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

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.

I’m not going to change my mind.

[-he says this immediately, while still conceding to duck down and stick a searching hand under the seat. Even edged with the awkward atmosphere in the car, Connor is ever the people-pleaser.]

Your soup isn’t here.

[His hand feels no soup can, but there’s something smooth and cool— he plucks it up and straightens. It’s an old penny.]

...but maybe we should consider finding you something more solid to eat.

[Hank looks over to see what Connor’s holding, then shrugs.]

Sure. Sumo could probably do with another stop anyway. Think I saw a sign for some fast food joint right up here at the next exit. We should probably change the hologram over the car too, it’s that little box next to the radio there. Fiddle with it and it should change the car model, paintjob, license plate, all that. Nothing too flashy.

[The penny is palmed and put in his pocket, for no other reason than because he can. Connor leans forward as instructed, and the car changes accordingly. Paint job, body style, license plate.]

Like so?

Probably.

[He shrugs, tone dismissive, looking at the road as the car drifts over toward the exit lane. It’s not that he’s mad at Connor, he tells himself. That would be stupid. And honestly, maybe he’s not. It’s just... It’s a lot, his reasons for doing this in the first place, Connor giving a shit about those reasons, giving a shit about him. It’s annoying. He’s annoyed. Or maybe he’s just, just on edge. Not that his stupid issues are the most pressing thing there is, right now, to be on edge about.

Probably better if he eats now, anyway. Depending on how things go, he might not want to after Connor gives his bosses that report.]

Guess we’ll find out.

[Having a general idea why his tone’s dismissive and distracted doesn’t mean he’s going to change it. He’s not being short with the guy, anyway. He’s just driving.]

[The tone is dismissive and terse, and he's heard it before. And Connor considers, for all of a handful of seconds, of dropping it. To let the awkwardness in the car slowly eke out, like water dripping through a leak.

He dips his gaze back to the road, watching as they slowly shift into the exit lane; in the distance there's the quaint-looking parking lot of a fast food place, as unglamorous as one might expect out in the middle of nowhere. And for a moment, it's almost as if Connor is going to actually let something go. A small miracle unto its own, until reality sinks in, and proves that he still doesn't know how to do such a thing.]

Becoming agitated when someone affirms the longevity of a friendship is paradoxical.

[JUST SO YOU KNOW.]

[Hank realizes after a few seconds that his mouth is actually open and that he is staring, shocked and offended, at Connor instead of watching the road. He looks back just in time to make the exit, talking in an exaggerated, faux-patient tone]

Well, Connor, there’s something unique and special inside all of us. Inside you there’s circuits and blue goo and magical robo-unicorns farting out perfect logical thought processes, inside me there’s...

[It takes a second before Hank realizes he has no idea how to finish that, even sarcastically. He shrugs, pulls a face, and waves an arm around, hoping that will be enough and that the spirit of the thing, the sarcastic derision, will show through. Give in to the spirit of his message, Connor, not the letter.]

[That's too strange and too much of a weirdly-put together metaphor(??) for Connor to even remotely understand the point that's trying to be made. The sarcasm is nigh unmissable, of course, but it leaves him vaguely confused, and wishing that Hank would finish the comparison even if he knows it's derisive.

That, compiled with something that must be what exasperation feels like, makes him put words in his mouth.]

-irrational thinking?

Ha. Yeah. Among other things.

[Connor did try to fill the blanks in, to say just what it is Hank is, but of all the things he could have said that’s probably the least painful, the most obvious, and it halfway makes Hank relax.]

You telling me you haven’t figured that out, even after all this time?

[Wasn’t he thinking it hadn’t been that long, earlier? Well, sometimes it feels like something else, since he met Connor. Like the beginning of a lifetime, maybe.

It’s been long enough, anyway, that Connor’s had plenty of examples of Hank’s irrationality. No excuses.]

[Connor wouldn’t be so cruel to say something hurtful, even if it was wrapped up in the truth. Not purposefully, anyway. ~~This isn’t machine route Connor.~~

Has this android learned the human gesture of rolling one’s eyes, though? Not quite yet, though Hank is definitely adding XP to gaining that particular level up.]

No, I know that much. Hearing confirmation from yourself at least makes it all the more a certainty.

[He’s had plenty of examples in the short time he’s known the man.]

Well, you can’t complain. You’re the one who said you were, uh-

[He realizes it still puts him off, this idea, that something about just saying it outright freaks him out a little, but realizes too late to avoid stumbling a little over what was meant to be a tease. He tries to cover it up with a smile that comes out more like a twitch of his lips, seen only briefly before he turns back to the road to pull into the mickey d’s parking lot.

-that you’re sticking with me, you knew what you were getting into.

[At least hearing Hank say it, as awkward and the delivery might be, seems to have the opposite effect on Connor. A small mollification, in knowing that his declaration of continually being Hank’s friend has at least stuck.]

I could say the same for you, of course.

[If Connor doesn’t get to complain, then neither do you, Hank. Once the car finds a parking spot, he waits for the other to exit before he’ll do the same.]

What about Sumo?

Sumo?

[Hank frowns at the dog, baffled, trying to find a way to connect the question to their previous conversation and not coming up with anything that makes sense.]

Pretty sure he's sticking with me too, not like he's got a choice about- Oh. You meant, uh-

[Hank points his thumb out the window, at the parking lot.]

Right.

[He gets out and opens the back door, leaning over and patting his knees encouragingly while he waits for Sumo to heft himself out and down. Hank forgot a leash when he was packing, because you should never pack when you're freaking the fuck out, but Sumo's always been pretty chill so Hank's not really worried about him getting distracted and running away.]

You know, out of the three of us, he's probably the only one who's actually not going to complain, like, at the first possible opportunity. You do complain, too, you can't tell me you don't.

[The question had meant to lead into what they were going to do about Sumo (he doubted dogs were allowed inside, and it would be prudent for someone to walk with him and let him do his thing), but Hank derails this line of thinking with talk of complaints.]

What is it you think I complain about?

[He looks vaguely skeptical and adds:]

I only make observations and offer advice based upon those same observations.

Bullshit.

[Hank’s tone is relatively friendly, despite the curse and the way he’s still focused on Sumo. He straightens, backing up to give the dog room to heft himself out of the car.]

Maybe that’s what your words say but I was married, Connor. I know a tone when I hear it.

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lmfao robo-unicorns

well he wants his weird metaphors to be inclusive

how thoughtful of him

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