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

Hope that's a good association you've got with me, there.

[Hank gives a wry smile.]

But uh, just keep flipping the channel, stop if you hear anything that catches your ear, and maybe we'll make some new memories ourselves. I don't know, sneak into a concert or something.

[Speaking of memories, that one makes Hank's smile come back, briefly.]

Of course it's a good association. Well, mostly.

[The last addendum is added with his own wry little upturn of a grin, and he changes the stations a few times more. But to be honest, his curiosity has been pulled in the direction of Hank's suggestion.]

Why would we need to sneak into a concert?

[Connor smiling at him is still weird. He'd have to think about it more to figure out why, but it's a good weird, anyway, so maybe why doesn't matter. What does matter is educating Connor on the finer points of teenage rule breaking. Connor never got to be a teenager; this kind of petty crime's probably okay, Hank figures, if it's to give Connor life experience.]

Well, sneaking in to hear a band kind of matches up that band with the memory all on its own, but if it's need you wanna talk about most concerts sell their tickets online now, don't they? Even a lot of the scalpers do it online these days. Unless we can find some really small, weird place that takes cash we might have to do it that way.

[Connor is blissfuly unaware of being signed up for Teenage Shenanigans at Hank's behest. He knows that technically sneaking in is not exactly legal, but the other's explanation makes sense, and to be honest, he would like to experience it someday.

He'd like to experience a lot of things, he thinks, if he's given the chance.]

Then we'll find something. Add it to the figurative list of items to check off, if we're embarking on an extended road trip.

[The station lands on something instrumental, something shaped like jazz, erratic rhythms and soulful melodies. He pauses, considering.] You also listen to this, don't you?

Uh, yeah, sometimes.

[Okay. He knows he's all Connor's got to base this whole human experience thing off of right now, but he's still got to at least kind of say-]

Don't put too much stock in what I like, but uh, yeah. You saw the records at my place, right? Those were Sara's, most of them, but she let me keep em after, uh, after she left. This kind of music's pretty good, if you're in the right mood.

Hey, maybe we could find a jazz concert to sneak into, everyone'll be too chill to stop us.

Yes, I remember seeing your collection the first day I was in your home. [The day he broke the window and tumbled in like a harried thing, wanting to make sure Hank was all right. Slapping him awake and dumping him into the tub, dousing him with cold water. Connor, forever great at building upon first impressions.] Just as I remember your claim that you can tell the difference between analog and digitally compressed music — I guess your jazz records would’ve been vital in proving that, if we ever wished to test this claim.

[Hard to tell if that’s a joke, a little jab at their conversation from before. Or if he’s quite serious about this curiosity, intending to one day see if Hank really can tell the difference.

But Connor’s quiet for a moment, listening. There’s something about it that he cannot quite… describe. As if words do not stick, can’t work as proper labels to describe this music and the conjuring of something it creates. Perhaps he would better be able to quantify it if given proper associations to go hand-in-hand with the compositions.]

I think I do like it, though.

[Hank glances over a few times to watch Connor listen and a soft, proud look spreads slowly over his face. Is it stupid to be proud over something this small?

Nah. Connor liking something all on his own isn't small, and Hank is proud.]

Yeah? Good. Good. I'm glad.

[His fingers tap on the wheel in slow time with the notes of the song and he looks over at Connor again, raising his eyebrows.]

What's this about testing, though? It that hard to believe I've got skills?

[As always, Connor is pleased to have pleased, but this time it is born out of something more sincere -- a personal preference, or the beginning of one.

The music fills the car for few lingering moments more, and there's nothing more between them than the sound of rhythm and the quiet hum of the car moving along the road.

But when Hank speaks, Connor looks at him, arching a single brow in a mirrored expression.]

It isn't difficult to believe. But I wonder if you were stretching the truth, just a little, to prove your point.

[He huffs, amused.]

Guess this is what happens when your best friend's an interrogation bot.

[Hank bites his lip, realizing what he just said, and keeps looking out ahead of him at the road. They've hardly even known each other that long - but as far as Connor goes, hardly that long is kind of a big slice of his life, and as far as Hank goes, Connor's seen parts of him in that tiny little slice of time that no one else has tried to touch for years.

Maybe it's okay. It takes him a couple seconds, but Hank decides to act natural about it.]

Well, go on, interrogator, lay it on me. What was it that piqued your suspicions?

[He's admitting nothing. Yet.]

Edited (typo) 2018-08-16 20:11 (UTC)

[Hank might try to keep on talking like the remark was nothing, but this is Connor. Connor, who might as well be a police hound who caught the scent of something far more interesting, takes a figurative right swerve in that direction to eagerly follow it.]

You consider me your best friend?

[hi THIS IS MORE IMPORTANT]

[Hank opens his mouth, takes a breath, darts his eyes toward Connor with a little frown. Of course Connor isn't going to play along with it, why does he expect Connor to play along with anything?

Not that this is on the same level of last night. Jesus, thank god. It's not the hardest confession Connor's ever hounded out of him. But it's just- It's embarrassing. Hank tilts his head one way and then the other, like the uncertain gesture might cancel some of that feeling out.]

I know uh, you're not- You don't even know what friend means yet, you haven't uh, haven't had time to figure any of that out. So I don't wanna, uh, assume or, or pressure you, or anything.

[Why is he so fucking flustered? This isn't highschool asking someone to the prom, this is a friend thing, but friend things are supposed to happen naturally. Being asked outright like this, it kind of makes him doubt his welcome.

He doesn't even remember the name of his prom date. Maybe a friend thing's a bigger deal than prom, anyway.]

But I, uh- I mean... Yeah, I guess I do. But you uh, you don't have to, uh...

[Stop. Stop? Shut up. Shut up, Hank. What is coming out of your mouth, it is just, it's the stupidest shit.]

[It's too late, Hank, look what you've done. Connor is latching onto every word as an explanation, but they all come out clumsy and strangely flustered. Did he embarrass the Lieutenant by asking? Maybe he was too forward, too eager, and Connor realizes, belatedly, that he's leaning forward a little bit, trying to parse Hank's response.

He leans back, confused about something that he's said.]

Why do you assume that I don't know what qualifies are friendship? [His LED flickers twice, circles around once.] I've already been considering you my friend.

[Hank is... the only friend he has, really.]

[A corner of Hank's lips twitch up for a second.]

Well, there's that. I guess I uh, it's hard to tell what you've got figured out and what you don't. But, uh- I guess there's... degrees, when it comes to this friend stuff. Sometimes it's hard to figure that part out. And different people expect you to act different, sometimes, depending on how close they think you are, in their head.

[Is he making any sense? Explaining friendship itself is a little easier than trying to figure out how to say 'if you don't want to make big old bff-forever bracelets together that's fine' but he's still he's still all flustered and he's not sure how whatever he said's gonna translate in Connor's brain.]

But uh, I didn't mean to uh, assume. That you didn't know what you were asking, I mean. Sorry.

[God, this is so awkward. The only relief from this is that he gets to stare at the road and focus on driving rather than on feeling like a gangly awkward kid in a full grown, middle aged man's body.]

Edited (i'll try to stop nitpicking XD) 2018-08-16 21:33 (UTC)

[Connor continues to watch Hank’s face closely, even if the other man keeps his eyes centered on the road before him. It doesn’t matter; from his profile alone can he sense the tiny twitches of expression, and a cursory, silent scan reveals levels of mild... what? Anxiety? No, that’s too penalizing of a word. It still seems more like embarrassment, like he’s touched upon a subject that Hank might not have been ready to pursue.

But here they are, anyway.]

You’re the only friend I have.

[Connor isn’t the type to throw a pity party, and he certainly isn’t doing so now. It’s merely a statement of fact.]

And I trust you implicitly. I would think that says something for the “degree” of how I view our friendship — unless that’s just one-sided?

No. No, it's not.

[Hank lets out a breath.]

But I guess you don't have much choice there, do you? I mean, look at us. Look at what we're doing. If you want to be free, you don't have much choice but to trust me.

['Uncomfortable' is kind of too tame a word for what that makes him. Whatever it makes him, it shows on his face, in the tightening of his shoulders and his grip on the wheel.]

That's why I've been pushing you to uh, with the music and picking a place you want to go, and all that. Part of why. I think if uh, if you learn about some shit, meet some people, you'll have more to choose from than just... me, you know. If you want. I mean, it's not like I have to trust you with the safety of my whole... my whole self, I guess. That part's kind of one-sided.

[He understands that. He knows that Hank wants him to expand his horizons, because it's been obvious -- asking where he wants to go, what he wants to do. What kind of music he likes to listen to. He could put all that together before even now, but hearing confirmation gives no room for doubt.

