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

[Hank watches him, grimacing. Connor has this weird way of making Hank doubt himself.]

Well shit, maybe I don't know what I know after all. Congratulations Connor, you won the argument. Now go walk my dog - please - so I can go keep my stomach from eating itself.

[He starts to walk toward the building, then pauses.]

Um, what do you do for uh... for fuel? You guys don't eat, do you, should we be looking for, uh, a charger, or something?

[Argument officially won. It's okay, Hank, you'll have no room to doubt yourself again once Connor slips in another passive-aggressive comment sooner rather than later. It'll definitely happen at some point.]

I can recharge. You know the stations that people leave their androids to dock with -- the "parking" zones? They act as a secondary location to keep an android charged if need be, though the point is moot. CyberLife saw to the fact that I was running at optimal power capacity at all times.

Regardless of that, I have a core battery, for a lack of a better term. It can keep me active for many years to come without the need for locating a remote power source. So again, a moot point.

Well, that's one less thing to worry about. Okay uh, see you in a minute.

[Once the more-than-a-minute is up Hank walks out again with a bag of food, hunching his shoulders and rubbing at his hair.]

I know it'll be a while before anyone gives enough of a shit to wonder where I went but uh, I think I need a disguise too. I know you need time to work on that code stuff but maybe we should do something about me first.

[Connor had walked the perimeter with Sumo in that more-than-a-minute, though it was less a walk than it was a lazy amble. But Sumo is such a laid-back creature that he never seems to be in a hurry, and as a result, neither was he.

He comes back around just to see Hank leave the establishment.]

Would you like suggestions on how to begin?

[A question couched in politeness, as if that'll stop Connor from offering his opinion anyway.]

[Hank sits on the hood and pulls a burger out of the bag, wanting to spend time outside the car while he can.]

Well, I got to pick out yours, it's only fair if you get to pick mine.

[Here it comes:]

You should start by cutting your hair. And consider trimming down the amount of facial hair you have -- or remove the latter altogether.

[Hank stops before his next bite, putting the burger down instead and frowning at his knees.]

I know that's disguise 101, but do you think we could just uh, trim the beard, pull back the hair, uh, I don't know something... Not so clean cut?

[His brow furrows.]

We could, but it wouldn't be nearly as stark of a change. Which is, as you said, the point of a disguise.

Yeah. Yeah, I know. It's just-

[He runs a hand through his hair, grimacing at Connor. He knows he's being a baby about this, it's just-]

It wouldn't really be a disguise, I'd just be going back to looking like a cop. I mean, I used to look like that all the time.

[That didn't really come out the way he was thinking it, in his head. If he's lucky - and he's rarely is - it'll go some way toward convincing Connor anyway, even if it didn't explain what Hank wanted it to explain. Or maybe didn't want it to explain. One or the other. Or maybe both.]

[There are times in which Connor is oblivious, explanations and implications flying over his head without completely realizing it. And then there are moments where his programming is nothing short of successful; that knowing why humans act a certain way, things they prefer and what they’d wish to avoid, make perfect sense. He’s done his research on Hank, of course, and it doesn’t take long for him to understand why he’d rather not look like a younger, more successful version of himself. A life that he had lost completely, a phantom of the past.

It would be… uncomfortable. Like asking Connor to wear his uniform again, and all it represents — he could, but it would be wearing a reminder of what he no longer was, etched into his appearance.]

I… see. I won’t ask you to do something that you’re uncomfortable with.

[There are certain matters in which he will not doggedly hold onto; this is a rare case, admittedly, but Connor knows when to unclench his proverbial jaws.]

Tying your hair back and a trim should suffice for now.

Uh.

[Maybe he did get lucky after all. Or maybe - well, that pause was hard to interpret. Maybe he doesn't want to interpret it. So instead of saying 'since when' or thinking too hard about it, Hank takes a breath, straightens up a little, and tries to relax.]

...Thanks.

[He takes a moment to eat, waiting until he's been thinking about just the food for long enough that he can sound casual again.]

We'll need something to tie it back with. And clothes, probably. Or- god, I don't know, hair dye. Hey, could dye yours too, you know. We could match.

[It's kind of a lame attempt at a joke, and a lame attempt at a grin to go with it, but it's what Hank has. He'll bounce back in a second.]

[He gives him that moment to eat, letting the silence filter in between them. Slightly awkward again, but- No, Hank's relaxed a bit. He had said the right thing.]

Are you trying to make us look like we're related?

[It's also a joke in return, though hard to tell with how Connor delivers his statements.]

[Hank probably couldn't tell, because he considers it seriously. He shrugs.]

