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

[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.]

[He lets those words sink in, the idea of a vacation where he had never even given thought to it before. Traveling the world, experiencing people and places. He wonders if Hank would have fun, too, doing all of it with him.

Strange how far away it feels. Like an inaccessible route that’s been blocked off, thanks to the reality of Cyberlife still lingering in every shadow of every footstep they take. But maybe Hank is right, and this might be his only opportunity.

They don’t know how any of this is going to end, after all. He might be free, have years and years left to his name to... learn what it is to be him.

Or he could have days, and all of this is just wishful thinking. A pipe dream dead on arrival.]

...I was released and issued in August. Three months, approximately.

[To answer how old he is.]

Shiiiit.

[It's not that it's bad news, he just... It's hard to wrap his head around. Three months old says something very different to Hank's old brain than the adult - obviously young, green as hell, but adult - man sitting in front of him. Three months, and this is what Connor gets. Hank reaches out to maybe touch Connor's leg or something, a sympathetic gesture, but the part of him that hasn't got the forgiveness memo yet tells his hand to stop before it gets there. Then Hank realizes it's fine, Connor would be totally fine with Hank offering up some human contact but it's too late for a casual gesture now so he just taps his hand on the floor and leaves it there like he just wanted to give it a change of location.

Right.]

Well. Just. Think about it, okay? If there's anything you want to see - like, I don't know, the grand canyon or something, or something less cliche, whatever you want - you just tell me, okay, and we'll make it happen.

[Even Connor is aware of that stilted gesture, dying halfway through and therefore ending with Hank just laying his hand flat on the ground. A smile crosses his face, looking somewhat apologetic.

His turn to reach out, then, tapping Hank’s knee gently with the back of his hand.]

Well. You did buy me very fashionable and not at all ironic swim trunks. It would be a shame for me to not visit the beach someday and utilize them. When the weather is more fitting for it.

[That wouldn't be funny from anyone else, but from Connor the dry humor feels like a treat, and Hank realizes he's kind of smiling. Maybe it's the gesture, too; stupid but true, but he's pretty sure they've hit the limit for heart to hearts today so luckily Hank doesn't have to admit anything.]

Yeah. Yeah, that'd be nice. There are indoor pools too, maybe we can find something.

[He gathers himself up and stands, looks around for the top to the bottle, frowns, and starts digging around in the bag for it.]

Oh, yeah. Forgot about this, uh-

[He holds out the bag, or really the hair gel and comb left in it, out to Connor.]

I know how you get about your hair. Probably shoulda got some dog treats too though, help me convince Sumo to share the bed.

[There's nothing for reminding you how huge your dog is like seeing him take up probably more space in a bed than you were going to.]

[Connor doesn’t yet stand, instead remaining seated as the bag is handed to him. He takes it, then rummages at the bottom, to unearth... hair gel and a comb!

His eyes widen in pleasant surprise, though what Hank says makes him look up at the man, unsure what to think.]

How I get about my hair? [That seems to trigger a memory, flickering across his expression.] That’s right. You called me vain.

[Hank's expression is blank for a second as he tries to decide if he really believes that they're solid enough that he can tease. Then his eyebrows rise and his face takes on a look that might be called challenging, if his gaze wasn't quite so unfocused.]

Yeah. I did.

[He gives up looking for the top to the bottle and just sets it on a side table, perching on the pillow and nudging Sumo with his foot in hopes that'll make the dog move over. All it does is make Sumo look at him with those big eyes and Hank sighs, stilling his foot and settling back against the headboard.]

Gonna tell me I'm wrong about that?

Yes. You are.

[He is obviously not at all offended, his tone revealing nothing of the sort. But what’s wrong with wanting to look presentable? To appear neat, clean, and pleasant to interact with?

Maybe it’s Cyberlife’s inherent programming that dictates this part of his personality. Or maybe it’s his own personal preference, developed from nowhere in particular.]

Sumo. Come down here. [Seeing Hank’s failed attempts at coaxing Sumo to move, Connor gives it a try.]

[Hank watches as Sumo lifts his head, thinks about it, and then slowly begins to clamber down on the floor with Connor.]

Huh. Shit, he already likes you better than he likes me.

[While Sumo makes his slow way toward trying to use Connor as a pillow Hank thinks about how awkward he didn't expect to feel right now, going to bed in the room with someone who isn't. Hank shoves his shoes off and lets them fall over the edge of the bed, grimacing a little. What's Connor going to do, just sit there? Is he going to just sit there in the dark? Hank decides not to turn off the light and just hope the whiskey hits him soon enough that it'll be easy to fall asleep anyway.]

My uh, phone should be somewhere if you want to do something other than, uh... sit there. While I sleep.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject