#that warmth sensation mixed with the excitement and full enjoyment of a new experience

[kathy3112-blog]

Grow (HankCon)

At first, things just seem to fall into place perfectly.

Connor is overjoyed when reuniting with Hank, his partner and friend pulling him into a hug, telling him he'd seen him on the news, leading all those androids. “I was so fucking proud, I couldn't stop grinning like an idiot. I'm pretty sure Jimmy thinks I've lost my goddamn mind.”

Connor laughs at the mental image of Hank sitting at the bar, cheering for the same android he used to hate not even a week ago. There's a warm feeling in his chest, which, Connor tells himself, must be a result of Hank's body temperature. It's the only thing that makes sense.

After a moment, Hank lets go, but he keeps his hands on Connor's shoulders, the smile never completely leaving his face.

“You know, if you have nowhere to go, then uh... I know it's not much, but you could stay at my place, and- you know, Sumo really misses you, and...”

Connor beams. “I would love to stay at your place, Lieutenant.”

Hank lets him borrow some of his old clothes and they're too big, but Connor is glad to be out of his uniform. “I'd burn the fucking thing if I were you”, Hank tells him. He also promises to buy him something to wear when the stores open again. Connor likes the thought – not only getting to choose his own attire, but also going shopping with Hank. Having something to look forward to feels nice, he realizes.

Connor also looks forward to going to work again, but the laws concerning employment and payment of androids have not yet been passed, so Hank has to go back to the DPD without his favorite plastic detective. This at least gives Connor some time to make himself useful around the house. He's glad to be able to repay Hank in another way while he cannot pay rent. Cleaning doesn't exactly come naturally to Connor as he's not a household model, but with a bit of research, he finds helpful protocols for AX400 androids. To make a good start, he collects and throws out the trash, does some laundry as well as the dishes, wipes down the counter-tops and sweeps the floor. Sumo seems to enjoy the unusual activity in the house and follows Connor almost everywhere he goes, watching him curiously. There are several breaks for playing and petting. Lastly, Connor opens the windows, making sure to ventilate the rooms without letting too much cold air inside. The house looks good to go and Sumo takes a nap after having been sufficiently entertained. With nothing left to do, Connor simply waits.

When Hank comes home, he immediately realizes something is off. Connor is a bit proud of himself. “Did- did you clean?”

“Yes, but I'm not completely finished yet. I should be by tomorrow.”

Hank insists that Connor doesn't need to do that for him, but it's not like he has better things to do at the moment. Besides, he wants to be helpful. Cleaning the place a little really isn't a problem for Connor.

Cooking, however, is another story. Frankly, Connor is horrible at it. Hank watches Connor burn almost every food he touches – eggs, pancakes, spaghetti. The only positive thing that can be said about Connor's cooking is that he's very consistent – no matter what he starts out with, it always ends up as the same unidentifiable black mess.

Hank finds it hysterical. Still, after a week of watching his state-of-the-art android almost set fire to his house over the most basic dishes, he declares the stove as a 'RK800-free zone' and starts cooking for himself again.

Hank used to hate cooking and had only done it for Cole. He was still young enough to love when Hank whipped up some noodles with ketchup and despise the vegetables his mother forced him to eat, so he never looked into more complicated dishes. Apart from that, Hank had mastered the art of flipping pancakes and when he gives that another try for the first time in years, he finds he's still able to pull it off. Connor enthusiastically compliments his skills, doe-eyes wide and full of admiration. Something tugs at Hank's heart, probably the nostalgia. He doesn't give it another thought, but starts to find cooking somewhat enjoyable when Connor is by his side.

Connor quickly realizes that once a house has been thoroughly cleaned, it takes a while for it to get dirty again. He also realizes that boredom is inescapable and horrible. Connor takes Sumo on so many walks that the dog either runs away or plays dead any time he sees the android.

He goes through Hank's horror movie collection and finds he enjoys them despite their mostly terrible plots. Hank is both fascinated and unsettled by how thoroughly unimpressed Connor looks even during the most gory scenes.

In his quest to keep himself entertained, Connor tries out a bunch of hobbies. Since it's December, he knits Hank a scarf, who pretends to be mortified, but never leaves the house without it. Connor also spends time with the people from Jericho, namely North, Simon, Josh and of course Markus, and Hank encourages him to invite them over sometime. He doesn't say it, but he likes having them around. Hank and North immediately get along, teasing each other like they've been friends forever and Connor isn't sure how he feels about it. One evening, Hank casually mentions how North kind of reminds him of his ex-wife, and Connor feels the words in his stomach, which shouldn't even be possible.

Emotions in general are confusing, and Connor doesn't like not being able to identify and neatly categorize every jolt in his chest, every body temperature alteration, every irregularity of his thirium pump; link all the sensations he experiences to specific, clean-cut feelings. He just wants everything to make sense, but it seems that's not how emotions work. Hank tells him humans are no better at figuring out what they want, which is equally reassuring and frustrating.

Despite everything, Connor slowly comes to terms with his newfound... personhood. When Connor complains about having nothing to do (Connor is way too good at complaining, Hank thinks, but then again, he'd already been a pain in the ass even before becoming a deviant), Hank asks Connor why he doesn't try painting, like Markus. Instead of saying 'I wasn't programmed to do creative tasks', he answers with “I'm not a really creative person”. It's the little things, but they count all the same.

Hank chuckles at that. “Knowing you, the first thing you did probably was to put some paint in your mouth.”

“Please, Lieutenant. I'd never do that.” He'd totally done that. Markus had been horrified. Hank laughs, because he knows. Connor can't fool him anymore.

Apart from boring himself to death, Connor spends the winter after the revolution trying to figure out who he is and what he wants to do. It's not an easy process.

Over dinner, he talks about how he hopes he can come back to the DPD soon, and Hank gives him an intense look. “Connor, are you sure that that's what you want?”

Connor tilts his head, LED spinning. Want. He still isn't used to wanting things, or having opinions on topics. Connor re-watches his recordings of past crime scenes, investigating clues, interrogations, working side by side with Hank. “I think...”, he starts. He takes an unnecessary breath. “I think I would like that. It's what I was programmed to do, so- I mean...” He looks for the right words. “I enjoy being a detective and... I think I'm good at it”, he finally says.