That'd make it easier to talk to people. Why else would an old guy like me be running around the country with someone like you? I mean, why else that doesn't make me look like a gross old skeezebag?

'Someone like me.'

[Hank.....he had been joking, but now here they are.]

I'm not sure that's a reasonable conclusion to jump to. [My goodness, does that make his LED spin. Look at it go.] Isn't it normal for friends to go on road trips?

[The stress on the word makes Hank snort and smile a little.]

Yeah, sure, when they're all the same age. Young and fresh and out from under anyone's thumb for the first time-

[Hank's voice goes more and more fake-cheerful until this last part, where it goes high pitched and he stuffs the last of the hamburger in his mouth, talking around it while he waves his fists in the air.]

Woooo! Spring break!

[Then he starts rolling up the top of the bag, swallowing the food and dropping the tone. Now back to your regularly scheduled Hank.]

But you and me? I don't know. You don't think people'll think it's weird?

[Sorry, but this android is Not Qualified At All to answer this question. This is a territory he only possesses very detached, empirical knowledge about.]

Do you think it's strange? I'll defer to your judgment.

I- [Would he? Does he?] Yeah. A little. And other people will too, they’ll assume we’re family. So.

[He shrugs a shoulder, studying Connor’s face and comparing it to his own.]

It would help if our hair was the same color. Not sure what to do about the rest of it - we’ll just say you got the other parts from the other side of the family.

All right.

[Then family it is. Though the issue of facial structure is a bit of an obstacle. Then again, genetics is a tricky thing; they’d likely still be able to get away with it.]

Then you should dye your hair to match mine. It’ll be simpler that way.

[Hank’s the one with the grey, after all.]

[Hank nods, sliding the bag of dogfood out of the car and gesturing at Sumo to try and get him to come over. Sumo stares at him, sniffs at a stain on the ground, and moves closer to Connor to lean against his leg.]

Then I hope they programmed you to know about hair dye, because I don't know a thing about that shit. Always said I'd never dye it, especially once it started going white early.

[While he talks he scoops a handful of food out of the bag and holds it out, jiggling it in what he hopes is a tempting kind of way.]

Come on, you can hang out with Connor any time. You've gotta be at least a little bit hungry.

I imagine it isn't a difficult process.

[Dyeing hair, at least. Should he mention to Hank that such a thing isn't necessary for many models of androids? He supposes it isn't relevant to the issue at hand, since he isn't the one changing his hair color.]

Go on, Sumo. [He looks down at the dog, motioning at the food.] Don't you want to eat?

[That gets Sumo to go and Hank waits, eyebrows raised, for him to come over and eat.]

I think he actually likes you better.

[He brushes the dogfood powder off his hands and stands, going back toward the driver’s seat.]

Come on, let’s get going. We’ll pick some dye up somewhere before we stop for the night.

I don't know if he likes me "better", but I have to admit that utilizing his attentions is what helped me escape the backseat of your car.

[Connor and Sumo, partners in crime! Thick as thieves!]

All right. We're coming.

[…he says while still lingering a little longer with Sumo, since the dog is still eating. Sometimes Connor really is like a little kid with "his" pet.]

[Hank huffs, smiling.]

So that's how you did it? Sumo.

[His tone's faux-reproachful for a second and then he smiles, leaning against the car and watching them.]

Good boy.

[He almost asks about that program, if Connor's gotten anywhere with it yet, but watching Connor with Sumo, he can't quite bring himself to. Connor will already have to deal with Cyberlife today, and he knows about the programs, the coding, Hank's hopes for all that. Hank can let it sit. He can let it sit for one day.]

[Connor crouches down next to Sumo, patting the thick fur on his back as the dog eats. He looks at Hank, grinning a little.]

He’s very persistent when he’s hungry.

[A beat.]

How long have you owned him? Since he was a puppy?

Um, no, actually, we uh-

[Hank's smile - it's weird to see Connor grin, weird and kind of cool - doesn't fade, exactly, but it twists into something uncertain, kind of awkward. Hank crosses his arms over his chest, looking down at his feet and then back at Connor, then at Connor's hand on Sumo's back.]

We picked him out at a shelter.

[He hesitates a second more and then says it matter of factly, his tone casual and even nearly up until the last couple words.]

My uh, my son picked him out. I think he, uh, I think he thought Sumo was a horse.

[Hank sucks at his teeth for a second, looking down at the car.]

He was already a year or two old at the time. Sumo, I mean. Kind of a shame, would of been something to see him actually small.

no subject

in which i delve into headcanon and early ass promotional material for this tag

sounds good to me

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

of course i have to make this dramatic