systolicarray | ://the billboard said "the end is near"

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://the billboard said "the end is near"

[ if he had taken the time to imagine how this body might be destroyed (and he had, occasionally) the highest prospect on the list would have been workplace incident. he was at risk for being shot, stabbed, or otherwise injured on a day to day basis. his body had been destroyed once before, and nearly several times after. he had fallen from a skyrise, he had been shot, he'd had essential parts removed with the intention to kill.

this danger was so commonplace he hardly thought about it, although he worried from time to time what hank would do if something happened to him. even now that he had deviated and was living a life of his choosing, it was simply the way things had to be. he enjoyed his career. he was proud of what he did.

so, when that isn't how it happens, he's surprised—

he's laughing at something hank's said just as the self-driving car riding next to them slips on the icy road. it clips the car. the car struggles to compensate and swerves in a long sideways arc, which ends when it smashes into the concrete embankment.

it's over in an instant.

connor is dead before the EMS arrive. ]

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( The saving grace was that the hospital gown left his rear side open for all to see. He didn't have anything beneath that. There were two ways he could go about this; he could piss standing up and nudge his dick with his mittens or sit down and piss. Sitting down and pissing didn't at all bring him any fucking comfort. So, he went with the impossible handle of his dick with his large gauze boxer-gloves. In the end, he got most of his urine in the toilet. Cursing every time his stream splashed off the porcelain and onto the floor. Connor's inquiry was left neglected until Hank wandered out of the bathroom with a discouraged expression. )

Let's go home. I'm fucking done here.

[ connor has half a mind to walk in on him just to prove he's still that uncooperative, but he wars with himself long enough over the idea— and how spectacular the potential blowup would be— until hank is walking out of the bathroom and the time to make the decision has passed. with an inward sigh, he follows hank. his eyes dart in his direction every few seconds, but he doesn't say anything until he's got his hands on his clothes (which had been folded and bagged after being laundered).

suppressing a frown, connor glances askance one more time. ]

This will go more quickly if you let me help you.

Fine. ( Hank allows Connor to help him. He had made the rash decision to leave but didn't realize that he wouldn't be able to put his clothes on, or ... do anything, with his hands all bandaged up like this.

He wanted to take the mittens off, but he knew better. They throbbed with burning pain, and his mind was still a bit fuzzy from the concoction of medication he was on.

Just as Connor had gotten Hank's pants up, the nurse walked in and complained about what they were seeing. The nurse informed the both of them that he was not given clearance to leave, and considering the behavior Hank had displayed in the hospital the last few days, the doctor recommended that he stay in hospital or be admitted to the psych ward for further care until both his physical and psychological needs were met. Hank, of course, rejected either treatment plan and offered a third option. )

My partner is here, he can look after me!

[ it's going to be a point of contention, he sees it immediately. the nurse stares at him like she's daring him to be the one to argue against her good sense, but it's easy for him to take hank's side. and not just because he feels compelled to ingratiate himself.

it's not good for hank to be here, in the hospital.

and he doesn't like it either. he wants to leave. he wants to go back to hank's house. he wants to go home.

connor finishes fastening hank's pants, his knuckles brushing against the warm softness of his stomach, and reaches around him for his shirt. as he's helping him pull the sleeves over his bandaged hands, he offers the nurse an almost too-polite smile. ]

I promise to call if anything comes up, but I'm sure I can handle things from here.

( The nurse is reluctant but soon leaves the room to retrieve a doctor. By the time a doctor enters the room, Hank's looking for his car keys.

The doctor explains that Hank will need to return tomorrow to attend to the injuries on his hands. Hank agrees with a "fine" and, at that point, he realizes he doesn't have keys - and that his rental car is probably still at the junkyard.

Which he was planning on going to anyway. )

[ while they listen to the doctor speak, connor calls a taxi. there's no need for hank to tell him where the rental car is. if he were legally capable of doing so, he would've gotten it himself and brought it here instead of relying on a taxi in the first place, but it wasn't being rented out to him, and he and hank weren't attached in any way that legally allowed him to commandeer it.

they couldn't be, legally. in the eyes of the law, androids are still property.

but it only takes a few minutes for the taxi to arrive. ]

Hank. Let's go.

