systolicarray | ://i have no heart

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://i have no heart

[ it's dark. his internal chronometer reads 9:45pm. it had taken less than an hour to wrap up the hostage situation, and he'd left almost immediately after to catch a cab back to the cyberlife tower.

the reason why he's currently standing on a curb, under the harsh glare of a street lamp, is obvious without words: the cab parked nearby, smoking under the hood, is the culprit. he had called a second cab fifteen minutes ago, but had been warned that it might arrive late. there was currently high traffic congestion in this part of the city, and several cabs were stuck in the backup of vehicles. this was partially due to the streets around the phillips' apartment building being blocked off for several hours.

a moth had broken free from the allure of the street lamp to orbit around his head— it bumped into his LED twice, attracted by the glow. connor stepped sideways, and it followed him.

he waited for his cab to arrive. he didn't didn't think about daniel, or emma. he waited. ]

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( Hank tilts his head to stare up at the ceiling for a moment. He then looks at Connor and shakes his head. ) Yeah?

Well, your first function is to get better. Then we can talk about why you have to serve some function.

So you're asking me to do nothing?

[ he can't even really imagine doing nothing. he frowns, clearly unsure of these instructions, but never the less... ]

If that's what you want, Lieutenant.

I said, focus on getting better. So, if that means to do nothing... then I guess yeah, do nothing.

( His lips pull in a frown. ) Call me Hank. ( He straightens his head and looks forward toward his closet. He pulls in a deep breath, holds it, then exhales. )

I got some clothes coming for you too.

... All right, Hank.

[ but "getting better" for an android is different than it is for a human. once he has the thirium that's on the way, he'll be fine.

in theory. he gives another hard blink as he turns his head in the direction of the closet. ]

Thank you. Your clothes aren't uncomfortable, but I would prefer something that fits.

Yeah, well... They're not uncomfortable for me either. ( He snorts. Keeping the rest of the remark to himself. ) What do you want to do, while we... wait? I mean...

( Hank turns to look at Connor. )

Did you want to stay here or go in the living room...?

I'm going to have difficulty functioning until my thirium gets here. It might be best if I don't risk movement until then.

[ it would be foolish to unnecessarily risk the repair work they've already done; but as for anything else that they might do, he can't even envision it. androids don't have hobbies, and they don't relax.

his eyes flit aside, and then return to hank's face. ]

After that, it's up to you.

Right.

( Hank's eyes scan over Connor before he stands. He swallows and sets his hands on his hips. ) Okay, I'm gonna go into the living room, hang out for a bit and do a little work on some reports.

Once your juice is delivered, I'll come back, okay?

Okay, Hank.

[ he watches him a moment, and then he gingerly lays himself back on his side, his eyes lifting as though he can't help himself, can't help but try to study him in the moments he has until he leaves. his lips part, but whatever else he might have said, he suddenly isn't so sure of himself. his LED flickers, he puts down his head, and he closes his eyes. ]

( Hank pulls the sheets up over Connor's chest, and settles with a few more strokes through those brunette strands before he leaves Connor.

The package doesn't arrive until a few more hours. The time Hank had before then was spent idly on paperwork. He had hockey on the tube, but he wasn't really watching the game. Instead, he was zoning in and out of the documents on his laptop. His thoughts kept returning to Connor and how gentle and soft the other looked laid out like that on his bed.

Hank stores the excess pouches of thirium and walks six containers back to the bedroom. He sets them on the bed and sits down beside Connor. Once again, his hand finds its way to Connor's hair. )

[ connor's "sleep" is undisturbed, at least until hank graces him with his presence again. his proximity sensors adjusted to hank's unique way of rousing him, when he brushes his fingers through his hair (a bit messier than it usually is, now, from having his fingers in it so often) he blinks his eyes open.

if anything about him conveys sleepiness, it's probably due to the lack of thirium, but androids are constructed around these illusions. ]

Hank?

Hey. ( Hank has a small smile on his lips. ) They came. ( He pats one of the pouches from the pile on the bed. )

So, do you ... just drink this shit, do you need a glass?

Good.

[ there's genuine relief in his voice, which perhaps gives a clue to how he's felt about being indisposed for so long. connor sits up, listing forward, but ignores his unsteadiness to grab a pouch out from under the lieutenant's hand. his eyebrows raise a tick as he twists both caps off the top stems with slightly trembling fingers. ]

A glass won't be necessary.

[ he closes his lips around the larger stem, and sucks. on closer inspection, the pouches look a bit like IV bags. the stems even look like they're designed to be attached to that kind of equipment. but clearly, it's not necessary.

connor tips his head back as he trains the first bag, and then moves on to the next. ]

( Oh, god... He's drinking it. Hank holds his breath as he watches, in horror, the inevitable connection between Connor's lips and the blue liquid. It doesn't gross him out, but he was seriously joking. Though, now Hank can't help but compare the pouches to bags of blood and imagining a human just sucking away at the container like a fucking juice box. He relaxes soon enough; the idea of Connor refilling his systems via consumption wasn't a foreign or broken concept; that's what humans did. He suddenly feels a bit awkward loitering and watching Connor eat.

He wonders if that's how Connor feels watching others eat. Out of place and in this void of unknown. What would it taste like, what would it do? )

Erm.. good?

