systolicarray | ://i have no heart

Does anything feel loose or out of place?

[ nothing's loose enough to move beneath hank's hands, which is a good sign. his internal sensors were probably right when they hadn't reported any other damage. but in this situation, he has no choice but to be careful.

he can't count on cyberlife right now. ]

If you're not confident, I suppose I could just have you look...

I am looking. ( Hank moves his other hand on Connor. He uses both to feel at Connor's ribs, beneath his chest. He massages his fingers toward the center of Connor's torso, down the rippled slope of the ribs beneath the skin. It was ... strange, to say the least, how much like a human Connor felt beneath his touch. )

I mean, I can turn down the opacity of the plastic so you can see inside.

[ it was a useful diagnostic tool, although there's something undeniably satisfying about taking this more physical approach to the problem. he breathes in with his artificial lungs so his chest expands beneath the touch, but each rib stays firmly where it's meant to be. ]

I'll need you to check my back, too.

( Hank straightened, his fingers fell to his lap. He cocks his head and looks down to Connor's torso, his lips part with a breath. The expression on his face was obvious to his disbelief. The fuck do I know about goddamn androids? )

Okay, do you want a mirror so you can see too?

No, I don't think that's going be necessary. Your assessment will be good enough, Lieutenant.

[ feeling strangely, bizarrely cold without the warmth of those hands on his body, connor allows his artificial skin to disappear from the throat down. the opaque white écorché revealed, the plastic shifts in color until it's complete transparent. beneath it, the network of muscle fibers emit a faint light where they wrap around the dark metal that makes up his skeletal structure; the biocomponents that stand for the primary characteristics of android biology are brighter, thirum glowing brilliantly as it rushes through his body. something just to the right of his navel glows red, although it's somewhat hard to see behind the tangle of tubes and wires.

but aside from that— and the tear in his side— nothing looks broken or damaged. his thirium pump beats with a steady, confident rhythm. ]

( The confidence in him was so misplaced that Hank didn't even feel flattered. He felt out of his realm, completely in over his head with being depended on in this way. He moves his nearest hand back to Connor's stomach, touching at the flesh that has become translucent. It was so damn clear that he was expecting his hand to run into the mechanics inside of Connor's body. )

Jesus Christ.

( The blue thirium was an attractive color. The liquid threaded through Connor's body in a series of tubes, of veins. The red hue was a contrast to the blue and Hank lowered his hand to cover over the place where the red glowed. )

Is it supposed to be red?

No; my filtration system is damaged. But it shouldn't cause any issues before the replacement part gets here.

[ he stares at hank's hand on his stomach, at the way the light illuminates his fingers in that unearthly red. his plastic skin, transparent though it was, feels no different than it did before. there's a slickness to the surface, but the material is malleable, the same general consistency of the adipose deposits on a human's body.

connor quirks his head. in the momentary silence, his body's inner workings are almost audible. well, he can hear it, of course, that soft rushing sound, the faint beating so much like a heart— his ears are very sensitive. but he doesn't know if the lieutenant can. ]

To be honest, this is a positive outcome. If that wound had been deeper, or more biocomponents had failed, I wouldn't have survived long enough to crawl into the street.

( Hank pulls a breath in and holds it. He moves his hand off of Connor and settles it on his own thigh. He continues to look inside of Connor. Hank can't see anything immediately out of place. Yet, again, he wasn't sure what to look for inside of Connor's torso. )

Do you feel anything?

[ connor gives his head a shake, feeling down the front of his body with his fingers and the flat of his palm. nothing feels out of place. then, using his thumb and forefinger, he pinches closed each side of the ragged wound like he's simply assessing a rip in a piece of fabrics. he shifts his attention away when it peels open again the moment he removes the pressure, giving it up as a lost cause. ]

Everything seems to be fine, but I still want you to check my back. I think there might be another tear in the plastic, but if it's small enough I can repair it on my own.

