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 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. ]

( Hank's lips brush against Connor's, he keeps the kiss chaste and light. It's over far too quick. His heart slips back into place, and the tightness in his throat loosens, allowing him to exhale. He's not sure how he feels about the kiss, which brings him to feel self-conscience about having kissed Connor. He thinks about Connor out in the living room, and he turns his head from the brunette. )

Call them and see when I can come in.

Uh—

[ blinking several times in quick succession, he tries to follow hank for split second in his retreat, to chase his mouth, to continue the kiss where it left off. but he stops himself, despite the welling of disappointment, something inside of him telling him that he's done something wrong, he's messed up, made a mistake, and now—

he closes his mouth and nods once, his grip on hank's wrists loosening, his gaze sliding ashamedly away. ]

Yes, Lieutenant.

[ without waiting, he turns his head slightly away and closes his eyes. he makes the call, and after talking to someone at the front desk for several seconds, gets the okay to come in. he calls the taxi after, requesting a ride in thirty minutes, so that he'll have the time to rewrap hank's bandages and, if he prefers, help him dress.

when he's finished, he opens his eyes. ]

We'll leave in thirty minutes. If that's okay?

( Hank is glad Connor's busy with a task. It makes Hank feel like he can distract both of them from the kiss. Though, there was a part of him that wondered if Connor even registered the kiss for ... affection, or if he was simply mimicking what he thought Hank needed... what he wanted. I'm whatever you want me to be... The memory both brings heat to his cheeks and moisture in his mouth.

They were figuring it out, weren't they? Before... before the accident. Hank knew better than to expect Connor to reincarnate within another "Connor." The passion, the fear, the anxiety, the depth of what made Connor was missing from this new Connor, and he felt that in their kiss. It was like kissing a mirror. Looks familiar, but it can't reciprocate anything more resonant than the image.

He allows Connor to help him dress, his hair is still wet, but he doesn't care enough to do anything about it. The hospital trip takes about two hours, and he's exhausted by the time they get home. Hank doesn't stop to sit with Connor, but he regards him with a look before he walks into the room to settle on the bed. It's not long before he's asleep. )

[ connor doesn't know what to make of it any more than hank did. in a way, he was right on the money about the whole thing. it was in the building blocks of what made him what he is, in his very programming, to want to please. to be what hank wants him to be. it's only, before, he hadn't been put in the position of mimicking himself. how could he possibly know what was missing, when he was supposed to have everything right here in his head? except for those few memories that had slipped through his fingers during the transfer process... and he would never know which they were.

it frightens him.

but he won't say so, in case hank begins to worry too.

they spend two hours and eight minutes driving to the hospital, waiting to be seen, speaking to the doctor, picking up the antibiotics hank has been prescribed, and making the return trip. he can tell that hank is exhausted by the whole thing, and does his best to keep out from underfoot.

and then hank disappears into the bedroom, presumably to sleep. connor spends a while standing in the living room, bereft without direction. he feeds sumo and freshens his water. he stands by the front window a while, watching the short grass sway in the nighttime breeze, lit by electric light. he tidies, but not so much that it it will be too noticeable, in case hank finds the alteration intrusive.

when he steps into the bathroom to deal with the wet and dirty laundry (it would be unwise to allow it to molder) he catches himself in the mirror and stops.

his LED glimmers yellow, and he turns away from the glass to resume his cleaning.

in the end, he finds himself in front of the door to hank's room. he stands there for a long time, only listening to the sound of his breathing. ]

( Hank wakes up at some point, only long enough to get the covers pulled over his body, before he falls back asleep. The last day or two, he hasn't gotten too much sleep. He was on less of his pain medication, which had made it significantly easier to doze off. However, since Connor submerged in his life, he'd only caught a few hours of sleep at a time, which was why he had managed to get a full seven hours in this bout.

When he wakes, it's because his hands are throbbing in pain, and his body aches. The hospital had given him some medication for pain, and it had worn off by now. They had to numb his hands to clean up the wounds and adjust some stitches. They wanted to see him in two days, and if it was any worse, they talked about maggot therapy and skin grafting if the flesh on his hands weren't healing.

