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

What, think I forgot about your headlight?

[Hank tries to set the bottle down on the car hood, moves quick to intercept when the bottle starts sliding, and digs in his bag one handed, instead. When he brings the fedora out he frowns at the way it's kind of squashed in the bag, but shrugs and offers that too, brim up.]

Might have to tilt it a little, but it should work. I thought it'd go with your whole uh, business casual thing you got going there.

[Connor eyes the fedora with about the same amount of scrutiny that he gave the sunglasses. But he takes the item, putting it neatly on his head, and skews it just enough to hide his LED. A stray stand of brown hair curls out from beneath the brim, though.

Look at him, Hank. Look at this android. Is this really less conspicuous.]

Admittedly this isn’t what I would’ve chose to blend in.

[Hank's lips twitch again.]

No, you look like a totally different person. If anyone recognizes you it's definitely not going to be for what we don't want em to.

[He points at Connor's chest for emphasis, again stopping about a foot short of actually touching him.]

Come on, I'll show you the rest inside.

[He takes another drink, walking over to wait by the steps for Connor to head up, ready to follow him a few steps behind.]

Edited 2018-08-10 22:41 (UTC)

[Connor follows, until it’s his turn to lead, and it isn’t until they’re partway up the steps does he think that he should remove the sunglasses — the lack of light is bothersome in the nighttime.

(Hank is acting strange, but this is a particular difficult baseline to judge him by. It’s a stressful situation that they’re both in, and the man is tired and likely emotionally exhausted; but his gut feeling tells him that it’s something else, the way he looks at him, almost ashamed.)

He’ll wait until they’re inside before he says anything on the matter, though. To their room they go, and Connor opens the door, shutting it once they’re in.

It’s about as nice of a room as one might expect for this place. Which isn’t really all that great, but livable.]

Our room isn’t anything luxurious, but I figure that’s the least of our concerns at the moment.

Yeah. Whatever you want's fine.

[Hank goes around to the other side of the bed, dropping the bag by a pillow and petting Sumo's head. It helps, like it always does, and Sumo gives out a quiet hoof noise once Hank's done. Hank looks for a spot at the head of the bed that's not taken up by dog, finds none, and settles on the floor, setting the bottle between his knees and wrapping his hands around it.]

's more in there.

[The thing on top's a short sleeved button up, bright floral print, probably even louder unfolded than it is in the bag. He's still not sure about this messing with Connor through clothes thing, but the whiskey's been helping him go through with it anyway. It's nice to at least pretend the two of them are cool, for a minute. And he honestly is looking forward to a future where he's convinced Connor to regularly wear even half of that shit.]

[Connor moves over to the bag, giving both Sumo and Hank a glance on the way over. He grabs the first item on top, something very brightly colored, and lifts it up. Gravity unfolds the rest of it, while he holds it up by its sleeves.

A moment passes where Connor is trying to analyze this... shirt. As if there’s a contradiction in there that he’s slowly pulling out, finally forming with words.]

...This is like something you would wear.

[He walks over to where he can see Hank at a better angle.]

And I don’t think this is very ‘business casual’ either.

[He shrugs.]

Gotta change it up. That way no one'll describe you the same way twice. You dress like me, I dress like you, we're invisible. Or uh, the opposite of that, but in the same kinda way. Whatever.

[If Connor cares to look in the bag again a pair of swimming trunks are underneath. They have cartoon robots drawn all over them.]

You’re going to dress like me? You’ll have to cut your hair for that.

[Uh huh.

Connor raises a brow visibly. But then he tosses the shirt neatly onto the bed, and rummages through the bag again.

And here come the robot swim trunks.]

So now going swimming is part of my attempt to blend in?

[~~ok the robots are cute but~~ He’s pretty sure Hank is messing with him now.]

