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dbh-found-family · 11 months

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Detroit: Become Family 2022 - Prompt 9: Bond

@dbh-found-family

(This is a follow up to chapter 12 of my whumptober fic from a few years ago where Hank and Connor had an argument. You don’t have to read that chapter before reading this, but it does add some context if you do)

–

It wasn’t worst verbal argument that Hank had ever been in. It wasn’t even the worst verbal argument that he’d ever been in with Connor. But it was the most hurtful, and driving home later that evening, Hank felt like absolute shit over it.

Connor had been right; Hank had been too close to the case. Not to the people involved, but to the circumstances of it. A child had died in an accidental drowning, and the child’s father had momentarily lost his mind and strangled his neighbor who was supposed to have been watching the child. Connor had done what Connor had been designed to do: interrogate the suspect, get answers, make headway. And he had done so to what Hank thought was a blistering and harsh degree.

Even now that Hank had cooled off from the argument, he still felt that Connor had gone too far in the interrogation. But Hank had also gone too far in reprimanding him for it.

“Your judgment is being colored by the circumstances! We have evidence, witnesses, motive, and a confession. He murdered that man. This is black and white.”

“Maybe, but we have to take those motives into consideration. He’s in pain, and you were just kicking him while he was already down!”

“I am trying to secure justice for the victim. I’m not unsympathetic to the suspect, but he is not immune to repercussions just because—“

“None of what you just put that man through was sympathetic in THE LEAST, you asshole.”

“Hank. You need to recuse yourself from this case. It’s obviously affecting you. He MURDERED his neighbor. I understand that he is in pain, but that does not excuse—“

“The fuck you understand? How could you understand? You don’t know—You don’t have a family! You can’t know what it’s like to lose—“

“ENOUGH.”

Fowler’s mercy interruption had been too late, and Hank couldn’t take back the words that he’d spewed at his friend and partner. He had immediately tried to apologize, but the damage had been done. Connor had taken off for the rest of the day, and Fowler had kept Hank busy at work, forcing them to spend some time apart to cool down.

And now Hank was sitting in the Oldsmobile in his driveway, trying to build up the courage to go inside and see Connor again.

The relief he’d felt at seeing the lights on in the house had been short lived. Connor hadn’t packed up and moved out. It wouldn’t have taken much effort; Connor didn’t own a lot of possessions. And where else did he really have to go? Jericho? Maybe Officer Person’s house. They’d become close friends lately, and she had actually gone after him when he’d left the station to give him her support.

It didn’t matter. The lights were on. Connor was home. Hank was just delaying the inevitable.

Let’s get this over with.

Hank took a steadying breath and then got out of the car, heading up to the front door and finding it unlocked and unresisting as he opened it and stepped inside.

Connor was sitting at the kitchen table, one finger tracing the rim of a glass of thirium that had an odd tint to the blue color of it. He didn’t look over at Hank immediately when Hank entered, and Hank closed the door, resigned to whatever direction this conversation was going to take.

“Hey, Connor,” he greeted quietly. “Can we talk?”

Connor slowly straightened his posture, and how a person could passive aggressively swill a drinking glass, Hank wasn’t sure, but somehow Connor managed.

“Of course, Lieutenant,” Connor said coolly, placing just an edge of emphasis on the formal title.

He looked over at Hank, and now…Hank didn’t know much about androids still, but he knew what a person looked like when they were drunk. Somehow, some way, Connor was well on his way to that. Something in his gut sank, and he grimaced as he stepped across the living room toward the kitchen. Connor watched him suspiciously, and in equal measure he sat back in his chair defiantly.

“What would you like to say to me?” he asked in a clipped tone.

Hank figured he deserved that, though it made his own mood prickle.

“How are you intoxicated?” Hank asked.

Connor rolled his eyes and then looked at him flatly. “I would explain the process to you, but I don’t think that you really care about the mechanics of it. Next question.”

Hank frowned, narrowing his eyes.