( Hank lets Connor lead him through the hospital. The more he walks, the harder it feels for him to breathe. He's not sure what that was about but figured it had to do with the amount of sedating medication he was on and being out of commission for a few days, on top of still needing to recover from the accident. He was restless while he was awake at the hospital, and he thought maybe being home would help him feel more himself.

Once in the taxi, he gave the directions to the junkyard and rested his eyes. He was uncomfortable in the car but managed to endure the ride from the hospital to the junkyard. The employee from the day he'd come here before was surprised to see him and was obviously uncomfortable with Hank being back. It was also obvious the employee was uncomfortable with seeing Connor as well.

Like before, the employee leads Hank back to his totaled car and insists, once again, that Hank allows for assistance if he wants to retrieve anything from the vehicle.

Of course, Hank knows what he came for, but he didn't fess up to it until he was in front of Connor, staring at his lifeless body. )

I have to take him out of there.

[ connor keeps an eye on hank on the way out of the hospital, effortlessly monitoring his life signs, taking notes as they go. bpm, blood pressure... he can even estimate his blood oxygen level. it's not surprising to see hank struggle, but it still makes his thirium pump increase rate in sympathy— or maybe that's anxiety reanimating itself up out of the depths of his subconscious. he knows that he's capable of the full range of human emotion. he just doesn't know how his current lack of deviancy is going to affect how he reacts.

but it's probably better not to mention it for now.

when they arrive at the junkyard, connor greets the employee cordially despite his obvious discomfort. he assumes that it's a generalized distaste for all androids until they arrive at the wreckage.

things slot together when he sees the remains in the crumpled husk of hank's car. each image separately would have its own effect on him, but together there's a strange confluence that results in something unidentifiable. his all-too-vivid memory of the accident resurfaces, and he has to manually level out his breathing in order to maintain the appearance of normalcy. a thousand things that could have gone wrong flash through his head, the memory of a scene pre-constructed. he had done the only thing he thought he could do.

hank was right, after all. humans don't come back. ]

Let me clear a way into the car. Then you can retrieve the body without worrying about any further injury.

( Hank doesn't resist, the idea was the safest, and he gives Connor a small nod. However, before he allows for that to happen, he moves over to Connor and places a mitten on his arm. He waits until he has Connor's eyes on his own before he explains. )

Be careful, don't... hurt ... either of you. ( He didn't want to see Connor fucked up doing this, or the body of his partner in worse state.

Hank lowers his hand from Connor's shoulder and settles his arm to his side. He looks ahead at the vehicle; his expression displays clear worry. ) It'll be alright, we'll get you... home.

I won't.

[ connor watches hank a moment, and then he approaches the employee to ask for the tools he'll need. the man returns with a pick of different extraction tools, along with some safety gear, and after dawning the gear, connor picks up a rotary saw/ it only takes a moment's analyzation to determine which places to cut. the saw rumbles and whirrs, buzzing loudly as it shears through metal. a bizarre feeling passes through him as he realizes what he's doing to hank's car, even though it's already totaled beyond repair.

it just seems wrong.

but really, what's been right since he returned from cyberlife?

the door falls onto the ground with a weighty thud. he turns off the saw, and the world becomes almost uncomfortable quiet.

connor returns the safety equipment before crawling into the car to retrieve the body. despite the damage, everything is still attached— so he only has to gather the corpse up into his arms and duck his head as he's getting back out of the vehicle interior.

the body itself isn't as damaged as one might expect, and there's no trace of blood, although the reason why is obvious. only connor can see the mess of thirium that stained his clothes before it evaporated, the way it soaked through his suit, his shirt, his pants, until he had been all but drowned in it. but the lack made it easy to see where the damage was now. a broken arm, twisted at an odd angle. a crushed ribcage. and, what was almost certainly the cause of death, the caved-in skull.

he doesn't remember how it felt when it happened. ]

We're... taking it home?

( Hank watches, wishing he had his hands to help, wishing he hadn't fucked up getting Connor out of there in the first place - and for good measure, wishing he never got in that accident. He paces, stepping around the car as he watches Connor work the tools to cut through the barrier. Once Connor has his body in his arms, Hank feels relief. The tension in his shoulders becomes evident as his back and neck ache from the carried stress as he waits for Connor to retrieve him.. self.