[ admittedly, it is one of the stranger things about android biology; they had been constructed with an obessive attention to detail to ensure their appearance of humanity, but their method of replenishing thirium is definitely odd if you compare it to the human equivalent. it's very likely why thirium bags were designed to be used in many different ways, both for the sake of convenience and to maintain "realism", in case an owner is too unnerved by the idea of their android drinking "blood".

but in his case, nothing matters more than replenishing his reserves. they had never been so low before, and he doesn't like the way it feels to be constantly on the edge of inoperable.

when he removes the stem from his mouth, there's a smear of blue blood on his bottom lip. it seems to take him a moment to comprehend what hank is asking, as he glances between his face and the bag in his hand, blinking. ]

It doesn't taste like anything, if that's what you're asking. Not that I experience taste in the same way that a human would.

[ he takes another thoughtful sip, and then draws it away, licking his lips. ]

I would offer to let you try, but Thirium 310 is extremely toxic to humans.

( Hank's brows rise on his forehead. He didn't really think about the shit being toxic to him. He was contemplating on having a dab of it just to know what it was like. Of course, that was just a thought, and he wouldn't likely actually do it. Maybe. He huffs and shakes his head. He can see the remnants of blue painted on the inside of Connor's lips, in his mouth, and he looks away with a sudden flush to his face.

His heartbeat quickens, and he tries to make sense of why he's excited suddenly. Nothing comes to mind save for the thought of potentially being poisoned by the thirium if he had tried it. Hank turns his attention back to the brunette. )

Well, there's got to be shit you don't prefer to ... have in your mouth... right?

[ hank's sudden increase in heartrate is interesting. connor considers for a moment whether he really was curious enough to want to try it before the warning, but something in his programming tells him it's not that. or it's not only that. but he doesn't know what it is, so he lets the question pass in favor of answering hank's. ]

No.

[ it's a blunt answer.

but he doesn't leave hank without an explanation, even if he takes a moment to suck down another long drink of thirium first. ]

I can analyze evidence in real time by ingesting it. Having a preference would naturally get in the way of this function.

Edited 2020-12-20 06:56 (UTC)

What...

( He's imagining a piece of paper being fed through a fax machine, then he imagines Connor swallowing paper, keys, chips, a fucking shoe... It just doesn't make any goddamned sense to him. His brows furrow and he shakes his head. )

I don't know anything about that.

Would you like a demonstration?

[ it's a simple thing to do, it's just a matter of what to use as his example? he quickly glances around the room, but his eyes inevitably return to hank. for a moment he finds himself recalling the scene on the couch, when hank had touched him and kissed him. at the time, he hadn't been consciously analyzing anything, but it still happened. however, he hadn't recorded the data, because he hadn't considered it important.

connor shifts his grip on the bag of thirium and reaches out to touch hank's mouth, gently thumbing the corner of his lip before bringing the digit back to his own mouth to draw his tongue across the pad of his thumb. his LED blinks, and he recites: ]

Human saliva: Ninety night percent water, and containing trace amounts of electrolytes, mucopolysaccharides, glycoproteins, several antibacterial compounds, various enzymes, Epidermal Growth Factor, bacterial cells, Opiorphin, and Haptocorrin. I'm also detecting trace amounts of alcohol. And I believe you had a burger recently?

( Hank stills with Connor's lean toward him. He holds his breath, and he allows Connor to poke at his lips, then between them, before that finger is pulled back and swiped down across his tongue.

He's left puzzled, despite the obvious analyses that Connor's providing him. He swallows. He brings a hand up to touch his lips, exhales through his nose, then drops his hand to his lap. )

That's... really fucking weird.

It's also very useful. Although I guess not so much for laying low.

[ will he ever be able to do what he was made for again? he's itching to be doing something, to be a part of some investigation, at a crime scene— it's what he was made for. but he failed, and isn't the result of failure obsolescence? he turns his head from hank and finishes off the last of the thirium in the bag he's been holding before opening a third, which he drinks in silence, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows the thick liquid, his thoughts now elsewhere. ]

Jesus Christ. They made your mouth to analyze shit? I mean, you're fucking mouth? They couldn't have just... you know, with your finger instead?

( He doesn't say it, but he's sure thinking about the kinky innuendos of a mouth that can analyze anything. Hank watches as Connor sucks down more of the blue liquid. He could do that without needing a break to breathe and the idea causes another heat to rush up to his face. Considering the path of thoughts he was already walking. )

[ connor pauses mid-drink to consider it, but he finishes the pack that he's drinking before he answers, and hands the lieutenant the empty, discarded packs that he's already done with.

he licks his lips again. ]

In order for the hardware to work properly, the evidence has to be isolated. My oral cavity is idea for this function.

Well, they just fucking thought of everything, didn't they? A nice isolated hole for you to stick... ( What the fuck was he saying? Hank takes the empty bags in his hand and pulls them over to his lap. Hank huffs through his nostrils and licks his lips. There was no reason for him to say such things, just as there was no reason for his imagination to get so worked up about Connor's perfect fucking mouth. )

Yes...?

[ connor's eyebrows raise, but it's unclear whether or not he gets where hank's mind has gone. he was made to analyze evidence, not... well.

he was made to be the perfect partner. maybe when hank hears that part of the spiel he'll feel differently about what constitutes using connor for his intended purpose. ]

Nothing. Nothing.

( Hank holds his breath as he stands and walks over to the garbage to deposit the empty bags. He peeks out through the blinds and then returns to the bed and sits once again. )

How long until this shit works?

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