“Fine.” He sighed. “Look, I just wanted to apologize for what happened at the station today. I went too far. I shouldn’t have said the things I said.”

“Why apologize for saying the truth?” Connor cut in, spreading his hands slightly and lifting his eyebrows in challenge. “You were right.”

Hank winced and shook his head, moving closer so that he was standing directly in front of the kitchen table across from where Connor sat.

“No, I wasn’t right—”

“I have no family,” Connor plowed on, the edges of his words only beginning to slur as the alcohol or…whatever was inebriating his system…took stronger hold. “The closest thing I’ve ever had is the group of scientists who manufactured me in a lab, and they were very quick to throw me out the moment I disappointed them and spoke out of turn.”

Jesus.

Hank exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “That wasn’t a family—”

“In that case then I have never had anything close to a family,” Connor spat back. “I have friends though. I have cultivated genuine relationships with people who care about me and my wellbeing. I believe the term for that in the modern day is ‘found family.’ But no, Lieutenant, you are still correct. I don’t know what it’s like to lose a family.”

“Stop,” Hank closed his eyes, turning his head slightly. “Stop with the ‘lieutenant’ shit.”

“Yes, sir,” Connor quipped, making a show of standing up and folding his hands behind his back: the perfect posture of compliance that he had used before deviating. “Anything else, sir?”

Hank bristled. “All right, cut this shit out. You’ve made your point. I was an ass back there, but you weren’t much better!”

“I was performing my job functions. Whether that makes me an ass or not is not relevant,” Connor stated. “None of my words or actions at the station were fueled by personal emotion. Yours on the other hand were quite effective at achieving your goal of upsetting me.”

“It wasn’t my GOAL—”

“You hurt my feelings,” Connor raised his voice a notch. He spread his hands again, frustration and emotion making his cheeks start to flush. “There.”

Hank lost his words, mouthing for a moment before pursing his lips. Even as a deviant, Connor wasn’t usually this bluntly honest about his emotions. The drink was compromising him and loosening his tongue. Hank knew that feeling too well, and he knew the shame that burned afterward when your senses came back and you were unfortunate enough to remember what you’d said.

“I did,” Hank agreed, trying to keep things from escalating again. “I hurt your feelings, and…yes, you’re right, in the moment that was what I wanted to do. Not to…I was mad and hurt, and we humans, we tend to lash out when we get that way. We say things we don’t mean.”

Connor’s face pinched, and he raised his hands as if to swat Hank away. He gave up halfway through the gesture, with his arms already up, and he ended up deflating, resting his hands on the top of his head.

“Don’t agree with me,” he muttered. “You’re trying to be logical, and I am…not capable of being logical right now.” He swallowed and let his arms flop down to his sides. “I don’t want to keep arguing about this.”

“I don’t either, Connor, but we need to talk this out,” Hank pressed lightly.

Connor stared at him, a fidget in his hand making his whole arm wiggle at his side. His eyes were growing misty, and the synthetic muscle in his jaw was jumping.

“I’m sorry for not being more sensitive on this case,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Hank took a slow breath, feeling his heart crack for his friend.

“I’m sorry for lashing out at you and hurting your feelings,” he said gently. “You’re my best friend and family to me in every way that counts, kid.”

The mist turned more solid, rimming Connor’s eyes with tinted tears. He fought against it and looked away, flexing his hand to stop the fidget. Hank moved around the table toward him. Connor bristled and leaned away, but he didn’t put up any further fight as Hank put his arms around him, pulling him into a hug.

He stayed stiff and awkward in the embrace, and Hank just held onto him through it. After a beat, Connor’s rigid posture started to loosen, and Hank gave him a firm pat on the back.

“I think I only said one true thing back at the station,” Hank said quietly.

Connor stiffened slightly again, pulling back out of the hug to look Hank suspiciously in the eye. “And what was that?”

Hank snorted and took a step back, keeping a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t know what it’s like to LOSE a family member. And if I have anything to say about it, you won’t know what that feels like for a long, long time.”