Hank smiles at him. “You're a great detective, Connor. Just wanted to make sure you're not doing it because you feel like you have to.”

There is warmth spreading through his entire body. Happiness. With a mix of pride, too. No matter what exactly it's called, it's a nice feeling, Connor decides.

Hank manages to find a thrift store that's still open. The owner is born and raised in Detroit, like himself, and he doesn't seem to be bothered by the evacuation status. He also talks way too much, but the important thing is, he doesn't mind androids. When Hank mentions it while they're having dinner (him eating and Connor insisting on sitting with him even though he doesn't eat), Connor's face immediately lightens up. It's weird to think that his goofy face used to be completely devoid of emotion.

They go the next day.

When Connor walks in, there is a lot to look at. The shop is dominated by warm colors, with an exposed brick wall as well as wooden floor, so unlike the modern stores with their monochromatic color palette and minimalist interior design. The clothing doesn't seem to be limited to a specific style or time period, and there's a lot of it. Honestly speaking, the place is kind of a mess, and Connor is eager to go explore. He looks at Hank. “Can I...?”

Connor is practically vibrating with excitement and Hank can't help but smile. “Knock yourself out, kid. Pick whatever you want, I've got ya.”

He chooses a few basics – dark jeans, a black button-down, a gray sweatshirt, a few plain t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants because Hank insists that one wears comfortable attire at home. Connor possesses a wide range of skills, but distinguishing comfortable from non-comfortable clothing isn't one of them. Still, he doesn't argue.

Hank also finds a few things for himself, occasionally asking for Connor's opinion on certain items.

It's nice, spending time together like this.

While Connor is browsing and Hank is reluctantly conversing with the shop owner, something catches his eye. It's a natural white sweater with an overall navy blue cactus print. It's kind of... weird, in a way? Still, there's something about it that Connor likes. Maybe Hank and his non-existent sense of fashion has started to rub off on him.

“What's wrong, Connor?”, Hank asks after a while. He looks at the offending piece of clothing. It's cute, honestly. “You wanna try it on?”

“According to my measurements, it's one size too big.”

Hank shrugs. “That's cool, though. A lot of people prefer it that way.”

Connor is conflicted. He's made decisions that shaped the future of androids and humanity, but now a sweater is causing him mental distress.

Emotions are weird.

“Come on, Connor, just try it on”, Hank says, putting his hand on the small of Connor's back and leading him towards the changing booth.

When Connor is done changing and pushes the curtain to the side, Hank's eyes widen. “Oh”, he says. “Shit, you, uh- you look really-”

“I'll be damned”, the shop owner chimes in. “That's your android?”, he asks, turning to Hank, who seems a little irritated, all of a sudden. Connor feels a little frustrated as well – he wanted to hear what Hank was going to say.

“Hello. My name is Connor.”

“Oh. Right.” He looks at Connor for a few seconds, eyeing him suspiciously, then immediately back to Hank. “That's a really pretty face. What's his purpose?”

Hank is starting to look seriously irritated, and Connor kind of wants to leave. “I was designed to assist human law enforcement, specifically by investigating cases involving deviant androids”, he says evenly. “Of course, now, things have ch-”

“An android detective, eh? And now, he lives with you? I mean, surely, you guys are-”

“Would you look at the time!”, Hank exclaims. “I'm afraid we have to get going. Pleasure talking with you, though.”

Connor changes back into his old clothes and when he gets out of the booth, Hank has already paid and seems eager to leave. The shop owner tells them he's looking forward to seeing them the next time.

“We're not going back there ever again”, Hank immediately says when they're out the door.

Connor is a bit disappointed. “He was... nice enough.”

“God, the way he asked me questions about you while you were standing right there? I hate that. Like you're some kind of...”, Hank gesticulates angrily, “animal.”

“Some people find it difficult to talk directly to androids and would rather converse with human-”

“Connor, you don't have to take that kind of bullshit. You're a person and you should be treated like one.”

Connor feels his lips curl up into a smile. After a few seconds, he adds, “he said I have a pretty face.”

Hank snorts. “No shit. Bet he's never seen someone this attractive in his shitty store before.”

Connor's thirium pump stutters and heat rushes to his face. Attractive. “Didn't you say I look goofy and have a weird voice?”, he asks, struggling to keep his voice even.

“Connor, for someone who's supposed to be smart, you can be pretty damn stupid.”

“Markus, I'm confused.”

He looks up from the canvas and sets his brush and palette on the table, turning to Connor to give him his full attention. Markus could effortlessly listen and paint at the same time, but Connor appreciates the gesture.

“What's on your mind, Connor?”

It's easy to talk to Markus, even for someone who's awkward when it comes to conversations, like Connor.

“I'm having trouble with identifying my feelings towards Hank. I thought we were friends, but I find myself behaving and reacting differently around him than around the people of Jericho, for example. More... irrational.” He paces around the room while Markus watches patiently, waiting for Connor to continue talking. “I get nervous when I shouldn't be. I seek his attention even when there's no reason to do so, just for the sake of spending time together. When we're physically close, several of my biocomponents start malfunctioning.” He throws his hands up in frustration. It feels like a very human gesture. “It doesn't make any sense! I'm certain I didn't feel like this before.”

��Connor, you're smart. I'm sure you know what all of this implies.” He raises an eyebrow.

Connor crosses his arms, frowning. “You're saying I may be... infatuated.”

Markus shrugs, an amused expression on his face. “I was gonna say you're in love, but you can call it whatever you want.”

Connor looks around, pondering. “I guess I never considered the possibility that he looks at me that way.”

“What way?”, Markus asks, a knowing smile on his face. He's really going to make Connor say it.

He sighs. “As a... potential partner for a relationship. Not like partners at work, but with the involvement of romantic feelings and sexual attraction.”

“I know what a relationship is, Connor”, Markus chuckles. “Question is, is that something you're interested in?”

Connor remains silent, LED spinning yellow. “I'm... not sure”, he admits after a while.

“You're gonna have to find out.”

“I know. I wish I could just run a diagnostic, but that has proven to be useless.”

“Emotions aren't that easy”, Markus says, and Connor nods. “Emotions always screw everything up.”

Connor sighs. He's still confused, but he feels better after having talked about it. “Thank you for listening to me, Markus.”

“Any time, Connor.”