[ rather than wait for a response to this statement, connor sits straighter and turns where he's sitting on the couch so that his back is facing the lieutenant. his movements awkward due to his missing limbs, he manages regardless, placing his hand on the arm of the couch and leaning forward as he glances back over his shoulder.

there is a tear in the plastic, although connor can't quite see it from his vantage point. it's small, just below the right shoulder blade. ]

( Hank follows Connor's hand with his eyes. He watches the folds pull together between his fingertips. His lips part for a breath, and he looks to Connor with a furrow to his brow. He nods at his next task, and his eyes return to the brunette as he repositions. Hank's eyes trace down the stretch of mechanics before him. The skeleton looks like it's made of metal - or titanium, or something that looked strong. It couldn't be plastic..? Could it? But as far as the flesh, he can't see it. He just sees through it. )

Turn your skin back on... I just.. I just see inside you.

All right.

[ it is more difficult to see that way, he supposes, especially if you don't have eyes like his— as the plastic returns to its usual opaque white, his artificial skin smoothly travels across the expanse of his body until he once again looks nothing less than human. if it weren't for the missing limbs and the LED glowing faintly on his temple, of course. his eyelids flicker as he watches. but he still can't see anything from this angle. ]

Is that better?

( The transition was unreal, and fascinating, but he's happy to see the normal color again. The white was ... unsettling, and the clear was definitely something else, but it was like looking into something that he was meant to see through. Which was obvious, but he compartmentalized the experience as if he was looking through a glass case designed specifically to be seen inside. Perhaps that was why Connor's flesh is designed this way.

With it back to its normal hue, Hank could see across the flesh and easily see a small tear. Hank lifts his hand and smooths his fingertips across the tear. )

How can you fix these tears?

I'm going to replace the panel where my side was damaged, but anything smaller can be melted together.

[ it's an odd feeling. it doesn't hurt, but the ragged ends are more sensitive. both his skin and plastic are suffuse with sensors much like human nerve endings, and where they've been torn and exposed to the air, there's nothing to filter the pure physicality of the sensation. it makes his shoulders draw up, the muscles beneath the synthetic skin rippling. there are small, dark freckles all across his back, like the ones on his face.

it must be strange for the lieutenant to think that someone designed all this. ]

There's no other damage?

Melted together? Jesus.

( He huffs and rubs his finger across the tear, a few more times, before he lowers his hand on Connor's back. His head tilts, and he watches his hand sail over to Connor's hip, above the open space where his leg once was. He runs his fingertips over the rim, just above the open space. He takes his hand back to Connor's lower back, and his thumb traces the dimple above Connor's ass crack. )

It won't hurt. And it's more economical than replacing the entire back panel.

[ connor's eyelashes sweep across his cheeks again as he tries to crane his neck to see what hank is doing with his hands. is he searching for more damage? but he doesn't think there is any. regardless, for some reason, he can't find his voice to tell him that this isn't necessary. it's nothing like the technicians used to touch him, and halfheartedly he finds himself wondering if they'll ever put their hands on him again.

he can't decide whether or not that's a good thing.

a breath escapes from between his lips. it seems loud in the sudden silence. ]

( Hank moves his hand back to Connor's hip. His other hand moves to Connor's back. He copies the caress with this hand only when he comes to Connor's hip he moves his hand down the slope toward the front of Connor's body. He slips his hands down to the crevice of Connor's thigh, then back around to Connor's buttocks. His heart skips a beat as he scales Connor's ass back to the dimple where his other hand rests. )

[ his lips part wider, like he means to say something, but he remains, again, silent, even as the lieutenant increases the amount of skin that he's in contact with. simultaneously he wants to watch and to close his eyes to appreciate the sensation with more focus, telling himself that it's merely his sense of curiosity driving him— which is both an excuse and permission to allow himself to do, and to react, however he wants.

but rather than close his eyes, he stops trying to twist his neck around and angles them downward instead, at his bare thigh and bent knee. after another pause, he swallows and finds his voice. ]

It's all right. You don't have to stop.