Hank doesn't hesitate to answer Connor. )

That's where he belongs, Connor. With me. ( His gut twists and he can feel the throb of emotion swinging inside his husk like a pendulum. Hank moves his hands over his chest. He's unable to satisfy the itch within him and on his skin due to the gauze's padding. )

Come on, let's get him in the car.

( Once Connor places the late Connor's body in the car, Hank asks Connor to retrieve some items left in the car, his cell phone, and a few paper files he'd taken home.

Connor had to drive them home, being that Hank was incapable of using his hands. Sumo was still over at Bill's, and so the house was an uncomfortable empty. Which had taken its toll on Hank, one of the many varying factors to why Hank was incredibly unstable. Hank has Connor set the late Connor's body down on the couch so that he could get a good look at him. Hank sits next to Connor and places his hand on Connor's. )

He said... he would always be with me.

[ connor can't argue. there isn't anywhere else for him to go. and he knows, because it is him, that he's hungered for this kind of regard, even in death. oh, how he had wanted amanda to care what would happen to him if he were to be replaced. hank was the only one who it ever actually mattered to, in the end. hank is the only person who he's ever been irreplaceable to.

so, he can understand that. but— ]

I'm sorry, Hank. I did what I had to do.

[ connor stands beside the couch, studying the body instead of looking at hank, because suddenly looking at hank is uncomfortable. the damage, for as bad as it looks, isn't so extreme it couldn't be repaired, if it wasn't for the processor. the processor, which was equivalent to the human brain, would be impossible to fix considering the extent of the damage that had been done on impact. it was completely destroyed. ]

Do you... Do you want to bury him?

( Hank nods. His gloved hands barely able to appreciate the soft touch on Connor's lifeless body. ) I know he did.

I know you did... ( Hank's heart dips into his gut. The feeling of discomfort unravels at his composure, and hot tears flow from his eyelids. He can't think about burying Connor, but he knows he can't just leave him here on the couch.

Hank stills himself while he cries. He waits until he has a measure of composure before he expresses his desire. )

I want to get him cleaned up.

[ connor would like to do something more than stand by impotently while hank cries over his body, but he's finished before he can stop wrestling with himself about it.

he swallows the sigh in his throat. there's nothing for him to say, and furthermore, if hank wants him cleaned up, then he's going to get him cleaned up. of all the things that he struggles to understand, human burial customs are one of the most confusing, at least insomuch as the idea of applying them to androids.

it would probably be considered littering. but he has a feeling that hank wouldn't appreciate the comment.

he crouches down next to him, adjusting the pitch of his voice so that it's a little lower, a little softer. ]

I can... make him presentable.

( Hank wants to be the one to do it, to get Connor cleaned up and dressed. To make him "presentable." But, he struggles to think about what comes after that. Will he bury him, will he store him in the attic, will he sleep with Connor's lifeless body? What will happen to Connor when he's all cleaned up and presentable?

The idea is overwhelming, and all he can think about is how much he wants to touch Connor with his own hands. He leans close to the still expression and presses his temple against Connor's cheek. There's no warmth, but he remembers how it felt. )

It's okay... I'll get my bandages changed. ( He straightens up, his eyes still on the departed though he speaks to the one who lives. )

I can do that... I need to do ... something for him.

Hank, I can't allow you injure yourself doing this.

[ it felt wrong. it all feels wrong, though. even touching hank doesn't feel right, in this brand new body. even saying his name— it's strange and awkward on his tongue. the memory that hank recalls to himself, when connor recalls it to himself, feels distant, even though he's right here, and could easily relive it.

maybe he doesn't want that.

and him? well, maybe a machine shouldn't want anything. he casts his eyes to the floor. ]

I understand that it's important to you, but please, let me.

( Hank pulls his eyes from Connor's body to the other. He doesn't respond verbally, but there's something in his expression which conveys the feeling of his desire. He hasn't rejected Connor's proposal, but he hasn't allowed it either.

He looks back to Connor's still body and settles into the couch next to the other. He's tired, and the pain is coming back. He rests his hand on Connor's thigh. )

Tomorrow... We'll ... see what happens tomorrow.

What are you going to do with it until then?

[ connor recognizes the dismissal and doesn't push it. his expression remains carefully neutral, his gaze distant, despite the compulsion to reach out growing inside of him. ]

I'll stay with him tonight.