UNDERSTAND THE NATURE OF MY FEELINGS TOWARDS HANK

Connor's never had an objective like this and honestly speaking, he's not sure where to begin.

ask Hank directly?

No, surely not.

Gather empirical evidence?

View examples of romantic relationships?

Well, it's a start.

Connor does some research on recommended romance movies and looks through Hank's movie collection. Surprisingly, he does find a fair amount of romantic movies, some with comedic elements, but most of them with sad endings. Apparently, Hank has watched a classic called 'Titanic' a total of 12 times, so Connor starts with that one. It's based off a real event, so it should be interesting.

3 hours and 15 minutes later, Connor is still confused, but for another reason. Taking into consideration the material as well as size of the wooden door and how its buoyancy would be affected by the salt content of the North Atlantic Ocean, Jack should have been able to survive.

But putting all that aside, the movie has given Connor some insight to romantic feelings and relationships. However, now he's unsure what to do with that knowledge, so maybe this had been a dumb idea from the start. Connor leans back against the back of the sofa, looking up at the ceiling, and lets out an agitated groan. Sumo growls compassionately.

Later, when they're outside for their afternoon walk, Connor finds himself pre-constructing scenarios involving Hank. They have no real-world applications and most of them have to do with the movie he'd watched. But in place of the two leading actors, he imagines himself and Hank being there, running away with each other, showing the other what their world is like, falling in love.

“I'm flying, Hank.”

No, that doesn't look right.

“I'm flying, Connor.”

Connor snorts at the mental image, and Sumo throws him a curious gaze.

On a more serious note, he finds that he would very much like to dance with Hank. Kissing looks intriguing, as well, even though the thought causes an unfamiliar queasy feeling in his abdomen. Finally, Connor rewatches the scene in the car – disrobed bodies pressed against each other, hushed whispers, a hand coming up to press against a fogged window...

Connor comes to a sudden halt.

He swallows, but the lump in his throat won't go away. Suddenly, he's very aware of his artificial heartbeat drumming in his ears.

“Oh shit”, he mumbles.

Connor is analytical and detail-oriented, able to reconstruct sequences at crime scenes and capable of adapting to any team, acting as a perfect partner. To put it short, he's good at a lot of things.

Making advances towards someone is not one of them.

His social module doesn't tell him anything about how to convey his romantic feelings to someone. CyberLife probably hadn't anticipated for Connor to be able to fall in love.

He still can't quite believe it, either.

Connor doesn't have any experience in this regard, but somehow, he has a feeling that if he chooses to confess, and his feelings were not reciprocated, it would create a barrier between him and Hank. The idea of being turned down is painful, but losing what they have right now entirely is an unbearable thought. What if he throws me out and never talks to me again?

Connor decides to do what he's good at – look for clues, analyze the situation, assess the probability of success. He has to be patient.

When the evacuation gets lifted, the city slowly, but surely comes back to life. It also becomes a more android-friendly place, with more and more pro-android laws being passed, and Markus having reclaimed CyberLife for their kind, transforming the stores to places for androids to go to in need for repairs or spare parts, updates and modifications. “Android hospital”, Hank had called it.

It will take a lot more for androids to be regarded as rightful citizens, but generally, things are looking brighter for everybody.

At least, that's what should be happening.

Hank has been frustrated lately. He doesn't really talk about it, but Connor knows that there has been an increase in violence against androids since the revolution – the humans feeling hostile towards androids are in the minority, but they make up for it with how ruthless they are.

Hank sees so many plastic-white bodies leaking blue onto the floor, people who thought they were finally free, finally safe, brutally having their life taken from them – and he can't stop imagining Connor soon being one of them. Everyday, he asks himself whether he will come home to find his android on the kitchen floor, his face as lifeless as when they had first met. The closer they get, the more the thought hurts, until it becomes unbearable.

Hank starts coming home later than usual, more often than not so intoxicated that he needs help getting to his bed. Connor hopes it's a phase, that Hank's going through an emotional slump. He tries his best to stay supportive and optimistic, reminding himself of the glimpses of Hank's true personality he's been able to catch during their time together – the Hank he fell in love with.

As the snow melts, it seems like Hank's will to move on vanishes with it. The days get longer, but Hank spends the majority of them unconscious, either asleep or drunk.

Connor feels helpless. Markus tells him to give it time, that setbacks are a normal part of recovery. North tells him to kick his ass.

The days trickle by, and Connor spends them on the couch, curled up with Sumo, constantly worried. He can't remember the last time his LED has been shining in a calm blue. Sometimes, he finds himself wishing he hadn't found out about his feelings. Maybe if they were just friends, it wouldn't hurt this much.

The Saint Bernard in his lap gives a little whine.

“You want to go on a walk, Sumo?”

He shows no intent of moving, but watches Connor curiously, which is as much of an agreement he's going to get.

“Okay, boy, come on”, he says, standing up. Sumo follows, reluctant to get up at first, but happy enough once they're actually outside. Connor desperately needs the distraction as well. For a moment, he allows himself to just observe, take in the nature coming back to life after a long, hard winter around him. Many humans believe that being outdoors can have a soothing, even healing effect. Connor doesn't know if that also applies to androids, but being outside beats sitting on the couch, feeling like the walls are starting to close in around him.

“What do you think, Sumo? An hour to myself surely won't do any harm, right?”

Sumo boofs in what Connor believes to be agreement.

They're wrong.

When they return home, the first thing Connor sees is the gun on the table.

REVOLVER

.357 Magnum

1 bullet remaining

Connor feels like he's been punched in the gut. His synthetic heart thuds in his chest, LED cycling red. Several dialogue boxes pop up, warning him about a detected thirium pump irregularity and rising stress level, but he only pays attention to one.

FIND HANK

“Lieutenant?”, he calls out. His mind is racing, scanning the house for any sign of his partner. There's a bottle of whiskey on the table - blacklambscotchwhiskey40%alcoholcontent – but Hank is neither in the kitchen, nor the living room. Connor runs to the corridor, checking the bedroom, then the bathroom. He finds Hank in front of the mirror, clutching the sink.

Connor lets out an unnecessary breath, feeling most of the tension leave his body. “Lieutenant, I was worried about you.” Hank lifts his head, not really looking at Connor, but rather through him. He sighs and leaves the bathroom without saying a word, lightly shoving Connor out of the way. His relief is quickly overshadowed by frustration.

