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 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.

They told you to return to the DPD, and you didn't... You came here, or... ( Connor knew what Hank meant. Connor went to Hank, to the hospital. He looks at his hands with a frown. His fingers are free, at least, but the bandages are still thick that he can't really grip anything. He moves his hands away from one another and studies the bandages over his palms.

He hates how quickly the solution comes to him, and he feigns focus as he sits silently as if he's still trying to figure out their next step. I have to have a reason to want to disobey them. Hank turns his palms down to face the ground before he sits up straight and slides his hands gently over his thighs. He turns his head to look at Connor's lifeless body. He knows Connor would disapprove, but he couldn't see any other way.

Hank blinks down to his fingers and watches as he flexes them as much as he can stand. He makes a grunt, a sound of discomfort - though it's a mild pain he feels. )

Where are my pills?

I had to go talk to Folwer to find out where you were, but then I left. My overarching order is to resume employment there, but they didn't give me any specifics.

[ which gives him a startling amount of freedom, as a non-deviant android. on the other hand, it also puts him in a rather vulnerable position. before, when he was attached to the investigation on deviancy, cyberlife had prioritized closing the case above all else. he could do almost anything, as long as it meant he might complete his mission. now, though, he can't hide behind cyberlife. he has to follow his surperiors' orders. whether that superior is fowler, hank, or even gavin.

he's considering warning hank about this when he brings up the medication, which stops him short. connor cocks his head. ]

I have them. Are you in pain? You shouldn't need another dose already.

Yeah, I'm in pain.

( Hank watches Connor carefully, wondering what he'll do. Another dose isn't going to risk anything, save for the growing dependency on opiates. Hank was at high risk of addiction anyway, given his history of smoking and drinking. His brows furrow. )

Are you going to return then to the department and work with a new partner?

[ connor hesitates, but he takes the bottle and metes out half of the normal instructed dosage, cradling the pills in the palm of his hand. then he stands from his seat. however, he doesn't help him to take it just yet, pausing in the wake of the question asked. ]

No. You're my partner. If I'm ordered to return, I will, but in a lessened capacity. I would rather stay here, though.

( Hank's eyes could barely lift to Connor as the hand before him holds the release he needed from the pain. He was short and irritated with responding to Connor's answer. ) Well you never fucking listened to me. ( He can imagine Connor listening to anyone else. No matter what Connor wants, what Hank wants... )

Fowler might assign you a new partner.

I never listened to anyone else, either. I'll have to talk to Fowler.

[ connor steps around the table to get a glass of water from the kitchen, and then returns to hank's side to help him take the half dosage. what will he do if he's assigned a new partner? he knows that before, he would have outright refused. he won't have that luxury now, unless he deviates before he's put in that position. but here, now, like this, it's hard to imagine being any different.

and being deviant— was that really any different than this? is it a result of the way he was programmed? do other androids feel this way, too? ]

Just because I'm not a deviant doesn't mean I'm not capable of wanting things for myself.

Yeah. ( Hank says, in gratitude for the dose. He opens his mouth for Connor to drop the pills into his mouth and follows up with a few heavy gulps. He can already imagine the calm that's soon to come. He's ready to relax, to melt into the oblivion of general apathy for anything and anyone - including himself. Hank huffs and stretches back into the couch.

He eyes Connor. )

And what do you want for yourself?

I want to stay here. I want to stay with you.

[ there's just a tinge of uncertainty— like despite saying so, he doesn't entirely understand it himself. what else can he possibly imagine himself doing? he can't return to being cyberlife's good little robot, even if they would welcome him back with open arms the moment they realized he'd make quite the effective double agent. but he can't forget what he's seen. he knows what would happen to him if he took that path.

and he knows what would happen to hank, too.

connor crosses his arms across his chest. ]

Is that a problem?

No.

( In fact, that's exactly what Hank wants. The feelings he has for Connor are complicated. He had about figured out how he felt about Connor before he passed, but he can't feel that connection with Connor now.

Something was missing, or he was stubborn, or it could be something else that he hadn't figured out. Hank would love to figure it out, and there were times when he thought he found clarity to the issue, but he hadn't settled on anything just yet. Except, he did consider he wouldn't truly know until Connor deviates. It even seems like Connor had accepted this as fate. Only a matter of time until Connor does. Hank wonders how long it'll take and if he'll have the patience to wait it out. )

Stay here with me.

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

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