And it's also true that Connor is reliant on Hank right now, that his safety is far more guaranteed while in the presence of another human who knows how to escort him around and who can give him advice on how to function properly as a "free" man (what irony, that an RK800 would need such assistance, given he was designed to work well with humans from the start). Yet there's something in the... framing of all of this that settles unwell in Connor. For a moment, he cannot figure out what it is. Tries to spin it all in his head, over and over, picking and pulling at meaning and implication.

His face twists into a frown, a slow, dawning kind of realization. But Connor doesn't ask directly this time; he tests the waters with a generalized statement, like someone casting a net out to see what's caught in the twine when they pull it back in. A man carefully watching for a reaction.]

So I might find someone else to be my own best friend, is what you're saying.

Um.

[Hank does actually look over at Connor’s face this time, trying - and failing - to figure out what Connor thinks about that. He taps his fingers on the wheel, too fast this time to be in beat with the music.]

Yeah. If you want. I mean - choices, you know?

[Connor's face is hard to read; it's taken on that expression of being focused on the other, the sort he wears when he's trying to puzzle out something.

At least it'll not be a new sight to Hank.]

Lieutenant... [The fidgeting -- the tapping -- continues, he notes. Maybe anxiety wasn't too strong of a word to describe whatever's mildly happening now.] Are you under the impression that I'm going to leave you one day?

[That might be an interesting way of phrasing the question, but, well. There's really no better straightforward way to ask.]

[It’s interesting phrasing, for sure, interesting in a way that makes Hank pull a face.]

You make me sound so...

[Pathetic. That’s not the only word that fits there, but it’s probably the best one.]

Look, you’re going to make your own life anyway, that’s the endgame here. So, I don’t know, what does it matter?

[The interrogator in him doesn't let that slide, doesn't let it slip away so easily. Not that he treats this as such, but some things about Connor are ingrained, to never fade away no matter how much of his own person he becomes.]

...You didn't directly answer the question.

[It matters because he wants to understand. It matters because Hank is his friend, and if this is an insecurity between them, he would like to address it.]

You mean, do I think you’re going to ‘leave me’.

[He puts some derision into that last phrase, all but rolling his eyes. He shrugs, the movement quick and loose.]

I don’t know, I can’t see the future. But if you’re gonna keep on this...

[He looks in the rearview mirror and the window to switch lanes, using the moment to take a breath.]

You’re not asking the right question. The question’s ‘should you’. Not ‘will you’. And, I don’t know. Is this really so weird, me just wanting you to know all your options?

[The annoyance is maybe not completely unexpected, but it's unwanted all the same. Connor's lips thin.]

Then maybe I should clarify, if my original question wasn't to-the-point enough. Are you afraid I'm going to leave you one day? Because I have no intention of it. It's not a matter of 'will' or 'should' at all.

Isn’t it? All sorts of shit happens that people don’t intend. Maybe you’ll decide you’re better off somewhere else tomorrow, or next week, or maybe you’ll- I don’t know, maybe something else will happen. I just wanted you to know it was okay if you did, not- I mean, you don’t have to worry about what I’m afraid of. That’s not what I wanted all this to be about.

[Hank’s irritation, unfortunately for Connor, has not gone away. This little talk was supposed to be about- about reassuring Connor, or something. Not Hank talking about fear.]

[It's such an unsubtle deflection; that's all it is, Connor thinks. Still avoiding an answer, which, logically, is an answer to its own.

He had hoped to be nothing more than reassuring. To explain to Hank that he cannot imagine not spending time with him, that even though they hadn't known each other for that long, his experiences as his partner were formative in ways incomprehensible at the time. Hank had a hand in the push towards becoming his own person, he was still aiding him in that -- why would he ever decide he'd be better off "somewhere else"?

Connor leans back in his seat. Tries to be amicable. Being Connor, he just ends up being vaguely passive aggressive.]

If you say so, Lieutenant. [A pause.] But what I said still stands.

What you-

[He doesn’t plan on going anywhere. Yeah. That.]

Oh. Right. Well- me too. It’s okay if you change your mind. That’s all I meant.

[He frowns out at the road, the jazz a weird, mismatched counterpoint to the mood in the car, and tries to decide if that little attempt at ‘small talk’ - ha - was worth it. On one hand, he spent the last however long doing something other than obsessing over when Cyberlife’s going to call. On the other, now he feels a slightly different flavor of shitty, and has a quiet moment in which to reflect on how screwed up that is. Connor hadn’t even told him anything actually bad, had he?]

Could you, uh- there should be more of that stupid soup under your seat. Or mine, I don’t remember.

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