“Lieutenant!” He walks after Hank to find him in the kitchen, drinking from the whiskey bottle. Connor clenches his fists, barely resisting the urge to slap it out of his hand.

“You should stop drinking, Lieutenant.”

No reaction.

Connor grits his teeth. It's enough. He walks over and grabs the whiskey. “I need you to stop drinking and listen to me.”

Finally, Hank acknowledges him, and he's mad. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Connor can think of quite a few things, but he goes with the most imminent one. “You promised you'd stop playing that stupid game!”

“What do you care?”, Hank sneers.

Connor's stress level is going through the roof. “Do you not understand the gravity of the situation?” He clenches his fists. “You are toying with your life. You could actually die!”

“So what?”, Hank barks. “Stop acting like you give a shit. You wouldn't miss me. Nobody would miss me. Why can't you just fuck off already?” He pushes Connor, not hard enough to actually make him lose his balance, but he's so caught off guard that he takes two steps back anyway. His body feels cold and his breathing simulation program has stopped working. He can't do anything but stare at his partner, breaking apart before his eyes yet again, after all they've been through.

“Just leave! Get the fuck out of here!”, he shouts.

Connor inhales, and the breath burns in his artificial lungs. “Hank, I don't...” His own voice sounds foreign in his ears, and he realizes there's a subtle layer of static to it. Hank looks at him like he's been slapped. Only then does Connor realize that there's something wet on his cheeks.

For the first time in his life, he's crying.

Now it's Hank's turn to be at a loss for words, just staring at Connor.

There's a moment of silence between them before Connor speaks again. “You're so important to me, Hank”, he chokes out. “Seeing you like this, it's... it hurts.” He unconsciously touches his chest, where his thirium pump sits. “It hurts, and I don't know what to do, because I'm so fucking terrified of losing you.”

He doesn't tell Hank he loves him, but he's sure he just revealed his feelings anyway. Hank is a good detective, he must have it all figured out. It's not the confession he wanted, but there's no going back.

Emotions aren't pretty.

“C-Connor, I... I'm not...” Hank starts.

Connor cries quietly, no sobbing or sniffling, just tears running down his slightly scrunched-up, but still perfect face. He's so beautiful, even with sadness clouding his features. Hank feels like there's a fist closing around his heart.

“God, Connor, I...” Hank finds himself unable to speak, and he hates himself for it. Even after Connor pours his fucking heart out to him, he still just can't open his stupid mouth.

And of course, Connor understands, because Connor is too perfect for this world. “We don't have to talk right now, Lieutenant. Just... can we go to bed, please?”

Hank gives up and nods. Connor takes his hand and leads him to the the bedroom. They wordlessly change into their sleepwear and lie down together, bodies facing each other, but both of them looking away. The silence is suffocating. Androids can't get tired, but Connor is emotionally exhausted. He's completely spent but somehow, still restless.

Hank seems to feel the same way. “Connor, I...”, he starts, voice unsteady. “About what you said at the bridge, after the Eden Club...” His eyes flick up to meet Connor's. “I don't want you to adapt to my needs and personality. I want you to be yourself. To choose who you truly want to be.”

Connor's LED spins, shining blue in the dimly lit room. “I already did, and I chose to be with you.”

Hank searches Connor's face, looking for any signs of dishonesty or uncertainty. When he doesn't find any, he exhales sharply through his nose, expression softening. “You know, Connor, sometimes I think you're better at this whole being-human-thing than I'll ever be.”

Connor smiles softly, finding Hank's hand to intertwine their fingers. Hank shows no signs of discomfort at the gesture, aside from his heart rate picking up slightly. “I wouldn't be here without you, Lieutenant. You're the one who showed me I was capable of being empathetic, of feeling human emotions.”

“I didn't do anything. Markus was the one who deviated you.”

Connor shakes his head. “He wouldn't have succeeded if it weren't for you, if we hadn't become friends. I first started having doubts when I saved you on that roof instead of chasing after Rupert. In fact, I suspect I may have started showing signs of deviancy way earlier than I realized.” Connor smiles softly. “I do act irrationally when I'm around you.”

Hank smiles back, and Connor feels a rush of affection wash over him. He's extremely aware of how close they are. Somehow, he wants be even closer, but he's afraid to rush things. They should deal with one problem at a time and right now, Hank needs time and space to heal, and Connor wants to give Hank whatever he needs to be happy.

“Connor?”, Hank asks after 7 minutes of silence, voice low.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“You know that I don't actually want you to go, right?” His voice is small, and something in Connor's chest aches.

Connor brings his hand up to gently cup Hank's face, acting purely on instinct. “I'm not going to leave you”, Connor says, his voice unwavering and his eyes full of sincerity.

For a second, Hank forgets how to breathe. Then, he nods, allowing himself to believe.

Hank isn't a man of words. He doesn't make promises, he doesn't apologize.

Instead, the next day, he gets up early, careful not to wake Connor, and takes a hot shower, scrubbing every inch of his body he can reach. Afterwards, he trims his beard and puts his hair in a ponytail. He then proceeds to empty out every single bottle of alcohol in his possession.

When Connor finds him, Hank is in the kitchen, dressed in his nicest suit, sending the last drops of whiskey down the drain. Connor doesn't need words, he understands what Hank wants to say. He puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I'm very proud of you, Lieutenant.”

For the first time in weeks, he looks Connor straight in the eyes when answering. “I should have done this years ago”, he huffs. “Connor, can... can I ask you a favor?”

The way to the graveyard is quiet.

Hank has never been to Cole's grave when it wasn't the anniversary, so it's an unusual scenery, seeing the trees and flowers coming back to life around this place that is full of death and past memories.

They come to a halt in front of the grave. Someone's been taking care of it, probably his ex-wife. She's always been better at dealing with her feelings. Hank tends to run away from everything that reminds him of reality, but having Connor next to him helps, like he's keeping him grounded, in a way. He takes a deep breath and looks at the headstone, allowing himself to think, to remember.

Cole Anderson

Sep. 23 2029

Oct. 11 2035

Forever in our hearts

Connor puts down the bouquet and little toy police car they picked out together. Apparently, Cole had wanted to fight crime when he grew up, like his dad. It's painful to think about – that not all dreams come true. Cautiously, he reaches out to put his hand on the marble surface, letting his artificial skin bleed away so there is no barrier. Connor closes his eyes. I wish we could have met. Nothing in the world can replace you, but I will do anything I can to make Hank find happiness again. I promise I'll take care of him.

