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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( 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. )

[ connor doesn't move from the seat by the window for those four hours. he's aware of his surroundings, but his eyes stay closed, his processor idling with slow blinks of his LED, until he gets bored enough to go carding through his memories. it almost makes him feel the voyeur, but they are his memories. memories of hank, memories of himself. at work, at home, at the park, at the grocery store. things they'd said to each other completely unaware that later another connor would be the one recalling them.

his LED flickers yellow, then blue. he opens his eyes when hank speaks. ]

All right.

[ he stands up and follows hank to the bathroom, his fingers nimble as he unfastens his fly; thankfully, there's no need for him to fight a blush, although he still can't quite look him in the eye when he steps back outside the bathroom and closes the door behind him to allow him his privacy. ]

( Hank is grateful for the privacy and that he didn't have to beg Connor for it. He was too embarrassed to ask for further help, and when he's finished, he flushes the toilet with his foot and turns on the shower with great effort. He manages to undress completely and steps into the spray of the water. It's a bit too warm for him, but he's a beggar that can't be too choosy. He's lucky he managed to get the damn thing going.

Washing his body, however, was impossible with his mittens. Hank does a few stretches, bends, twirls, and maneuvers to try and get the spray of the water all over his body. Hopefully, he'll get these mittens removed by tomorrow, and he'll be able to use his hands. )

[ connor continues to allow hank his privacy up until the moment he hears the shower turn on and hank pull back the curtain to step inside. another sigh suppressed, he waits for several moments before turning the knob of the door and opening it to step into the bathroom, breathing in the damp, warm air caused by the humidity coming from the shower spray. the water was warmer than hank normally preferred it, but he could guess why.

he catches his own reflection in the mirror before quickly looking away. ]

Hank, do you need help? You shouldn't be getting your bandages wet.

( It was far too late for that. The gauze was a lost cause and it was soaked to his flesh beneath. After getting them damp Hank had given up trying to keep the mittens dry after that and just focused on getting his body wet. )

It's too late.

( He said, from beneath the spray. ) I can't... I can't fucking wash myself! ( He was irritated, obviously by his tone, but it was at himself - not at Connor. He shouldn't have tried to pull his car apart to retrieve Connor's body, but he wasn't fucking thinking. )

Well... Just be careful of your hands, then. I'll re-wrap the bandages when you're done.

[ at least they're well-stocked on first-aid, and he's programmed in field medicine. if hank continues to be careless, he'll have to order more supplies, but for the moment there's nothing to worry about.

except the other pressing issue.

connor steps toward the shower. there are really only two possible options, but he suspects that his suggestion isn't going to make things any less awkward between them. if "awkward" is the word that's appropriate to this entire unfortunate situation. ]

Do you want me to do it...?

( He's afraid of being filthy, of what Connor would see, of what he would have to clean off of Hank. It makes him tense, and he doesn't respond to Connor for some time.

He takes a few long breaths and thinks about his helplessness. Was this how it was going to be when he got older? His partner taking care of him like this?

No, he didn't want that. He wanted to be with his partner, and he wanted to be with Connor - he didn't want Connor to have to service him, wash him, bathe him, take care of him. Connor wasn't his caregiver, and he wasn't his nurse. If he got too old to have done this for himself, he would have preferred an outsider to do it, a fucking stranger, rather than Connor having to see his body breaking down like this. )

Connor .... You... ( His tone is heavy, and he can feel his chest tighten with the emotion. ) No.

No. I can do it. ( Which was an obvious lie. )

But you just said you couldn't—

[ there's no frustration in his voice, but the tension is evident. like he wants to be frustrated and won't allow himself the luxury. it's difficult for him to imagine exactly what hank might be thinking, but he's sure his pride is involved. even though it shouldn't matter, it does. and what is he supposed to do about that? browbeat him into listening?

something inside of him sinks; he makes peace with the disappointment. ]

Never mind. I understand. I'm going to go get your clothes.

( Hank acclimates to the temperature of the shower. He lowers himself to sit, his back facing the spray. His hair streams over his head, his face, with small streams of water wiggling across his body like tendrils hungry for sustenance. He lowers his head down to his lap, and he rests his head against an arm. How could things go like this, one fucking day? It was one moment where things fell apart for him for the second time.

After they had just begun to be close to one another. He sits in the shower, with no real desire to move. )

[ connor leaves the bathroom in silence, sorting through the clothes in the dresser until he finds something that hank will wear around the house. he places the clothes on the bed and then steps out of the bedroom, stopping in the hallway to listen to the white noise of the shower water hitting the tub through the door. he briefly considers opening it and stepping back inside to ask hank again, but he opts not to in the end.

instead, he returns to the front room. he feeds sumo while he's there, then stops in front of the couch, where connor-52 is still in repose. the uniform needs washed, and he wonders if hank will ask him to repair it. or will he want to dress him in the clothes they bought together? and what after that? he considers what he would have wanted, and realizes he never imagined this possibility. maybe because he knew what would happen to hank if something happened to him first.

he hadn't expected for cyberlife to issue another connor, let alone allow him to return to service.

after several more minutes have passed, he steps back in front of the bathroom door. ]

Lieutenant? Are you ready to get out now?

( Hank waits until he hears Connor call out to him before he commits to getting out of the shower. Hank stands and dunks his head beneath the shower's spray for one last moment of feeling the heat wash over his body. He then calls out to Connor. )

Yeah, I'm finished.

( His mittens are heavy and dripping wet. He doesn't bother with the shower's dials and anticipates for Connor to turn them off. Although, just in case, he requests Connor's help. )

Can you turn the shower off, hand me a towel?

[ connor steps inside, closes the door behind him, and picks up a towel at hank's request, slinging it over his shoulder. he pushes back the curtain just far enough to reach in and turn off the water. then he straightens up and offers the towel, before frowning at the state of hank's hands. the bandages are soggy, soaked through and dripping. ]

It doesn't hurt?

Yeah, it fucking hurts. ( Hank frowns. There's enough steam in the bathroom that Hank's not freezing once the shower is off, but he can definitely feel the difference between the air in the shower and out in the bathroom. His heat is slowly dissipating. )

Do you want to bandage them for me?

( Hank looks to the towel and lifts his hands up, before he gives Connor a look. ) Could you... help… me out here?

Yes, I do. Unless you insist on a medical professional. I could always call someone specialized.

[ his eyes dart from hank's face to his hands and then back before he comes to understand what he means. he steps close enough that he can get the towel around hank, breathing in the scent of the shower while he pulls either end around his body and tucks the ends together, his fingertips brushing up against skin that feels warm in comparison to the quickly cooling water.

connor swallows and backs off. ]

I'll get the first aid kit.

( Hank's lips press in a crooked frown. His nostrils flare and he watches Connor for a moment before he shakes his head. ) You'll be fine.

( With the towel wrapped around him, Hank steps out from the tub and walks across the bathroom to his bedroom. He can't help but think how uncomfortable he was feeling and how little comfort having Connor here was to him. The disappointment meant that Hank was expecting some comfort in having Connor "back." It wasn't his fault, and it wasn't Connor's fault... the whole situation was fucked up. Hank recognizes how desperate he was to rekindle that connection with Connor, but he can't force it.

It makes him go silent, and he sits at the end of his bed with a look of defeat. )

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