Edited 2018-08-10 23:47 (UTC)

[Hank's already grimacing a little at the suggestion - tease? suggestion - that he cut his hair, because cleancut Hank was a Hank who was going places, who had his whole life ahead of him, and he doesn't really want to look in the mirror and see that. So the grimace at that topic kind of melts naturally into his grimace at the next one, this time born out of something like - okay, exactly like - embarrassment.]

I just... I don't know. You're-

[Free now, he wants to say, and spends a second being glad that shame stopped him. He's not free, not really. He might never be.]

You should get to do things. Fun things. Or just- things, new experiences, whatever. If androids even swim, I mean, if they don't you can just throw that one away, it doesn't matter.

[Connor's suspicions aren't wrong, Hank is in fact messing with him. He is totally messing with him. Except for how he's not.

The robot pattern was a detail he couldn't resist, though.]

[He had been vaguely teasing, the purpose to elicit a somewhat positive reaction — not the expression he continually sees crossing Hank’s face right now.

(New experiences. Connor tries to envision himself at a beach, wearing these swim trunks with robot patterns printed across it, sunglasses perched on his nose, his toes in the damp sand on the shoreline.)]

...I can swim, if I have to.

[He folds the swim trunks, but lets them hang across his arm, while his other hand comes up to pluck the fedora off of his head.]

But you’re planning for a future that isn’t—

[That isn’t his yet. That could be swept away if Cyberlife decided to steal it away from him. But Connor stills his words, deciding to avoid going down that path for now.]

Can I ask you something, Lieutenant?

[Fuck. Whatever follows that last question is going to be serious. He can only put it off a few seconds, but-]

Not that far in the future. There's beaches everywhere. Or uh, pools. Like, less than a day's drive.

[And there goes his procrastination. Hank's lips twist, but it's not like he's going to tell Connor no.]

But uh, yeah, sure. Shoot. Whatever you want.

[He pauses briefly for a second as well, lips pursing. But Connor presses forward past that silence, as he always does.]

Do you regret doing all of this? For me, I mean.

[Not a question made to guilt, or born of irritation. Merely observation based on Hank’s demeanor, and how he proceeds from here is determinant upon it.]

What? No!

[Hank's response is incredulous and instant. Surprised, too; he'd been expecting a harder question.]

Fuck no. If I- If we can pull this off it'll be the best thing I've ever done. One of the best things. What made you wanna ask something like that?

[He blinks, a little startled at the suddenness of the reply.]

I— You’ve been acting strange. And I know that this might be an unfair assessment, given the nature of what we’re doing. That you’re likely stressed and exhausted, but...

[He sensed some form of regret, seen in the microchanges in expression that Connor is so attuned to observe. But maybe he was wrong.]

If something is bothering you, you need to tell me. Communication is key when we’re so reliant on each other like this.

Bothering me?

[Hank leans back from Connor, at least as much as he can, straightens against the wall and watches his hands rub at the bottle between them. He opens his mouth, looking disturbed, and thinks of what exactly to say.]

You know you don't have to be my, like, my therapist anymore, right? You don't have to ask about my feelings, or give a shit about what I eat, or, or make sure everything's okay with me. I might be the only person you've got right now but that doesn't mean you've gotta be- that you've gotta make sure you're my best friend before you know I'm gonna help you. I'm going to help you no matter what. So you can make other friends - I don't know, we'll be moving around a lot, you can meet people so I won't be the only friendly face and then- You can start treating me like the guy who fucked you up, you know that? You do know that you can just- You don't have to pretend that everything's okay with me, it won't hurt your chances at getting away. I wouldn't do that to you. I just- I need to make sure you know that, Connor.

[For the first time in that little speech Hank looks up at him, his hands still rubbing at the bottle, his eyebrows drawn together, waiting for Connor to understand that he doesn't need to ask after Hank, anymore.]

[He listens, brows knitting together deeper and deeper the more Hank explains. He feels a distinct and complete streak of confusion snaking through him; he understands the point that the man is making, but it’s the strange path that led him there that Connor can’t parse. That he simply does not understand.]