Connor stands up to stay next to Hank, giving him as much time as he needs to be alone with his thoughts. He holds Hank when he cries and gently wipes away his tears when he's ready to leave. They don't speak much, but it feels like a huge step in the right direction.

There are still bad days, when Hank's eyes won't really meet Connor's and he refuses to talk. Some days, Hank lets Connor at least hold him through the night, and other days, he sleeps on the couch. Their relationship is far from perfect but Connor wouldn't trade it for anything.

Connor learns about the kind of person he is and in a way, Hank does, too. He rediscovers the person he used to be, but he also uncovers new things about himself. Turns out, his personality isn't set in stone and he isn't just waiting for his life to be over. He's right at the beginning of a new chapter.

“How is your relationship with the Lieutenant evolving?”

Connor looks up from the book he's been reading – Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe – to Markus, who's now standing in front of the piano he'd just been playing. “Well...”, Connor starts, a little embarassed. “Things are going well, but... He hasn't said it back yet. That he loves me, I mean.” Connor has told Hank few times now. He just wants him to know that he does, and that he's proud of all the progress he's making. Lately, however, he's started having doubts. “Maybe I've been misreading the signs. Maybe my feelings aren't reciprocated. I just assumed, after everything we've done together.” Connor looks to the ground. “I hope I'm not making him uncomfortable.”

“I'm sure he just needs time. The Lieutenant seems like a very... straight-forward person. And he cares a lot about you. I'm sure he'd let you know if he did in fact not return your feelings.”

“I guess you're right.” Connor lightly pulls at one of his hoodie strings, sighing. “You're always right.”

Markus chuckles. “It's my thing.”

“Did you know Hank calls you 'android Jesus'?”

“Is... that a compliment?”

“Of course! I think.”

Coming back to the DPD is a nerve-wracking process. Usually, Connor would have to go the academy like everybody else, but considering his abilities and background, Fowler comes forward with a proposal. Connor has to go through an exam and firearm training, after which Fowler will personally decide whether or not he can come back to the team.

The exam is hell, and Connor has to fight the urge to hide whenever he sees Captain Fowler for several weeks afterwards, but when he finally gets his badge, he's deliriously happy.

“I know androids can't dream yet, but... Is this really happening, Lieutenant?”

Hank gives him the softest smile. “It sure is, Connor. You earned it.” He puts an arm around Connor. “I'm really proud of you.”

Most people at the station are welcoming when Connor comes back. Some even apologize for their behavior, explaining how they assumed androids didn't actually feel anything.

“It's fine”, Connor always says patiently. “I used to think the same way. Let's just put all of this behind us and work together.”

Of course, some people never change.

“Look who it is”, Gavin calls from his desk, as he so often does. Even after more than a month, he still doesn't seem to get tired of annoying Connor. He's starting to think it may actually be a poor attempt at making friends. “It's Lieutenant Anderson's personal sex doll.” He's the only one who laughs. Connor resists the urge to roll his eyes. People at the station have started to notice that Hank's mental state has improved since Connor started living with him and Gavin, of course, loves being a dick about it. “You should ask Fowler for a private office, since he loves both of you so much.”

Connor finally looks at Gavin, keeping his facial expression as neutral as possible. “Detective Reed, I'm happy to inform you that CyberLife still has numerous RK800 androids available.”

Gavin knits his brows. “Why the fuck would I-”

“Maybe if you got your own Connor model, you would finally be able to stop fantasizing about my sex life and focus on your work instead.”

Gavin's jaw clenches. There's muffled laughter coming from some people at their desks. Even Officer Chen, who is usually on Gavin's side, is hiding her face behind a hand, trying to cover up her giggles by acting like she's having a cough. Connor turns around, but not before giving Gavin the sweetest, most innocent smile he can muster. He goes to his desk to find Hank, who shamelessly gives him a high-five.

“Did you download some manual on sassing people?”

Connor grins. “No, I just had a great teacher.”

In summer, things are looking... good. They spend most of their time together, and Connor is happy. He discovers his love for gardening, and Hank finds he loves watching Connor work outside, his hair shining golden in the sun, smears of dirt on his face, and Sumo trying to get the android to play with him. It's pure and domestic, and it fills a space in his heart that has been empty for a very long time.

On the rare occasion when Connor isn't with Hank, he's surrounded by other good people. He spends his time with Markus, enjoying the quiet moments he watches him paint just as much as their conversations. The painting he's currently working on is dominated by a blue color palette, with a front view of a face. The person has soft features and is looking upwards. Markus steps away from the canvas, regarding it with a neutral expression.

“So, what's your verdict, Connor?”

Connor always claims he isn't the best person to ask, but Markus insists that he should just listen to his heart, tell him what he feels when looking at the painting. Connor can't put his finger on it, but he especially likes this one. It has a... hopeful feeling to it, and feels familiar, in a way.

“There's something about it, I... I really like it. What inspired you?”

“Actually, it's you.”

It takes Connor a second, but when he processes the meaning behind those words, heat rushes to his face. “Oh”, he says stupidly. “Markus, I don't... I don't deserve this.”

Markus smiles warmly at him. “Connor, you have been a great help to our cause. None of us would be where we are if it weren't for you. But, all that aside...” He puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes reassuringly. “I just like spending time with you. I consider you a great friend.”

Connor is at a loss for words, looking at his feet and smiling ear to ear. Yes, he's very happy.

“No, I'm telling you, Reed is as straight as an arrow.”

“Chris, you're full of shit. That guy is a power bottom if I've ever seen one.”

“Hank, I really didn't need that mental image.”

“Stop bitchin', Ben, and accept the truth.”

Connor chuckles to himself. These are men of the law, protecting the citizens of Detroit. He guesses it's okay since they're in their free time.

This has become a regular thing, going out for drinks together. The first time Ben had invited them, he had included Connor so effortlessly, like it was the most natural thing for the android to hang out with them. Now, it's like he just... belongs. He's no longer the odd one out, he's part of the team. The thought still warms his synthetic heart.