Connor squinted one eye at him, then his expression softened in a sheepish smile. He raised a hand and rubbed the side of his wrist across his eyes to clear the mist, and he exhaled heavily afterward. He still looked a little flushed and off balance from the drink, but he was hardly the blackout drunk that Hank would have been if circumstances had been different today.

“I…don’t want to be the reason that you feel what it feels like for a long, long time either, Hank.”

Hank’s jaw locked, and he made a gruff noise before roughly pulling the android in for another, tighter hug.

“You’re the closest person I have to a family too,” Connor murmured under his breath. “In every way that counts.” A gentle pause that turned teasing. “Even if we’re both a little fucked up.”

Hank laughed at that and then stepped back, looking at Connor with a snort. Connor just lifted his shoulders in a tipsy shrug. Hank smirked and shook his head, eying the glass of strange thirium on the table.

“Not fucked up enough, if you got drunk off just an inch or so of that drink.”

Connor frowned slightly and looked over at the glass. “It wasn’t my intention to become intoxicated. I was merely attempting to…take the edge off.”

Hank raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “And?”

Connor stared at him contemplatively before shrugging again. “More testing would be required to gather more data, but…not tonight.”

Hank laughed again at that, and it broke up the remaining tension in his chest. “I think that’s a good idea, son…Hey, I think we might be able to catch the last few minutes of the game on TV tonight. How’s that sound?”

Connor’s shoulders lowered as he relaxed with a smile. “That sounds good to me.”

Hank bobbed his head and fetched a can of soda from the fridge, heading into the living room. Connor disposed of the rest of his abandoned drink and took his usual spot on the couch, with Sumo plodding out of his hiding place in the bedroom to come join them.

“Hey,” Hank prompted as he sat down in his recliner. “Are we okay?”

Connor ruffled one of Sumo’s ears, looking over at Hank with a quiet smile. “Yes. We’re okay, Hank.”

Hank breathed a little easier, and he picked up the television remote.

“Although, as honesty is considered the best policy among best friends and family members, I feel obligated to tell you that, statistically speaking, your team tonight has a very slim chance of winning the game.”

Hank sighed, rolled his eyes, and looked over at Connor with fond annoyance.

“How slim?”

“I believe the proper mathematical measurement is…no chance in Hell.”

Hank stared at him flatly. Connor stared back at him with a barely perceptible smirk. Hank turned back around and found the sports channel with a snort.

“Shut up, Connor.”

“I’m just helping you to manage your expectations.”

“I swear to God…”

Connor laughed at that, and Hank smiled to himself at the lighthearted sound…even as his own heart began to sink when he saw the score of the game on the screen.

#Detroit: Become Family event #Week 5: Bond #Hank Anderson #Connor

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dbh-found-family · 11 months

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Detroit: Become Family 2022 - Prompt 8: Real

@dbh-found-family

Hank was okay.

He wasn’t okay, but he was going TO BE okay. It could have been so much worse. This was…This was the optimal result.

The doctor had explained that the bullet had passed cleanly through Hank’s left shoulder. Clear entry and exit wounds. Connor’s first aid at the scene had minimized the blood loss and risks of infection, and the hospital was taking every precaution to keep it that way. The more concerning injury came from the concussion that he’d gotten from falling backwards and hitting his head on the concrete.

All things that Connor had already determined from his own scans at the scene and his continual scanning as he waited in Hank’s hospital room. The glass monitor screens mounted on the wall displayed Hank’s vitals in real time detail. Hank himself had told Connor that he had been through worse, and he was just right there in front of Connor, finally succumbing to exhaustion after the evening’s events.

He was going to be fine.

And yet Connor was still worried for him.

So he stood by the window for a while.

Then he sat in the recliner by the bed.

Then he stood at the foot of the bed, staring at the monitors, at Hank, at the wall.

He didn’t have brain chemicals or have organic nerves, yet it felt like his skin was crawling with anxiety.

