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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[ 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. )

[ connor leaves in silence, gratified and yet disappointed that he won't be calling anyone in; he would have called an android, of course, and hank probably would have been annoyed by this, but then he would've had someone else to direct his disappointment at. but he knows he can't hide from what he's done. he's inherited his predecessor's choices.

he returns with the first aid kit clutched in his hands, and sits next to hank on the end of the bed. he opens the kit, sorting through the assure himself he has all that he needs. then, without asking, he faces hank and reaches for his nearest hand, turning it carefully over in his own. after a pause, he reaches for a pair of scissors to cut away the dressing with. ]

Keep still, please.

Yeah. ( Hank agrees. His head is forward, wet bangs drip down onto his shoulders, chest, and back, and his eyes cast off to the side where Connor handles his hand. Beneath the gauze is an adhesive bandage, to which Hank would sooner get hit by a truck than let Connor pull the thing off. Hank's jaw tightens with the scissors' cutting apart the fabric. Each pull of the iron against the gauze feels uncomfortably close to an all-out pain attack. Once Connor manages to pull the gauze off, a smell hits Hank, and he turns his head with a huff. It smells like rotting flesh. ) Fuck!

Lieutenant—

[ connor frowns at the state that hank's hand is in, more than aware that the other hand won't be any better. how long will this take to heal? the sutures, at least, don't look like they've been greatly disturbed. unfortunately... ]

You'll have to allow your hands to dry before I can bandage them again.

[ connor stands to wash his hands before returning to cut the dressing from his other hand, sitting on his opposite side this time. ]

( Hank grits his teeth as Connor works on cutting apart the other bandage. He doesn't have a high tolerance for the pain that comes with pulling at his skin, so he's carefully watching Connor to make sure his skin is undisturbed. Beneath the bandage is another adhesive on top of stitches. This hand, at least, doesn't have a foul smell of rotting flesh. The adhesive bandages that are over his sutures are transparent, and it looks like the first hand is infected, possibly necrosis has started to set in, while the other hand is red and healthy. )

Fuck.

[ connor frowns. the smell doesn't bother him, of course, but he does know what it means, even if his response isn't as acute as hank's is. he stands to wash his hands again and returns after drying them, sitting at hank's side with a frown on his face, his LED flickering an unsteady yellow. ]

Lieutenant, we're going to have to return to the hospital. I can't treat an infection here on my own.

I'm going tomorrow... err.. today. ( He had lost track of time between dozing off on the couch and now. But he did remember he was supposed to come back and get his bandages changed. He figured a few more hours wouldn't matter. It's not like it's an emergency. He wasn't dying...

any quicker, he thought. )

What time? Should I arrange a cab?

[ connor peers at hank with open concern, his frown deepening the creases around his mouth. without thinking, he reaches out as though to touch his hand, and then redirects to touch his elbow instead, his grip light, as though he worries even that much contact is too much. ]

( He's quiet a moment as he tries to recall the appointment time. )

Er. I think it's at three... ( He looks between his hands and frowns. Maybe he should go in earlier. ) I'll... ( The touch to his elbow ripples a comforting calm over Hank and his eyes lift to Connor's brown. For a moment he saw his Connor in Connor. There was hope that shot up in his chest and made his heart skip a beat. )

[ connor's eyes lift to hank's at the same time, and he freezes when he realizes he's being watched. there's expectation in the expression hank wears, but his lips part and no sound comes out to meet it. like he meant to say something and forgot what it was—

it's difficult to think, suddenly. ]

We... we should go as soon as possible. I'm worried about your hand.

( Hank is silent a minute or so after Connor's request. It was almost as if Hank was waiting for more to what Connor said, even though the message was clear and complete. He swallows, and he lowers his eyes to Connor's mouth.

He lifts a hand and gently strokes the back of his forefinger across the dimple of Connor's chin. Will you taste the same? Hank's eyes lift to Connor's big brown eyes. Heat moves to his cheeks, and he leans in toward Connor.

His heart leaps into his throat and suffocates Hank, a welcomed discomfort as he pushes his mouth onto Connor's. Why should this feel completely satisfying? )

[ connor wants to say something about bacteria transfer, but thankfully or not, his mouth is sterile. his breath comes in sharp through his nose, and he clamps his fingers down around hank's wrists, to keep him from forgetting himself and touching him any less delicately and hurting himself in the process.

he doesn't, however, stop hank from kissing him. he can't decide whether or not he should; whether he should try keep him from getting his hopes up, or let him entertain the fantasy that everything can be exactly the same as it was. the problem is, connor would like to entertain that fantasy too. and he may not know where the compulsion comes from, but it's there, driving him to turn his head at the perfect angle to part his lips and allow hank inside. ]

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