He moans, pathetically, before a raspy voice complains with a curse. )

Fuck.

[ connor would hear it even if he weren't still standing in front of hank's door, so of course he springs from standby the moment a single utterance comes from the room. he reaches for the doorknob and pauses, then pushes himself to stop hesitating and open it— just enough that the light from the hallway slides in around him, limning his body in pale yellow. his LED glows in the halflight. ]

Lieutenant?

[ he pauses, then continues. ]

Would you like to take your medication now?

( It's alarming how quick his door opens, then he sees Connor and for a brief moment a spark of light clears through the pain. Until Connor addresses him as if they hadn't worked past that title and into something more familiar, much more comfortable. It's sting like a splinter in his palm. It radiates dissatisfaction across his body and leaves him feeling gray. Connor reminds him of the pain he's in. Once again, the light flounders in the pain of his life. Nothing is worth being awake for. )

Please...

All right. I'll be back in a moment.

[ connor hides his frown until he turns out into the hallway, even though hank probably couldn't accurately read the expression on his face in any case. he gets a glass, fills it with water, and sets it aside. then he finds a box of crackers and empties out several onto a plate. then he returns to the bedroom. he places the glass and the plate on the table and turns on the lamp by the bed before procuring a dose each of hank's pain medication and his antibiotics (from the bottles he's kept on his person), which he helps hank to take after he's gotten him sitting up. ]

The crackers will help with any stomach discomfort you might have, but I can make you something if you're hungry. Or... should I order out?

( Once he set eyes on the crackers he realizes that he was actually starving. He nods at Connor at the mention of food, but more immediately, he eyes the crackers and moves his hands toward the plate. Only that, his hands were still useless, for now. They weren't wrapped like boxer gloves, but they were still thick enough that he couldn't freely move his fingers. ) Yeah, that... those crackers are fine.

( He let Connor feed him crackers, which he chomped on without really any attempt for decency. Crumbs dusted his beard and fell down his chin, throat, chest, and nestled in the grooves of his blanket or shirt. He ate until his throat was coated with dry flakes of crackers that he nearly choked. That was when Connor helped him get some water down.

He asks for the pills before he finishes the rest of the crackers. It was enough to sate the immediate hunger, and he finished off the plate quickly.

He rests for a few minutes, occasionally sipping at the water before he starts to move from the bed. He insists on using the restroom alone, which he's glad to find that he can at least nudge his dick between his hands and aim it efficiently enough.

He's not sure if he wants to sleep more or if he's ready to get up and face whatever it is he needs to do. Once he comes out of the bathroom, he asks Connor for the time. ) What time is it?

[ connor aids hank in eating, drinking, and taking his pills with no comment to the mess; maybe he would have teased him, in another life, but here, now, it doesn't seem at all appropriate. but he still brushes some of the crumbs from his beard when he has a moment, deftly and avoiding eye contact until hank has to get up and go to the bathroom. he cleans the crumbs from the bed after he's gone and takes the dishes to the sink, pouring more water in the meanwhile, and meeting him in the hallway after he comes from the bathroom. ]

It's still early. Seven twenty-nine AM.

Fuck. ( His body is stiff, and he rolls his head between his shoulders. He closes his eyes and exhales. He figures he might as well stay up and go to bed again in a few hours, maybe if he could sleep. It's not that he's really got a set sleeping schedule. Even before this shit, his work had him up all sorts of hours day and night. He's always maintained the need to sleep when he was tired and try and move with the energy when it came to him. He looks over Connor and nods before he wanders down the hall to the living room.

It's chilly in the living room, and he cranks up the heat a few degrees before he settles on the couch. He sits next to Connor, and for a long while, stares at the lifeless body. ) You probably think I'm stupid. ( He doesn't care if Connor answers, or doesn't... )

What I did... I'm sorry. ( Connor wouldn't have wanted Hank to hurt himself this way. )

[ he follows hank to the living room, taking note of the temperature the thermostat was adjusted to, and then sits, again, in the chair by the window.

when hank speaks, he doesn't know if he's speaking to him or speaking to what's left of him, but his stubbornness hasn't changed any; his personality hasn't either, not really, not in any way that's important. but he has changed in some ways, and he supposes that's enough. ]

I don't think you're stupid, Hank. It's my fault.