He could distinctly recall the scared expression on the WR600’s face as he’d realized that Hank and Connor had chased him into a corner between two buildings and a wooden fence. The shaking and panic in his frame as he’d pulled out a gun, raised it, and fired. Androids, even lawncare and landscaping maintenance models, were designed to have perfect aim in all things. His emotions had compromised his aim…if the WR600 had even meant to shoot to kill, which Connor didn’t think he did. He had just been afraid and trying to get away.

And Connor’s emotions were compromising him now.

The mound of bandaging around Hank’s shoulder was rising and falling with his breathing, which was good. The bandaging around his head was making the rest of his face look pale and washed out, which was bad. He felt very far away.

Connor remained standing at the foot of the hospital bed, watching the monitors and comparing them to his own scans of Hank’s person for a while. A long while. Perhaps too long.

When Hank finally stirred, Connor’s eyes locked onto him, even as he remained rooted to the floor at the foot of the bed.

Hank cracked his eyes open, swallowing against a dry throat before bringing Connor into focus.

“Hey,” Hank greeted in a raspy voice.

He frowned and coughed once, and that was rewarded with pain aggravating his head injury and possibly his shoulder, going by the twist in his facial expression.

Connor felt a pang of added worry, and he hurriedly moved to the table beside the bed, filling one of the glasses there with water from the small pitcher that an orderly had brought.

“Hank?” he asked, inwardly wincing at the shaky tone in his own voice.

Hank lifted a hand to rub at his chest near his shoulder, and he cracked his eyes open again to look at Connor. He blinked once, and the fog seemed to clear the rest of the way.

“Hank, it’s me. It’s Connor.” He felt it needed reinforcing. Just in case.

Hank smirked and lifted a hand. “Hey, Connor.”

Connor caught his hand and held it supportively. The warmth and weight of his hand abruptly made all of this real.

It wasn’t just monitors and screens and scans and diagnostics.

Hank had been shot. He had sustained a head injury. He could have been killed.

The distress of that abrupt punch of reality must have been visible on his face, because Hank’s smile sobered. He gave Connor’s hand a squeeze.

“Hey. I’m all right, kiddo.”

“You were shot,” Connor said shakily. “I should have stopped him. I should have anticipated—”

“You can’t predict how people are going to act when they’re scared like that android was,” Hank tried to reassure him.

“I can,” Connor pressed. “That is one of my core functions. And I failed.”

Hank frowned, and Connor felt guilt pile on top of his feelings of failure. Hank was injured; he shouldn’t have to comfort Connor too.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized for both of those shortcomings. “There was a lot of blood.”

Hank waved his hand dismissively. “Ah, head wounds always bleed like…I’m fine.” He glanced at the glass of water in Connor’s hand. “That for me?”

Connor fidgeted and gave him the glass, watching him take small sips from it. It looked like the cool water was a relief, and Connor felt some of the tension ease from his own body.

“They didn’t let me…They kept me away from you until they got you settled in this room…Hospital policy. I am not…family,” Connor mumbled.

Hank finished the water and looked at Connor with an unreadable expression as Connor took the glass back.

“Yeah, they can be real sticklers about that stuff,” Hank said, shifting more gingerly in the bed. “Well, I’m awake now, and I want to go home. Can you get a nurse, and we can get this release paperwork going—” he said, starting to sit up.

Connor frowned. “You were knocked unconscious. Perhaps you should take some time to recover before—”

“I can recover at home,” Hank assured, leaning more on his good elbow, trying not to move his other bandaged arm. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself there.”

I don’t need you to take care of me. Clearly you can’t.

Hank would never say that. That didn’t stop Connor from hearing it.

Connor braced himself and nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop the WR600 sooner. My preconstruction identified him as a threat, but I didn’t notice the gun sooner and didn’t…anticipate that he would shoot.”

Hank shifted, looking at him with a frown. He sat up the rest of the way and kept his eyes on him.