I don’t understand. Do you think I’m only pretending that everything is “okay” between you and I?

[He barely gives Hank the time to answer.]

Yes, I was upset about what you had done. What you had planned to do, without giving myself any say in the matter. Without letting me have a choice, merely debilitating me and removing my tracker. Assuming deviancy is what I wanted.

[He shakes his head, glancing down. His eyes focus on the ridiculous pattern of robots on the swim trunks.]

But I’m not angry, not really, any longer. You were doing what you thought was right, not what you thought I wanted, but what you knew I needed. What I was too afraid to pursue. And in doing so, you’ve risked everything for me. This is just as dangerous for you, Hank, as it is for myself.

[He looks at Hank again.]

Do you want... me to stop asking after your feelings? My concern isn’t insincere, but if it’s unwanted, I won’t press it. It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done to help me.

It's not...

[He can't look straight at Connor as he says this. Not the whole time. Not even most of the time, not in more than little glances.]

It's not that I- You should just be angry, you know? I mean, you have a right to be. At me, at Cyberlife, at every human who made your decisions for you instead of letting you just be. You're really just... saying it's okay? Just like that? I don't get it. I guess I never did get it, that whole uh, forgiveness thing. Hey, they say it'll set you free though, so I guess you're on the right track, huh?

Sorry. That was uh, that was uncalled for. I just, I mean- Maybe you can let it go that easy, I don't get how, but maybe you can. But I, that's not how I work. And you - You just got better things to do than worry about me. So every time you ask, uh, how I'm feeling, and all that stuff. It just feels-

It-

[He sags, sounding defeated.]

I don't know.

[Hank pulls a face at his knees, wanting to tell Connor what it feels like to realize someone really, seriously gives a shit, wanting to tell him Hank's going to feel like someone poured something gross all over his insides every time he asks, wanting to make sure Connor knows that Hank doesn't want him to stop. But it's just- He doesn't. It's too much. He doesn't.]

[Hank should be easy to read. Is easy to read in a lot of ways, but there are times when things he says escape Connor. That how he acts versus what he declares feels like a contradiction.

He wonders, if he were human, if he would understand better. At this point, all he can do is be honest.]

I’m not saying how I was before was okay. Just a tool for Cyberlife to use, to hunt down others who were, in the end, just like me. If you believe that’s something I’m simply fine about, then you’re wrong, Hank.

But you? I thought— I consider you my friend. Not a statistic to manipulate my chances at solving a case, or my successes at remaining free. Someone who I can trust, someone who I sometimes worry about when I see how you treat yourself. Of course I’m going to ask how you’re doing. And remind you when you’re eating only empty calories, or when you’re going to drink too much — like tonight. When you should sleep, because you’ll be too tired to function otherwise.

It’s merely the kind of person that I am.

[Hank closes his eyes. He swallows. He swallows again. He darts his gaze toward Connor, then jerks it away.]

I guess uh. I guess I'm gonna have to get used to it then, huh?

[He smiles at Connor and it's weak, relieved, and mostly fades when he looks back down to brace for his next question.]

I, uh- I consider you my friend too.

[He swallows again, watching his thumb rub around the rim of the bottle.]

So I need to know - I just need to hear you say one way or the other - so you're not okay with how you were before. That's fair. Guess I wouldn't be, either. But, what I did before. To you. I mean, I'm not okay with it, I don't see why you- But, uh. Are we okay? I just, I need to know for sure.

[He tilts the bottom of the bottle back and forth on the floor, needing something, needing the nervous gesture to keep him anchored in the terrible moments after asking a question like that.]

[And through Connor watches Hank closely, trying to catch his gaze which keeps slipping away, his reply to that comes quickly. Succinct, without hesitation.]

Of course we are.

[Connor then decides to step forward, move closer to where Hank is. Crouches down, like an adult trying to ensnare the eye contact of a child who’s done something wrong.]