They arrive at Jimmy's bar, and Connor holds the door open for the other three. Ben tips an imaginary hat at him, Chris says “Why, thank you, sir” and Hank stops for a second, then mutters “ass kisser”. Yeah, he really likes those people.

Connor smirks. “Maybe if you ask nicely, Lieutenant.”

Hank snorts and hurries inside, not quite fast enough to hide his reddening face. Connor lets the door close after him, and he catches a glimpse of the fairly new “androids are welcome”-sign. Markus is still working on completely ending the segregation since legally, by householder's right, shop keepers are still allowed to deny androids entrance. Nevertheless, there are more and more safe spaces for their kind. Things are definitely changing, and it's reassuring to say the least.

Jimmy spots their group as they take their regular seat at the bar and nods in greeting. “Same as always?”

“You know it, Jimmy.”

The barkeeper directs his attention to the android. “Connor, my man, I've got something special for you, just you wait.”

Hank laughs as Jimmy pours Connor a glass, back turned to them so that Connor can't see the bottle. 'If you scan it before you drink it, it ruins the surprise', he'd once said. Connor didn't want to argue, especially since the barkeeper went out of his way to do something for him. Jimmy used to hate androids – or at least say that he did – but over time, he appears to have taken a liking to Connor.

Jimmy turns around with a shot glass filled with what appears to be red whine, enough for Connor to occasionally sip throughout the evening, since he doesn't really drink. He just... repeatedly samples, in a way. Still, it makes him feel more included in the activity than just sitting there without any drink at all.

“You're spoiling him, Jimmy.”

“Come on, that's the least I can do.” Jimmy pours some Scotch for the other three. Neat for Hank, straight up for Chris and Ben. “I promise you, as soon as they make alcohol for androids, I'll get my hands on it.”

They laugh. “I'd pay to see Connor drunk.”

“It'd certainly be an interesting experience”, Connor says, a little bashful. He doesn't know if he'd actually want that.

They clink glasses and Connor takes his first sip of the wine. His LED blinks yellow as he processes the liquid. A little dialogue window pops up.

Merlot – Red wine from Bordeaux

13% Alcohol content

Ingredients: Potassium Sorbate, Potassium Metabisulfite, Clacium Carbonate, Sulfur Dioxide, Sugar, Grape Juice Concentrate, Water

122 calories per serving

“Oh”, Connor says. “From Bordeaux?”

Jimmy nods. “You like it?”

Connor looks at his glass and contemplates for a second. “Yes, actually. It's the most interesting wine I've tried yet.”

“Cool”, Jimmy smiles. He's always happy when he finds something Connor likes. Apart from that one time, when they had made Connor try Scotch and his face scrunched up from something similar to disgust and everybody was laughing. Hank didn't understand how Connor could put dried blood in his mouth and keep a straight face but have such a strong reaction when drinking Scotch. Connor didn't understand, either, he just marked whiskey as 'avoid if possible', along with coffee – which meant he liked both less than paint, which he marked as 'indifferent'.

They fall into easy conversation. Connor still struggles with small talk or coming up with topics off the top of his head, so he listens most of the time, occasionally taking a sip from his wine.

“No, you do it more like this.” Connor flicks the coin to the side, effortlessly catching it between the index and middle finger of his other hand.

Chris flicks the coin, but then drops it for the 28th time this evening. “Damnit!”

“It's hopeless”, Hank chimes in. “I've tried countless times, it's impossible with our inferior human hands.”

“Come on”, Ben clasps Chris' shoulder. “Next round is on me.”

“Actually”, Hank says, standing up. “I'm gonna have to tap out, sorry. I've had enough for today.”

“Already?”, Chris asks.

“You're becoming a lightweight, Hank”, Ben teases.

“Yeah, yeah.” Hank puts on his coat, and Connor follows suit. They say their goodbyes and step outside into the crisp September air.

For a moment, they walk in comfortable silence. Hank guides them to a park, where they sit down on a bench. Connor suspects there's something he wants to talk about, so he waits patiently, not saying anything.

“You're wearing your cactus sweater”, Hank comments.

“I am.”

“You, uh-” Hank clears his throat. “You look cute in it. That's what I was gonna say. Back then, at... at the thrift store. Yeah.”

Connor feels a blush creeping up on his face, a smile tugging on his lips. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

There's more silence.

“Connor, I, uh...”, Hank starts again after 6 more minutes. “There's something I wanted to talk about.”

No shit, Connor's mind sasses. “What is it?”

Hank leans back, taking a shuddering breath, and bracing himself. “Fuck, I really wanted to have this conversation sober, but I guess it's now or never.”

Connor tilts his head, waiting.

“Connor, you... you helped me out of a really dark place, and, just- I wanted to thank you. I owe you so much, and- shit, I don't tell you enough how much I appreciate having you around.”

“Hank, I-”

Hank puts his hand on top of Connor's, and his mouth snaps shut.

“That's not all”, Hank murmurs softly. “I'm not good at this, so I'm just gonna go ahead and say it.” He brings Connor's hand up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against his knuckles. Connor's not simulating breathing or blinking anymore, he just sits there, completely still, staring at Hank's face. A smile plays on his lips, eyes warm and crinkling.

“I love you, Connor.”

Connor finds himself unable to speak. There are several windows popping up, warnings flashing before his eyes, but he can't focus on them as his vision blurs alarmingly.

“Con, are you alright?” He registers Hank's worried voice and gentle hand touching his cheek, wiping away clear, thirium-based lachrymal fluid.

“I'm okay”, he says, voice cracking.

Hank shuffles forward, pulling Connor into a hug that he immediately melts into. “I'm okay”, he repeats, murmuring into Hank's chest. “I thought... I was starting to think you didn't-”

“Fuck, Con, how could I not? You mean everything to me. I know, I should have told you earlier. I was just... It's scary, loving someone this much. Especially after... After everything.”

“I understand”, Connor says, because fuck, he doesn't know what he'd do if he ever lost Hank.

They break apart after a while, but neither of them wants to let go of the other completely.

“May...”, Connor starts. His LED blinks yellow for a second as he remembers something, before going back to blue. “May I kiss you, Lieutenant?”

Hank sputters. “God, Connor, don't ask me like that, with the fucking title and everything-” He averts his gaze, his face and neck turning red.

“Is that a no?”

Hank side-eyes him. “It's a yes, you stupid seductive android.”