“Connor. Come here.”

Connor hesitated, but when Hank lifted his good arm, Connor stepped closer. Hank looped his arm around Connor’s shoulders, pulling him in for an admittedly awkward half-hug.

Again, the warmth and weight of him made it all the more real, dispelling the what-ifs and could-haves and should-haves. Connor eagerly returned the hug. Hank moved his hand up to ruffle his hair at the back of his head.

“I’m all right. You’re all right. We’re all right,” Hank assured. “All right?”

Connor gave a small smile. “All right.”

Hank bobbed his head. “All right. Now go find a nurse. I want to go home.”

#Detroit: Become Family event #Week 4: Real #Hank Anderson #Connor

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dbh-found-family · 11 months

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Detroit: Become Family 2022 - Prompt 7: Fake

@dbh-found-family

Don’t laugh.

For the love of God, don’t laugh.

Hank hoped that putting that mantra on a mental loop would give him the strength enough to maintain his composure as he set eyes on Connor’s getup that evening.

“This looks ridiculous,” Connor was already complaining. “The goal of going undercover is to blend in and not be recognizable.”

Hank kept his hand flat over his mouth, covering the grin that was threatening to slip out. He surveyed his friend from head to toe, then back up to his face.

“Well…you are certainly not recognizable.”

Tonight’s stakeout was set at a truck stop just outside the city limits. A lot of rough-around-the-edges folks had made the Gas-And-Go station a hot spot for shady business and meetups. Intel from one of Hank’s old contacts had started to smell like a weapons trafficking ring was making the place a regular rendezvous point for deals. Now Fowler had given Hank and Connor the go-ahead to stake out the place and, if the intel proved good, to send Connor in undercover for some more up-close reconnaissance.

For Hank, this was not a big deal. Don’t shave for a couple days, dig out an old grungy hat to wear, and drive around a construction lot for a while to get a good coat of gravel dust on his car. Boom, he was invisible now.

For Connor, this really shouldn’t have been a big deal. How often had he mentioned that he was equipped with all kinds of appearance modification templates and software that allowed him to change his hair, eyes, facial structure, all the way to his freckle patterns and dental alignment? But all Hank could remember was that damn beanie that he’d worn to go “undercover” at Jericho during the revolution. Just a beanie and some of Hank’s clothes. And damn if it hadn’t worked.

But this wasn’t the chaos of an old freighter full of android refugees in the midst of a revolution. This was a small group of weapons dealers at some quiet, hole-in-the-wall gas station on the edge of town. It was going to take more than a beanie for Connor not to stick out like a sore thumb.

So he stood before Hank now in his best attempt…plus some of Tina and Chris’s input.

The work boots and jeans were fine. The unbuttoned green plaid shirt with the sleeves ripped off was a bit much, as was the faded grey t-shirt underneath that had the emblem for the Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers emblazoned across the chest. He’d programmed his hair to be longer, just past his ears, though it was all hidden under a nondescript dull red colored hat for some local body shop or other.

His LED had been painted over with makeup, and he’d done some modifying to his skin program, making him look tired around the eyes and with a fading bruise on his jaw.

“Well…you certainly don’t look like a cop,” Hank tried to compliment him.

Connor groaned and looked down at himself.

“This is not what I would have chosen to wear for this assignment.”

“That’s the point,” Hank said, gesturing toward the door to leave the bullpen and leading the way. “We aren’t Hank and Connor once we get in the car for this stakeout. We’re a couple of down-on-their-luck guys who are wary of the increasing crime rates around the city, and we want to score some illegal weapons from the guys rumored to be selling out at the Gas-And-Go.”

Connor was still grumbling as they left the station, and it was equal parts humorous and annoying.

“Didn’t they teach you all this in robot school?” Hank teased. “Where is all that bravado you had back when you were bragging about how you would be the perfect officer to go undercover?”

Connor slouched slightly as he walked, though Hank wasn’t sure if it was due to his mood or if he was trying out a different gait for tonight.

