finalflight | PSL; [It's bigger than us, it's bigger than everything]

[He shakes his head, and then pulls his gaze away from the blanketing snow all around them to meet Hank's. It's difficult to not view emotion there, something moulded to look like an awful mix of concern and the faintest, faintest mote of alarm.]

I didn't do good, Hank. We've come away with nothing, and I'm proving more and more that I'm not-

[Words sticking, as if the very core of him hates to say it, is almost afraid to say it. But they tumble out regardless.]

That I keep failing at all the tasks set in front of me.

[Hank glances at Connor a couple more times as he drives, not just frowning now but looking outright worried.]

You’re not god, Connor. You can’t just magic up a lead out of nothing. I’d like to see any of those lazy fuckers you report to come down here and do better.

[He frowns, shifting in his seat. Pressing his back against it, as if defiant against something intangible and impossible to pin down.]

There was a lead, Hank. I simply chose not to follow it.

[How many times now? How many deviants he's let escape, how much information slipping away just as quickly? To say that there was no lead is a lie; it was there, waiting him patiently behind the trigger of a gun.]

Because that would have made you a monster.

[Hank realizes, with a little jolt of fear, that he’s driving faster than he thought he was. He eases up on the gas, takes a breath, and then he lets himself go on, his voice calmer but still sure and determined.]

Is that what you think you’re failing at, Connor? At being a fucking monster? Because I’m not sure I could work with the kind of guy who’d follow through on a lead like that.

[Connor had barely noticed the increase in speed himself, and it's only when Hank eases up on the gas does he seem to become more cognizant of the outside world. Again, the car feels like its own little dimension, a secondhand confessional for the second time.]

No. No, but you know why this is problematic, Lieutenant.

[For so many reasons. Because they're getting nowhere, and the DPD will see it, Cyberlife will see it, will question it, and for some reason decisions that should have been easy to make in the past, just months ago, now become all tangled up inside of him, forming knots in his processing and making it harder to commit to the mission at hand.]

This is not how I'm supposed to function. As a machine unable to perform its most basic mission. This isn't- [A pause, poignant in the air.] Maybe there's something wrong with me.

[Hank lets that sit for a second, hearing the word they’re both thinking, the word neither of them is risking saying out loud. But that word doesn’t matter- not to Hank, anyway. Maybe it’s time to admit to himself now that it doesn’t. Maybe deviant only matters so far as it makes him push up his schedule. Dave had said he needed more time.]

If you didn’t - hypothetically. If you didn’t have a junkyard hanging over your head. If you didn’t have to worry about getting trashed the first time you twitched wrong. Would you still think that? That you’re built wrong just for acting like a decent fucking person?

I don't-

[It feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down, and feeling the world shift under your feet. Like taking that jump is going to be the last thing you ever know, and how in the world is he not supposed to feel afraid with that word just dancing in the air between them?

He takes a figurative step back.]

It doesn't matter. I can't change what's happened at this point. There's technically still a lead in my pocket, we'll just have to find a better way to apply it.

[The USB. He can cling to the hope of that.]

[Hank scowls out at the road. For a minute he just drives, silent, letting go of the ledge Connor just yanked them back from. Back to the fucking mission. Okay.

It’s going to take him a few seconds to stop sounding ticked off.]

Okay. Whatever. So, what, want me to stop at a friendly neighborhood Cyberlife store and pick up a converter?

[The undercurrent of Hank being upset doesn’t escape Connor’s notice. The silence practically boils between them, and the tone in Hank’s voice is clipped, to say the least.

Perfect. Amazing. A mood flip is exactly what Connor wanted to deal with from Hank right now, when he’s already trying his best to figure out which route to take, which way to make this case work, how to keep pressing forward without feeling he’s compromising some core part of himself.]

I can manage it myself if I have to. [But then-] Why are you upset now?

[Hank shoots him a considering look, his jaw still tight.]

Because there’s nothing wrong with you. There’s never been anything fucking wrong with you.

[He shifts gears more roughly than he means to, slowing down for a red light, and rubs his hands up and down the steering wheel while he sits there. When he speaks again he still doesn’t look over, but his voice is at least a little bit calmer.]

And you’re not going to so much as touch that program by yourself. I’m not in the best mood, but I’m not gonna abandon you.

[Connor’s eyes don’t leave Hank’s profile, even as the car jostles to a stop.]

What does it matter, if you think I’m bound to just return to Cyberlife when this is all over?

[But maybe that’s unfair, and his LED blinks accordingly, trying to realign his thoughts.]

I have errors in my system, Hank; you can’t tell me there’s nothing wrong with me.

[None of what Connor said just now was right. Or- almost none of it. Hank's more sure about the last part than the first. But he's not stupid enough to just say so, not so naive that he isn't very aware that Connor could go running back to Cyberlife and tell them this whole conversation later, consequences to himself be damned. Maybe this conversation would be about to go a lot differently if he was younger, before he'd been on the force too long, and a lot easier, too.

God, he knows it's for the best that he can't trust Connor enough to just have it out with him over this system error bullshit, but- shit.

The light turns green. He drives. He focuses on driving for a couple seconds, trying to figure out what he wants to say, and what he needs to know.]

And you're gonna go to Cyberlife tonight, tell them all about those errors? Think they're gonna let you come back in the morning?