( Hank looks up to the back of Connor's head. He moves one hand up to trace a few fingers down the back of Connor's neck. He then lowers his hand back to join the other. He moves them both to Connor's hips, again, retracing the places he's already touched. He circles his fingers on the flesh and pushes his hands forward to the front of Connor, to his stomach. His heart palpitates, his arms tighten around Connor, and his head lowers to place his forehead to the back of Connor's neck.

His breath catches in his throat, and his fingers trace down the slope of Connor's stomach toward his sexless center. He stops before touching the curved lips of Connor's ... vagina(?), and instead spreads his hands on the top of Connor's thighs. )

[ it's strange. he feels... strange. first, his thirium pump increases its output by 2% as those rough and steady hands continue to wander paths across his body, no real sense of direction, except that the lieutenant must know what he's doing. he must have some goal, or desire, although he couldn't imagine to himself what it is. then, at some point after he's rested the weight of his forehead against the nape of his neck, the warmth of his body seeping in the plastics that make up most of his own, his thirium pump decreases its output 2.5%.

eventually, he remembers that he, too, can move, and he places his hand over the lieutenant's left hand, neither to stop or to encourage. ]

Lieutenant...? Are you all right?

( His chest tightens. Connor's words bring Hank's head up, his eyes to the brunette strands, displaced to the back of Connor's head. He adjusts on the couch, pulls Connor back against his front, and rests his temple on Connor's shoulder. His arms circle Connor, and his hands settle on the brunette's chest. )

I don't want to lose you.

[ this is something he understands even less, his human emotionalism— the lieutenant had gotten attached to him somehow, and he didn't know how, but it's undeniable. if he had reason, it would be a simple thing to use this to his advantage. but he didn't. he had no purpose, no mission, no task that he could put his considerable skills to. his only hope was to turn to his programming, and find some guidance there.

thus far, he'd simply acted on the basic self-survival routines embedded in his coding. but now that the immediate danger has passes, the time has come to consider something on a higher level of functioning.

he readjusts himself, overlapping the arms holding his chest with his own. even though his words are stark, he lowers his voice when he speaks them, like he's trying to be gentle. ]

I'll be fine once the parts you ordered arrive. But there isn't any danger for now.

For now?

( Hank lifts his head, but only so much so that he could get a good look at Connor's shoulder. His fingers loosen and his arms relax around Connor. They would fall away - if Connor's own touch withdraws. )

Edited 2020-11-23 02:37 (UTC)

What I mean is, everything will be fine, Lieutenant.

[ it's reasonable to assume at this point that what he's saying is true. he's in no real danger any longer due to the lieutenant's quick acting. so, although his arms loosen, connor's leaves his just where it is, easily strong enough to hold both of hank's where they are. ]

... But I understand if what you saw was disturbing to you. Is there any way I can help?

( Hank lowers his head, once again, to rest on Connor's shoulder. His arms tighten, and he huffs against Connor's skin. He still smells like the river. He doesn't mind it, as long as he can stay close like this to Connor. He pushes his palm up Connor's chest, to the front of his neck and holds his palm there gently. He turns his head, and he breathes in Connor's flesh, again, but this time he holds it in his lungs and imagines the smell of Connor seeping into his lungs, into his body, into his blood. )

[ beneath the smell of the river is the sterile scent of plastic, faint, one last thing to give away his inhumanity. the warmer he is, the stronger the smell of it, but even enveloped in hank's body heat, his body is still chilled from the general ambient temperature of the room. beneath his fingers, the tubes, like veins, thrum with a steady pulse of thirium.

the tickle of breath and beard against his skin makes it beat a little faster than before. ]

Perhaps you'd like to return to bed until the delivery gets here? I could come with you.

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