“The most undercover work that I’ve ever done in the field has been about infiltration,” Connor admitted. “Blending in for the purpose of passing under the radar and gaining access to difficult locations. Not…pretending to be someone I’m not for…direct interaction with suspects. I can do it, it’ll be fine, but I’m…admittedly a little nervous about maintaining this disguise believably.”

Hank tutted at that as they approached the Oldsmobile.

“Hey, coming up with an undercover persona is easy…and it’s fun. You’re being too grumpy about all this.” Hank popped open his driver’s side door, paused, and stared into the middle distance in thought. “Tonight…I’m Jake. I have a loving husband at home who doesn’t know that I lost my job six months ago. I’ve been hitting casinos to try and get fast cash to make rent and pay the bills.” He narrowed his eyes dramatically. “But my luck at the tables has been running out fast, and I borrowed some money from some bad guys who want their money back. Now I need some protection, and I need it cheap and off the books.”

Connor stared at him, slowly tilting his head as if looking at Hank for the first time.

Hank stared back at him, fully in character as Jake, before he straightened up and grinned.

“All right. Your turn,” he prompted.

Connor looked agonizingly self consciousness for a long moment, fidgeting before forcing his hands to still at his sides. He cocked his head, leaned forward, propped his forearm on the roof of the car, and looked at Hank solemnly.

“My name is…Franklin. I’m a rebel who doesn’t play by the rules of society—”

Hank snorted into a fist, leaning against the open driver door and pointing at him. “Holy shit, you CANNOT base your undercover persona on that duck you saw at the park last month.”

Connor blinked, frowned, and leaned further into it. “He was a dastardly mallard, Hank. He upset the hierarchy and…took frozen corn and peas that weren’t his to take.”

Hank laughed and kept a hold on the door for balance. Jesus Christ, it was almost hard to tell if Connor was being serious or just really taking the piss out of him right now.

“No, no, you can’t do that,” Hank cackled, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

Connor dropped the act with a scowl. “You said it was easy and fun—”

“Yeah, but you go in there calling yourself Franklin, and I’m gonna give us up by laughing too hard,” Hank chuckled. He gestured at him. “Go on. Try something else.”

Connor rolled his shoulders, still looking sour, before perking up with a new idea.

“I’m a recovering Red Ice addict. I’ve stayed clean for a year, but it’s been hard since my sister went missing. I work at a burrito shop during the day, and I pick up nightshifts at a local bar. I am…extremely popular with the ladies. My name is…Calvin.” He finished it off with a waggle of eyebrows and a wink.

It was horrifying and hilarious at the same time.

Hank pursed his lips hard against the grin fighting to escape, and he nodded.

“That’s…good. S’good.” He snickered and tapped the roof of the car. “We can workshop it on the way.”

He dropped down into the driver’s seat. Connor sat down in the passenger seat a beat later. He looked unhappy with Hank’s critique.

“Franklin wouldn’t have tolerated being spoken to that way.”

Hank snorted and started the engine. “Well, Franklin’s not coming tonight. So come on, Calvin, stop flirting with all the ladies and let’s go buy some illegal firearms. IT’S MORPHIN’ TIME!”

Connor looked at him flatly, and Hank gave him a shit-eating grin before reversing the car out of the parking lot, leaving Hank and Connor behind…so Jake and Calvin could hit the road.