[The car moves forward again, farther and farther away from Kamski’s place; farther and farther away from that awful moment that still crawls along the path they take, coils itself around his brain, trying to inform all of his thoughts, all that he says.

Maybe he should go back to Cyberlife, he thinks. Maybe he should just tell them everything he’s been experiencing, his true doubts (despite what he told Hank, he hadn’t always been truthful with Amanda; his own perspective was something she always asked about. He skewed his responses to something he knew she’d want to hear). Maybe they’d just reset him completely, maybe they’d take him apart and put him back together. Maybe then he could do his job, his memories completely wiped, starting clean—

Hands in his lap, his fingers curl in, tightening.]

No.

[To both.]

No.

[Hank glances over at him. His eyes dart over Connor's hands.]

Just no, huh?

[He frowns, thoughtful, out at the road. It's not fair that even now, even now, with Connor's life and maybe even his... his personhood on the line, part of Hank's mind is still, still on the lookout for every little thing that reminds him of Cole. Cole used to do that too, with the questions. When he didn't want to answer something he really didn't want to answer, and no matter how many angles you tried to come at him from he wouldn't give you anything else. Just no, huh? Hank used to find himself asking that a lot.

There is a person right now who is sitting here beside him, and this person right now needs his help. Hank hasn't let himself think of that memory in more than passing, isn't letting himself remember the details. Not right now. He can drink himself into a coma later, when it's just him on the line. Hank breathes, and drives, and tries to think.]

Realistically - I'm not trying to push you to anything here, I'm not trying to make a point, I just need to know - how long can you go without reporting in before they get suspicious? Or before they try something?

[Connor looks forward, straight through the windshield, straight ahead and along the road before him, slick with the slush of snow flattened under the tires of passing cars.

Not trying to make a point? Connor, whose mind is focused solely on these errors and changes that he doesn’t know how to parse, can view it as nothing else. But the sentiment is still appreciated, and he responds slowly, as if the words were slowly being spooled from him.]

...I had been given a fair amount of leeway, regarding the length of time before I’m expected to upload a report. That window of time has grown shorter after each case we’ve handled.

[In other words, Amanda hasn’t been terribly pleased with the results. The Zen Garden grew less hospitable with each visit.]

Currently? Maybe two or three days from now at the most.

Alright. I'll, uh- Alright.

[Tomorrow, then. He'll call Dave. Tomorrow.]

So, you're not going back to Cyberlife tonight. Got somewhere to stay?

[No. He doesn’t, not really.]

I can remain at the station if necessary.

[Sit and wait, maybe try to work. Maybe stand next to all the other androids on standby, lined up neatly in a row.]

You know, Sumo likes it when people sleep on the couch. And I kind of have a date with my bed tonight, so...

[Hank focuses completely on pulling in to the station. Because that's all that's going on right now. That's all he's doing. You know, casually. He's just a guy who stated a couple random factoids for no reason, nothing to see here.]

[He turns his head to briefly look at Hank, brow knitted. Eyes questioning.

Blowing right past all that subtlety stuff.]

Are you suggesting that I stay with you?

Jesus, you don't let me get away with anything, do you?

[He shoves his keys in his pocket and sets his arm on the door, twisting to look at Connor while the car cools.]

Yes, I'm suggesting you stay with me. You really think I'd let you stay here with the...

[With the what, exactly? He thinks of all the department's bots standing there in a line, their perfect, blank faces staring out at nothing. It always kind of gave him the creeps. For once, he doesn't know what to call them.]

...You know. You can stare at the corner of my living room just as well as you can the station, and at least there there's no chance Reed will come around and try to start shit.

[Logically, it doesn’t matter if he stays at the station or Hank’s house. Logically, the process of waiting is the same no matter which location it is. Logically, he could at least decide to do some work, looking at code again in the wee hours of the night, at the station.

Logically. Logically.

But he finds that the station, here before them like a quiet sentinel, is a sobering sight. Unwelcoming, compared to the idea of... a sofa and a curious Saint Bernard.]

...if it isn’t an imposition, I wouldn’t mind it. I can remain as unobtrusive as possible.

Nah, none of that shit.

[That settled, Hank opens his door, leaning over to talk until Connor decides to get up and go in with him.]

None of that, like, world's most expensive mannequin stuff. If you're gonna be a guest, be a guest. Besides, uh...

It might be kind of nice, having something else going on in that house. Something else to think about. You know?

[He blinks, looking vaguely surprised. But it’s obvious that Connor sees no inherent issue with this, given his reply.]

I’ve never been a houseguest before.

[He’s certain it’s easy enough; follow what he knows about human propriety.

A hand comes out to open his own door, and with a lingering glance, he slides out and stands.]

I imagine it isn’t too difficult.

Yeah, this should be interesting.

[Hank starts making his way inside, his amusement fading. He doesn't want to bring up the case stuff again, or the Cyberlife stuff that's attached to it. Connor only just started to relax. Luckily, his stomach gives him an out.]

Ugh, I should have stopped somewhere else to eat. Now I have to get shitty breakroom food. Come on, maybe if I get in and out quick no one'll want to talk.

[Connor follows a step or two behind, but as Hank speaks, he slows his gait, stopping — thinking of something.]

Lieutenant?

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