Connor smiles. Slowly, he brings his hand up to cup Hank's cheek, using his thumb to sweep across his cheekbone and jaw, feeling the texture of his skin and stubble. He's feeling a bit anxious, all of a sudden, despite wanting this for so long. “I'm not quite sure how to do this, so I apologize if I-”

Hank leans forward, and the soft brush of his lips against Connor's is enough to shut him up immediately. It's over almost as soon as it begins, just a gentle press of Hank's mouth against his own, but Connor still feels dazed.

He stares at Hank's face, at a loss for words. His breathing is labored, his pupils slightly dilated. Connor's hands have apparently traveled to Hank's shoulders, where they are clutching his jacket.

It's suddenly become quite difficult to form coherent sentences. “Can... can we... again?” “Shit, of course”, Hank breathes.

Connor yanks him back into a deeper kiss while one of Hank's hand slides around the back of his head, tangling it in his hair, the other going around Connor's waist, pulling him closer. Their bodies seem to fit together perfectly, lips moving slowly and surely against each other. This is a lot better.

Connor catches Hank's lower lip between his teeth, gently tugging at it, and gets a low, breathy groan in response that sends a rush of heat through his system. So, so much better.

Hank moves back, taking a shuddering breath. “Jesus, Connor, I need to breathe. Shit”, he says, voice wavering.

Connor licks his lips, his system breaking down the traces of human saliva, as well the whiskey and beer Hank had at the bar. His thirium pump is still going a mile a minute.

Hank appears to be in a similar state. “Fuck, Connor”, he says, still breathless, “did you install a program for making out, or something?”

“No, I just... watched some movies.” For a few seconds, they say nothing, just allowing their heartbeats to slow down. “Some of your movies, in fact. I always knew you were a romantic at heart”, Connor teases.

Hank lets out a breathy laugh before saying, “shut up, and let's get going.” He gets up, dragging Connor along with him. “I want to finish this conversation at home.”

Shit, Connor can't wait. They've got a lot to catch up on. “Whatever you say, Lieutenant.”

Hank chuckles softly, and Connor can't help smiling with him.

He's glad to be alive.

connor: what is love

hank: baby don't hurt me

connor: i would never hurt you

hank: oh no it's just an old song-

connor, in partner mode: i would never let anyone hurt you

markus, in the distance: goddammit just kiss already

#detroit become human #dbh #hankcon #hank x connor

[cefstickles]

Ad'fix'tion

Not all tickle fics have to be light hearted! >:-3 This was the big project I had been working on. I tried a different writing style and I’m not sure how it turned out.

This is my attempt at writing an angsty tickle fic. I dont know how well I really did. So this is just an experiment! If no one likes it then I won’t write another one. Problem solved. I just wanted to challenge myself ya know? So now I can go work on the three prompts the anons sent in so I’m excited! :3

Without further ado, please enjoy:

Ad'fix'tion

(Ships): Analogical

Words ~ 1,837

(Warning): Tickle fic. Contains Self-harm, suggestive themes, NSFW, sensual wording, and a crap ton of angst, (turns fluffy in the end though).

The world is a twisted place, full of the illusions humans so often call happy endings. He of all the sides knew this the most. Whether it was because he had been the bearer of bad news for so many years, or that he was the only pessimist of the bunch, he did not have the complete answer. Perhaps it was just him blowing things out of proportion, like usual. The other options formed in his head one by one. Through all the excuses, all the complaints, all the sorrow, and pain, he needed an escape. Sadly, the escape he chose had dire consequences.

    Virgil sat in the bath tub, shirtless, gatorade to his right and the knife to his left. Deep inside he did not want to cut himself. Deep inside he wished he could stop. Oh with every fiber of his being did he want to stop, but he was bound. Fastened. Held. Chained to the thoughts that plagued him every single day. He was unable to prevent the thing he feared most from occurring.

    Obeying the command that rang within his very soul, his left hand shakily grabbed the knife and held it up to his throat. It demanded that he not disobey the ritual the darker aspect had performed for so long, lest his grip would fail him and plummet the holder into an endless sleep. A gasp of helplessness pursed the darker aspects lips as the knife moved away from his face, and down to its original target, accepting his surrender of the daily blood offering. Try what he may, Virgil could not utter a single word or stop the trajectory of his left hand, but someone else could.

It all happened so quickly. The bathroom door had opened. A yelling figure rushed in. A separate hand intervened. The hand that held the knife was yanked away, preventing further damage to the shaking aspect.

Virgil stared at the wall, unable to make sense of what was going on around him. He sat paralyzed from the fear instilled in him, until a fourth hand chose his hair as its nesting place.

It relaxed him, stroking the black strands in the direction it was combed, lightly skimming the top of the darker aspects scalp.

Virgil’s body instantly relaxed into the touch. He felt himself regain control over his left hand, the death grip loosening around the tool of torment as it tumbled out of his fingers and landed with a loud ‘Clack!’ on the floor.

The sound startled him out of his trance, his gaze snapping away from the wall and into the eyes of the one who had saved him from his self-torture.

The look on his face displayed one of bitter sorrow mixed with deep concern. Eventually it all faded into a neutral, stern expression, his hand still carting through the darker aspect’s fluffy hair.

“Virgil…” His savior spoke.

“…Logan…” Virgil was barely able to mumble the logical traits name as his worry completely faded out of memory. Logan’s grip slackened on his left wrist, trusting Virgil was free of the madness.

“Virgil. How long has this been happening?” Logan moved his hands and began to caress the darker aspect’s face as the latter looked up into his eyes.

Anxiety took a deep breath, regaining his senses. “Too long…” He was about to stand up when Logan quickly moved a hand on his chest, stopping him from doing so.

“No. Do not move. I will not allow it.”

As defiant as Virgil wanted to be, he huffed and stayed put, looking at Logan expectedly. After removing his hand, the logical trait took this chance to sit on the edge of the tub.

“Please. Talk to me. Why?” With one foot he kicked the knife on the floor to the other side of the bathroom, out of Virgil’s reach.

Anxiety sighed in defeat. “I’m sorry. Everything is better now. I know I have no reason to continue doing this to myself, but I’m addicted to self inflicted pain…and…I’m not sure why. Please don’t tell Patton. Or Roman. I wouldn’t hear the end of it. I used this as an escape from the pain all of you gave me before the incident in my room, but now…I can’t stop.” Virgil stared at his feet, awaiting one of Logan’s lectures, but it never came.