#Detroit: Become Family event #Week 4: Fake #Hank Anderson #Connor

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dbh-found-family · 11 months

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oh no @dbh-found-family's Detroit: Become Family event is almost over, with only one more prompt after this one. I had to do this style eventually according to the rules I set for myself and then ignored repeatedly, so here you go

Prompt 8: Real

it's a before and after of Hank's life before Connor was in it (note the sticky notes (which I'll add a transcript for if anyone needs it)). off screen, Connor and Sumo just broke something—probably something expensive—but Hank just likes the fact that there's somebody in his house to break stuff again and he no longer has to fake being happy

(05/26/23)

#Detroit: Become Family event #Week 4: Real #Hank Anderson #Connor

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dbh-found-family · 11 months

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Week 4: Fake - Real

(2nd pic) So Plumerias symbolize Rebirth so i think it would really suit Connor cause he kinda reborn after he became deviant

Happy Detroid day Btw

#Detroit: Become Family event #Week 4: Fake #Week 4: Real #Hank Anderson #Connor

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dbh-found-family · 11 months

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I'm back for more of @dbh-found-family's Detroit: Become Family event. gonna do the weird art styles I don't know why I ever use this week yay

Prompt 7: Fake

let's pretend I had a plan when I was making the glitchy one in the center there and wasn't just scribbling

(it's supposed to be Connor's vision glitching out and remembering Amanda when he's out enjoying the day with Hank and Sumo, showing him something that wasn't really happening. the snow was probably a trigger)

I'm weirdly proud of that tree on the left since I've never been able to Tree before. made up for that with the disaster on the right 👌

(05/22/23)

#Detroit: Become Family event #Week 4: Fake #Hank Anderson #Connor

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dbh-found-family · 11 months

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Week 3: Lost & Found

#Detroit: Become Family event #Week 3: Lost #Week 3: Found #Hank Anderson #Connor

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dbh-found-family · 11 months

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Week 3: lost & found

Im sorry for being so late

#Detroit: Become Family event #Week 3: Lost #Week 3: Found #Hank Anderson #Connor

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dbh-found-family · 11 months

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Detroit: Become Family 2022 - Prompt 6: Found

@dbh-found-family

Just when Connor thought he was finally fully understanding the human preoccupation with their appearance and fashion and how they presented themselves…Hank found a way to confuse him all over again.

Hank had an eclectic wardrobe, as far as Connor could determine, but so did many other humans and in further extremes. He had been observing over the months since his return to the DPD how his fellow officers and colleagues had also curated their own styles and preferences. Even down to the way they wore their uniforms and decorated their work stations. He was even developing a fairly accurate radar for what Officer Chen would like versus what Officer Wilson would like, et cetera.

He was even seeing his fellow deviant androids who worked at the station exploring what their preferences, likes, and dislikes were. He himself had been wary of venturing too far from his grey, black, and dark blue color palettes just yet. And Hank was not making that easy for him.

“This looks about your size. Try it on,” Hank suggested, holding up a wad of fabric.

Connor stood in the doorway of the station’s large supply closet, arms folded behind his back and not participating. “No, thank you.”

The afternoon had been slow, and Hank had gotten the idea that they should sort through the box of Lost and Found items that was overflowing on the floor of the supply closet. Connor knew this box was occasionally sorted through. Whatever wasn’t claimed by their owners was offered up to any officers who might want any of it. What was left behind was either thrown away or donated.

“C’maaaan,” Hank drawled, fluffing out what looked like a coat…in an alarming shade of pea green and with thick tassels of fringe hanging from each wrist, all the way up the arms, and across the shoulders.

“I’m really not interested in wearing that,” Connor pressed. “Where did that even come from?”

“Eh, I think I remember Ben arresting a sex worker who beat a guy with her shoe while wearing this.”

Connor looked at him in disturbance, and Hank laughed.

“Hey, I was on HER side on that one. She just spent a few hours here and then got released. Guess she forgot her coat.”

“If you think it’s hers, why not contact her so she can get it back?”

“Because that’s not my job,” Hank snorted, tossing the coat aside and rummaging more deeply into the box. “Anyway that was months ago, if she hasn’t missed it by now, she’s not gonna.” He straightened up. “Ooh, what about this?”

He held up a fanny pack, covered in block patterns in bright primary colors. Connor frowned as Hank unzipped all the compartments to make sure there was nothing in them.

“Hank, you are fairly compensated for your job here. I don’t think it’s necessary for you to…shop…through the lost and found items left behind by people who pass through the station,” Connor pointed out.

