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

[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?

Hm?

[Hank looks over his shoulder, then turns to face Connor when he realizes he's stopped.]

Yeah, what's up?

[A half-second of a pause.]

Thank you, for-

[For what? For a swath of things, for just-]

Well. Just thank you. For everything, I suppose.

[Hank looks down, taking that in.]

Don't worry about it. It's still not too late for me to screw everything up.

[Then he looks back up with a shrug and a tight, crooked smile and turns to keep heading inside.]

[At this point, Connor should maybe be used to self-deprecating comments coming from Hank. But all the same, it bothers him, and he follows him, debating on if he should comment on it.]

...Why do you say that?

[If anyone else was asking this he'd get pissed off at them for prying and, hell, that would have gone double for the android walking with him maybe just yesterday, or the day before. But now it doesn't set him off. It just feels curious.]

Experience.

[He shoves his hands in his pockets as he heads inside and looks at nothing in particular, needing to look casual. It makes him feel a little better, like they're just talking about something normal.]

What, you've even got to ask?

[And any other day, Connor would let it slide. Shuffle it back into the realm of something that Hank would not ever wish to talk about in detail, or even at all. Categorize it as something that he shouldn't bring up when they're trying to work, trying to be efficient, trying to not be overly emotional.

But today has been a strange day. A taxing one. His subroutines are already all over the place, and there's something a little less caring about... all of that right now. And so Connor comments, where he usually would not.]

Old experiences do not always inform new ones. Not if an effort is made otherwise.

Huh.

[Hank thinks that over, running a hand through his hair, looking at him.]

Optimism. Where'd you learn that?

[That gives him brief pause. He’s not certain he has an answer to it.]

Nowhere. It’s simply something I’ve thought of that makes sense, applied to everyone.

Everyone?

[He turns to grin a little at Connor and then wanders into the break room, leaning on the vending machine and trying to decide what of all the bullshit in there's heavy enough to keep his stomach from trying to shrivel up and die for a few hours.]

Now I know you haven't been a cop long.

[Connor just follows, as he is very wont to do. He stands a few paces behind Hank while the other decides what to get from the vending machine, hands clasped behind his back.

It's hard to argue around the fact that Connor's really only about 3 months old, but-]

No, but from a purely rational standpoint, you can't tell me that it doesn't apply.

From a purely observational standpoint, I can tell you that people are idiots.

[All his choices here are shitty. He chooses some random shitty snack, scans his card, and goes over to make some coffee.]

We'll take any chance to screw ourselves over, no matter how many times you give us a way out.

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