Hank... you did the right thing for me. I told you so. Please don’t feel guilty about it; if it’s my forgiveness you want, then you have it.

Edited (when you notice typos like 2 hours later lol) 2018-08-11 15:30 (UTC)

[Hank meets his eyes automatically, the posture making Hank think of children, too, makes him feel like one, looking up at Connor. But he doesn’t have the spare thought to look too deep into that; being forgiven is taking it all up. For a moment Hank just looks at Connor, his chest starting to move with sudden deep breaths. Then he leans his head back against the wall, swallowing and staring at the ceiling.]

Thanks.

[He pauses. Connor deserves more gratitude than that. Hank’s voice softens, goes a little rough.]

Thank you.

So that’s uh, that’s what you wanted to know. What was bothering me. Not to make a big fuckin melodrama out of it or anything.

[He makes a disgusted little huffing noise, amused, and raises the bottle to take another swig out of it.]

[Connor's eyes never leave Hank's face, though his shoulders lose some of the tension he hadn't been aware of, when his friend seems to unwind, slowly. Tired, still, but as if Connor's granted him something he's needed with those words.

He remains in his crouched position, before shifting slightly to just... sit on the floor in front of Hank for a little bit.]

Even if you did make a "melodrama" out of it, it's still best that you tell me.

[He rests the fedora on a knee, the swim trunks on the other.]

Also... [Ah, Hank probably knows what's coming next, but Connor says it anyway.] Don't drink too much tonight, Lieutenant.

[A corner of Hank’s lips twitch. Connor’s mothering him again - and being practical, if he doesn’t know whether Hank would fuck himself up too bad to drive tomorrow. Maybe he doesn’t know. Hank’s not always sure he knows.

Lucky him that’s not the case tonight, so he doesn’t have to worry about it.]

Not too much. Just enough. You take the first shift driving tomorrow, and I’ll actually get a full night’s sleep tonight. That sound like a deal?

[Never mind that Hank’s already started on the first part of that ‘deal’ so it doesn’t matter if Connor agrees or not. It would just be nice to not have to drive until his body’s settled down tomorrow. But they’ll get gone either way - as long as they know where they’re going.]

Hey. You decide what sights you wanna see yet?

[Compromise by meeting the other man halfway. His LED flickers with consideration, for it's obvious that Connor would rather have it where Hank doesn't need to rely on that bottle to get a good night's sleep at all; but perhaps it would make more sense to worry about that later, and that sleeping should be the man's focus and priority for tonight.]

Fine. Deal. This time.

[This time. That addendum is important.

But the question makes him look at Hank curiously. His fingers fiddle slightly with the fabric of the swim trunks.]

'Sights'? No. I haven't been treating this like a... vacation. [The lilt of a question is obvious in that statement.]

[He shrugs, blissfully oblivious of the intent behind 'this time', Connor's future plans to knock his one coping mechanism out from underneath him.]

Well shit, Connor, this might be... And it might not be, but this could be your last chance to have a vacation. To just- to see the world. And I was thinking-

[When Connor was getting them a room and Hank was thinking about all this he was thinking he wanted to make it up to Connor, what he'd done, at least start to. And the fact that Connor's forgiven him might not have started to sink in yet, but even once it does Hank thinks his reasoning here's still solid.]

I was thinking, how old are you? And you've been Cyberlife's trained monkey the whole time? Even human kids get a year - if they're rich, anyway, they usually just take a year and travel around, backpack across Europe, or something. Finding themselves, or whatever all that shit's about. I thought that might help you. Thought it might make you happy. And, shit, if this is it, you should get something that makes you happy. I was just thinking about... I don't know, you spending your last however-long we get keeping your head down and looking over your shoulder the whole time and it's just... It's not fair. I mean, I didn't ask you. I guess I should of asked. But uh, it's just, it's just an idea.

[He shrugs and shakes his head, eyes darting away from Connor before coming back and settling on him.]

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