“Do you want to stop?” Logan’s gaze did not steer from his eyes as he spoke.

“Yes!!!” Virgil yelled almost sounding heartbroken.

Logan nodded. His complexion shifted with Virgil’s plea and almost mimicked the same amount of hurt the darker aspect had voiced. “When the skin is penetrated, the body releases endorphins to help it deal with the physical pain.” Logan began, breaking eye contact with Anxiety. “Scientists used to believe that it was only this fact an addiction for self-harm appeared, however recent studies show that it includes much more.”

Virgil lifted his head some, now interested in what his fellow aspect had to say. “Much like porn,” Logan shivered and made a face. “seeing the action of cutting yourself can also stimulate your brain into a pattern of thinking it is pleasing. The same thing can happen when one sees the color of blood. The brain recognizes and connects it with the endorphins being released and logs the color as pleasing to the eye.” Eye contact was restored between the two aspects as Logan finished his exchange of the conversation.

“Why are you telling me this?” Virgil shifted his position slightly in bathtub.

“Because I wanted to bring a logical outlook on the situation at hand. I’m not Patton nor am I Roman. I am unable to comfort or boost your confidence, but if you’re willing to listen, I may have a solution.”

Virgil looked around nervously. From the door, down to his feet, then back up to the Logical traits face. “Sure. I got nothing better to do.” He shrugged hiding his curiosity for what Logan had in mind.

The latter nodded, carefully arose from his seat, and disappeared out the door, making sure to close it behind him. It was not a minute later before he returned, carrying something small and blood red in his fist. Returning to his previous location on the tub, Logan held out the object to Virgil, which he delicately took.

“A feather? And its blood red too.” The darker aspect marveled at it, confirming Logan’s words.

“Yes. It is the color of human blood. Try using this feather in the place of the knife.” Virgil looked at the logical aspect like he was insane. Logan only blinked in response.

Cautiously, Anxiety grasped the feather in his left hand and stroked it over the same area the knife had targeted previously. The tingly feeling that followed could be compared to the same fiery sensation followed by the icy chills when cutting himself with the knife.

Virgil took a moment to process these sensations, before actively running the feather over his skin again. And again. And again.

It was addicting. A warmth spread throughout his body and centered itself in the middle of Anxiety’s abdomen.

The darker aspect found himself chuckling, forgetting that Logan was still there watching him. This was much better than the knife would ever be. And the upside would be he would never cause harm to himself by this method.

Logan smiled and nodded in satisfaction. As he stood up to leave he felt a hand grasp his arm.

“Would…would you like to try?” The logical trait raised an eyebrow, but sat back down as Virgil requested. He then took the feather from his hand stroked it across Virgil’s extended arm, starting from the wrist and making his way up the arm. As Logan arrived at his bicep, Virgil began to giggle. Each stroke that Logan made was getting tantalizingly closer to his armpit. Logan began to smirk, glad that his fellow aspect was laughing instead of screaming in pain.

Once Logan had reached his shoulder, Virgil had tried to clamp his arm shut, but was instead lifted upwards, exposing Virgil’s armpit. Logan moved his feather strokes to Virgil’s under arm, getting even more giggles from the darker aspect. All too soon, the feather wormed its way into Anxiety’s armpit, causing him to snort and chuckle up a storm.

“It appears you are ticklish Virgil.” Logan grinned slightly as he took the feather out of its playplace.

“You think!? You don’t need to state the obvious Mr. Exposition.” Virgil wise cracked, but suddenly regretted his words.

Logan glared at him. “Perhaps it’s best if you keep your mouth shut, unless you are laughing.” Like lightning, the feather dived into a new spot: his bellybutton. Virgil’s chuckles turned into laughter while he tried to push the Logical traits hands away, only to be unsuccessful as the feather continued to twirl mercilessly.

“Lohohohogan!! No stahahahahp!” Said Logical aspect was grinning from ear to ear. He then moved the feather to gently tickle Virgil’s bare ribs. Instantly, Virgil’s laughter increased by tenfold, unable to protect himself because his hands were held over his head.

“I do not want to Virge. This laughter you are emitting is proving to be more enjoyable than the pain you were going to inflict upon yourself. Perhaps, we use this time to release all the endorphins trapped inside of your anxious skull.” And with that, Logan disregarded the feather and began to wiggle one hand over Virgil’s exposed ribcage. If Virgil wasn’t in hysterics before, he was now.

“LOHOHOHOGAHAHAHAHNNNN!!”

“Yes Virgil. I believe that is my name.”

“Stahahahahahahahppp!!!!”

“By Merlin’s Beard, what on earth is happening…in…here…” The darker aspect’s laughter must have caught the attention of Roman, because the royal aspect was now peeking in at the situation at hand. His voice trailed off however and his mouth curved upwards as he saw how happy the two more serious aspects were.

Princey chuckled. “Haha! Oh this is precious!! Well…Patton made brownies if you care for them that is.”

Logan stilled his fingers giving Virgil a well deserved break. “Why would we not care for Patton’s brownies?”

Virgil gave a couple last chuckles. “Yeah. It gives this guy a reason to stop his assault.”

“You were the one who asked me to do it. Remember?”

“I didnt ask you to tickle me! That was all on you!”

“Yes. I suppose you’re right, but if we go out to get brownies I suggest you put your shirt back on.” Logan playfully chucked Virgil’s shirt into the darker aspect’s face giving Logic enough time to escape the bathroom. Once Virgil recovered, he put his shirt back on and ran after him, but not before pausing to look at the knife that laid neglected across the floor. He felt a burden had been lifted off of his shoulders. Though he knew the knife would win him over again, he was sure Logan would help him through each trial. After all, this whole situation could only be described as a growing process.

(Thanx for reading!! Feed back is greatly appreciated!!! :) )

#sanders sides #Sanders sides #sanderssides #thomas sanders #thomassanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #anxiety #anxiety Sanders #princey sanders #ts prince #modnsfw #logan sanders #logic sanders #lee!virgil #ler!Logan #tfic #cefspost #cefstickles #cefsfic #tickle #ticklish #tickling #cefsexcited #letsseeifpeoplelikethis....