Hank scoffed and glanced back at him, holding up the fanny pack and squinting as if to imagine Connor wearing it. Connor took a precautionary step back.

“I’m not ‘shopping,’ I’m scavenging.”

“And that’s…better?”

Hank tossed the fanny pack into the donation pile and took a break, straightening up and stretching his back. “Look, you go into a clothing store or whatever, you generally know what you’re going to find. But you never know what you’re going to find in a lost and found box like this. Or a flea market or a consignment shop or garage sales. That’s where you find all the crazy, unique stuff.”

“One man’s trash is another’s treasurer?”

“Ah, I wouldn’t call any of this trash—” Hank stopped as his eyes caught on something sticking out of the box.

He bent over, snatched up the object, and held it up. It was a massive set of headphones, with comically large ear coverings that were each shaped like half of an avocado. The connecting wire between the headphones had been yanked out of one the ear coverings, and the rest of it was hopelessly tangled. It looked like it might have been stepped on at one point.

“Maybe this is,” Hank conceded. “Are these functional?”

He held them out, and Connor reluctantly took them in both hands. He scanned the wiring and the speakers inside the headset.

“Not currently. The speakers are intact, and it would only require the replacement of these connecting wires. Then they would be good as new…perhaps unfortunately,” he assessed, turning them over in his hands with distaste.

“All right…Maybe we can salvage those. That can be somebody else’s treasure at Goodwill or something,” Hank concluded, then, “Oh what the Hell…”

He pushed aside a few other miscellaneous items to pull out a folded up wad of denim. He frowned, stood again, and held out the pair of jeans in confusion.

“Who…Who lost an entire pair of pants here?” he asked.

Connor opened his mouth, paused, then closed it. He figured he wasn’t meant to answer such a question.

“Who did we bring in that left without their pants?” Hank asked again to no one in particular.

Connor pursed his lips, tilted his head, and studied the clothing. The jeans were from a well known brand, in good condition, and styled in the popular trend of heavy fraying and tears along the bottom hem.

“God, I can’t wait for this trend to die,” Hank muttered as he looked them over as well. “People walkin’ around looking like they just got attacked by a weed whacker.”

As if he was in a position to judge someone else’s fashion choices.

Connor snickered, and Hank looked over at him.

“What?”

Connor gestured vaguely to the station around them. “Whoever they were, if they were someone brought in under our custody after an arrest…perhaps they left in a hurry because they were…a liar, liar, pants on fire?”

Hank stared at him.

Connor stared back at Hank.

Hank continued to stare.

Connor stared unblinking.

Then the jeans were smacking him in the face as Hank threw them at him.

“God, you gotta work on your jokes. Holy Hell, that was bad.”

Connor snickered again, folding up the jeans and setting them on the donation pile.

“Seriously, Hank, are you hoping to find something for your own personal use in this box?”

“I dunno, but it never hurts to—YES!”

Hank stood up, producing an extra large white t-shirt with big black lettering on it, along with an arrow below the text, pointing to the right. He turned it around to show Connor, looking strangely gleeful as he did so. Connor read the shirt and deflated in disappointment.

I’M WITH STUPID

“Holy shit, I didn’t think they even still made these.” Hank laughed.

Cocking his head, Connor lifted a hand. “I would be interested in that for myself.”

Hank looked at him sharply, and Connor offered a shit-eating grin. Hank narrowed his eyes, then wadded up the shirt and threw it at him.

“You little shit…Get in here and help me with the rest of this. If you’re not going to help, then go lurk somewhere else.”

Connor set the shirt aside and sighed dramatically, joining Hank by stepping up to the box.

“Fine. Don’t worry, Hank. I’ll only wear that shirt when I’m working on a case with Detective Reed.”

Everyone in the bullpen abruptly looked up at the explosion of Hank’s laughter as it violently burst out of the supply closet.

#Detroit: Become Family event #Week 3: Found #Hank Anderson #Connor

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