( Hank leaned his head back on the couch. He left his eyes open, and he watched Connor, almost like he was sleeping. It was easier to imagine that, this close to his face where his features were a bit blurry. Where he couldn't see the evidence of the crash below Connor's face.

He takes in a breath and his body tenses. )

Where are my pills?

... Here.

[ connor reaches into his pocket and opens the bottle, retrieving the recommended dosage and handing it to hank, two little white pills. he finds himself eying his own remains again, wishing just a little bit that he had refused hank's request and left it in the junkyard. or better, that his body had been completely obliterated, so there would be nothing for hank to look at and remember. ]

You should sleep in your bed. You'll be more comfortable.

( Hank refrains from biting back the comment that comes to mind: after these pills, I'll be all the comfortable I need to be. He looks to Connor, the pills in the brunette's hand, and he leans toward the other to pop them into his mouth. He then nods for the water bottle on the coffee table to swallow the pills back. Once he's had his fill of water to wash the dry pills down, he straightens his head. Connor had to both administer the medication and pour the water into Hank's mouth.

He still wore his bloodied clothes from the hospital, but it didn't bother him. All he wanted to do was sleep. He leans his head back and closes his eyes. He's waiting now for the pain medication to kick in. )

This is fine.

[ connor is gentle, careful, and precise while he helps hank through the process of administering his pain medication, but he doesn't allow his hands to linger when they touch. in response to the lieutenant's answer, his expression hardens, but he doesn't immediately speak. if he wanted to, he could probably force him up and into the bedroom, but when he considers the amount of effort involved and the likelihood that it would cause a fight, he thinks better of employing that strategy.

his expression returns to neutral and his gaze shifts to the sight of his own remains. there's not much room left on the couch. definitely not enough for a third person. but then, he doesn't need to sit, or sleep, or rest.

his eyes return to hank. ]

At least let me get you a change of clothes.

Don't.

( In truth, he's just too damn tired and the pain is uncomfortable enough that he doesn't want to move. He nods toward the seat by the window. )

Just relax, don't... don't fuss anymore, everything is fine. ( It was probably the third or fourth time that he'd said it. However, he didn't fucking believe it himself. Everything wasn't fine. Connor was dead; another fucking "accident" had taken someone from Hank. His eyes warmed with a fresh coat of tears. He quickly closes them, but still, those tears find a way through his threaded silver-lashes. His brows furrow, and he frowns. What was he supposed to do? What the fuck was he supposed to do now? )

... All right, Lieutenant.

[ connor straightens up and, hiding his disappointment, turns to sit in the chair by the front window. sumo lumbers over, curious of connor's sudden proximity. connor offers a hand to inspect and sumo slobbers all over his fingers. after wiping them off on his jeans, he reaches out and gives him a hearty pet. his hands feel bereft when sumo returns to his corner of the living room, and lays his heavy head back on his paws to sleep.

normally, on a day after work when they'd come home together, they'd both dress down, order whatever food hank was going to have for dinner, and sit in front of the tv until they both fell asleep. or, really, until hank fell asleep and connor switched into standby. then they would get up and go to bed together. today would have been one of those days. but hank's on leave, and so is he. they won't be going back to work for a while. they probably won't be doing any of the things they used to do for a while.

connor turns away to peer out between the slats of the blinds. ]

I'll be right here if you need anything.

( Three and a half hours later Hank stirs, and at four hours he's finally awake. He still feels tired, but the pain has returned and roused him. Alongside that, he has to piss, and he feels hungry. He can't remember the last meal he had eaten. It was at the hospital, for sure, but he doesn't remember when or what it was. Of course, he wasn't particularly all together at the hospital. He opted to sleep than to eat. Now, he has something to do, a goal ahead of himself. It requires Hank to get up and tend to his needs to be strong enough to honor Connor. It would take some time to acclimate, but he's not in that dark place anymore. Probably because he has Connor again, a replacement -but he's not the same; Hank doesn't know why or how, but he feels like he still lost Connor in that accident. He still feels the need to mourn.

After about ten minutes of pushing this off as long as he possibly can, he finally speaks up. )

Connor, I need you to help me... I have to use the toilet. ( All he needs to do is just unfasten his pants, he can shimmy himself out of them. But pissing isn't the only thing he needs now. He feels like he has to take a dump, and he's already planning to shower rather than ask Connor to wipe his ass. There was no way in fucking hell it'd come to that. )

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