”

His sentence trailed off as he saw the android standing in front of the tanks, with an expression akin to wonder, LED spinning a gentle hue of blue. It wasn’t unlike how he’d been at the aquarium—a moment of peace and tranquillity where at least for that short time, all the troubles weighing on his shoulders and anxiety buzzing in his mind seemed to melt away. Seeing him like this, relaxed and happy… that was how Hank wanted to continue seeing him. Maybe long term the Jericho therapy sessions would begin to help, he’d eventually find a career that occupied his mind without stressing him out, and all of that aside—he would be there too, whenever he needed him.

Hank walked over to Connor’s side, following his gaze across to the tanks.

“Maybe one day we can get you your own tank,” he commented, “in your room. That would be the furthest thing from the sad beige decor thing you’ve got going on right now.”

Connor glanced across at him. “I would like that. A large tank with a safe number of fish and compatible species in there, and I would research how to properly clean it and care for the fish. I’d make sure they’re safe, and happy, and that they don’t come to any harm or suffering.”

Hank tousled his hair. “Yep, they’d be the most fuckin’ spoiled fish in the whole damn world. Now come on, or you’re gonna be late for your appointment, and I don’t think they’re gonna appreciate ‘staring at fish’ as an excuse.”