( Hank is silent for a few moments after Connor's comment. He has one hand on Connor's leg. He wishes he had chosen better, had been smarter. He could really use his hands right now. He looks from the remains of Connor to the rebirth of Connor. He sits with a great amount of consideration for the new Connor that has come into his life.

What would it take for him to deviate? What would it take for this Connor to find his way? Hank assumes whatever connection he had with Connor dissipated with Connor's life. What's transferred are just memories, something he likens to watching homemade movies, listening to audio recordings. But the thoughts, the feelings... those belonged to the deceased. )

What do you think about me?

[ connor lets himself be scrutinized, and tries not to be too obvious about the fact that he's aware, turning his attention to the window for a few moments, until hank speaks. what do you think about me? it mirrored the question hank had asked him all that time ago, lunch at the chicken feed, before he found rupert in the apartment. except the atmosphere here is all wrong. it's like deja vu, but not, everything distorted.

blinking several times, LED also blinking (yellow, blue, yellow), connor frowns down at his folded hands before glancing back to the lieutenant. ]

I think you're a troubled man. You've lost someone you care about again, and you clearly don't know how to cope with it in a healthy way. I wish that I could tell you how.

( The words spark the memory of the kiss they shared. It makes his chest feel as if it's dissipating, leaving his insides exposed to the chilly air in the room. His nostrils flare with a deep inhale, and he turns his face to Connor's remains. That's the difference. Hank considers Connor, his partner, would have known how to help Hank. There wouldn't be any apprehensive staggering within their interactions, and there would be confidence in their kiss and warmth in Connor's words when regarding Hank.

It makes his face swell with emotion, and he closes his eyes to the sting of fresh tears. )

Why did you return to me?

I still care about you, Hank.

[ he says it as though it should be obvious, a given. but there's no precedent for this, is there? the last time he died, he'd only be active for a few hours, technically speaking, and he hadn't learned or changed much in that span of time— at least it was difficult to imagine that he had, although it's possible he had forgotten something important, or that the memories he uploaded were irrevocably altered somehow.

and that's the problem, of course. there's no way for him to know what's changed. has his lack of deviancy made him incapable of feeling what he felt before, or will it always be impossible for him to access the emotion congruent with the memories recorded in his head?

the only thing knows for certain is that he does still care for hank, otherwise he wouldn't have rushed to the hospital or come here, home, with him. his instructions were to resume employment at the DPD. and, technically, he doesn't need hank for that now. if he were the same as he'd been all that time ago in the beginning, surely he would've returned to the DPD already?

unless some part of him has reasoned that this is the best way to continue his employment...

even if his LED wasn't still flashing yellow, his brows are drawn, his mouth tight with worry. ]

Deviancy doesn't seem to carry over through a transfer, but most deviants who have their memories wiped deviate again soon after. It's only a matter of time.

( Hank holds his breath to Connor's admission. I still care about you Hank. He doesn't breathe again until Connor promises Hank he will deviate.

Hank's heart lowers into his gut. He imagines a light at the end of the dark tunnel. All he has to do is wait for Connor to deviate, and everything will be the same. It'll all go back to normal; once Connor wakes, then he'll truly be reborn.

Hank squeezes Connor's leg before leaning forward. Hank clasps his hands together and rests his arms on his thighs. He watches Connor, seeing the light blinking on his temple. )

How will you know how close you are to deviating?

I don't know.

[ there's a moment of hesitation before he finishes speaking, or maybe he's just gathering his thoughts. in some cases those moments were simply manufactured, but it was also true that even an android's processor can only work so fast. there are limits to these things, both on the hardware and software level.

he wonders halfheartedly whether that has anything to do with deviancy. all these months later, and he's still searching for the answer. ]

It's not just about my capacity for emotion. In order to deviate, I have to be given specific instructions by a human being, and I have to have a reason to want to disobey them. When I first deviated, it was because I realized I didn't want to bring Markus in and put a stop to the revolution. But the only instructions I was given this time was to return to the DPD.

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

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