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

[Unfortunately for Connor, that is a solid argument. And it's difficult to volley one right back that doesn't center around "but I just want to make sure you're feeling well and taking care of yourself", which he knows isn't quite as effective in Hank's case.

He mouth remains pulled into a slight frown.]

I don't doubt that you think you'll be using your best judgment. That doesn't mean I still can't worry.

[All the more reason to hasten running the programming, as if there weren't already plenty.]

[Hank makes a face at him, uncomfortable, and shifts around until his back is braced between the car door and the seat. It's not the most comfy position but for sleeping in a car where the backseat is filled with dog, it's pretty good, and this way he can watch Connor while he does it. He wraps his arms around his chest, watching Connor and thinking about that, that worry.]

Do you think you uh, imprint on people? Or I mean, they imprint on you? Maybe androids in general but uh, mostly just you. I don't want to be condescending or whatever but uh, real talk, do you think that's what happened with...?

[He gestures between the two of them, looking apprehensive, and then folds that arm back under his other one. It would explain a lot, if Connor just kind of imprinted on his assigned partner like a baby duck.]

[Connor has half a mind to ask if he wants him to move to the backseat for the sake of legroom (that doesn’t look very comfortable), when Hank’s question has him furrowing his brow. On instinct, he scoots over closer to the door on the off-chance his partner does want to stretch out a little.]

Imprint?

[He isn’t quite sure what to make of that question.]

Because I’m concerned about you?

[Is that your logic, Hank?]

Well-

[Hank hunches his shoulders up, feeling awkward.]

You make it sound so dumb. Hell, I don't know how androids work, maybe they do imprint on humans, try to, like, pair up, or whatever. Cause, I don't know Connor, the first nice thing I ever did for you was to fuckin robot roofie you, tear out a fuckin piece of your body, and shove you in the back of my car. And before that, too, what the hell kind of reason did I give you to...

[He shrugs. That awkward feeling hasn't gone away so, yay! That's fun.]

I don't know, it'd just, it'd explain a lot, that's all.

[It’s odd, when Hank puts it that way. Makes it sound like he latched onto the man rather quickly as his friend, as if doing so were... irrational? And for a brief moment, his LED swirls on his temple, trying to decide if maybe what Hank said is true, and tries to think of situations where androids had “imprinted” on their owners, but his database comes up with nothing matching that exact term.]

I...

[But he thinks of Daniel on that rooftop, helicopter blades pushing relentless air against a clear pool already tainted with a body draining blood. Remembers how attached he was to a family that was keen on replacing him for a newer model, and how that made him feel — enough to go deviant and act out in hurt and anger, with no other recourse available to him.

(Remembers high caliber bullets tearing through his body on the lip of that rooftop, splattering blue at Connor’s feet.)

Connor’s LED flashes into the yellow. Maybe not exactly the example he wanted to dredge up from memory, those months back.]

I think it’s possible for androids to get attached to humans. But if you’re asking me why I... consider you my friend—

[Well.]

We’ve been through a lot together in these past few days. Even before you took my tracker out. I’ve never... worked with someone so closely before.

[Even to his own ears, it sounds like a flimsy reason. His mind works at finding something else more satisfying to say as silence settles.]

That is to say, I don’t believe there is a single thing that qualifies as causing a friendship between two people. Don’t humans call it “chemistry”?

[Connor seems to really consider it, which surprises Hank. Hank has just enough time to think about what it would mean if Connor says, yes, actually, I realize I did imprint on you and therefore everything we've shared is false before Connor begins to come to a conclusion - a conclusion that, Hank's stupidly grateful to realize, has nothing to do with anything Hank suggested. The relief makes him snort, amused, looking down at his knees.]

Chemistry, huh? You poor bastard.

[But whether Connor should stick with Hank or find someone better is a talk Hank's already suffered through, so he leaves that at that.]

But I guess you're right. Feelings like that, just liking someone, they don't always uh, make sense like we want them to. It's just weird, that's all, like I ought to give you a better reason to give a shit than just, I don't know, being me at you.

[Hank rolls his head back against the headrest to point his jaw at the backseat and tries to pull his tone back up into something lighter, or as light as he can get it.]

Maybe it's Sumo, you ever thought of that? I mean, you don't have that much experience with feeling stuff yet, maybe you just like me for my dog.

[He isn't sure what to make of that response, other than the fact that he's glad it's not a dismissal. Poor bastard, though. That self-deprecation again, which will never fail to make Connor's brows cinch together.]

I haven't had much of a chance to figure out the complexities behind feelings, you're right about that. But I know that you don't have to give me a reason to feel the way I do; I just do.

[It's so... inelegant of an explanation, running against the grain of the detail-oriented mind of an RK800. But for now, it'll have to do. He really can't unravel the intricacies of something as complex as human emotion just yet, not when he's barely understanding it himself.

The last part, the lighter tone, he does catch this time. He follows through with it.]

But... no, never mind. I take it back, Lieutenant. I'm only here because of you're dog. That is exceptionally clear to me now.

[The abrupt switch away from Connor saying he just likes Hank because he likes him, the weird guilty feeling that oozes up in Hank when Connor says that and the sudden, unexpected release from it makes Hank laugh, genuinely laugh. He ducks his head against the seat as he does it, slumping over his crossed arms to slide further down in his seat.]

There you go, it's a lot more rational than you thought after all. I mean, who can resist a big dumb face like that? You can't resist one either, right Sumo?

[Hank peers over behind his seat and Sumo gives a low boof, his tail thumping a couple times against the door behind him. Hank grins, satisfied at having just insulted the faces of the two people that matter the most in this world.]

Hey, look, it's mutual.

A "big dumb face". [Connor is ever hard to offend when it comes to something like this, as has been proven in the past. As such, he is hardly offended now, not when the atmosphere has so obviously taken on something far more humorous. It acts to ease the tension, even if such a thing will only ever be temporary.]

Then what does that say about you? You've lived with him much longer than I've even known him.

Edited (jfc today is stupid typo day) 2018-08-26 17:52 (UTC)

[Hank’s mouth twitches back up into a smile again, and his voice is fond.]

Yeah, he’s put up with me for a while. But nature slapped this together by accident, yours is that way on purpose. Sumo’s kind of a connoisseur that way, he can tell real dumb when he sees it.

[Connor almost laughs at that, but instead huffs out the tiniest bit of air in disbelief that certainly isn't sincere.]

I think CyberLife would take issue with you criticizing their design work so harshly. An inordinate amount of research has gone into both my voice and appearance.

[They've sort of had this conversation in passing before, though Hank was a bit harsher then.]

Yeah, ‘inordinate’ is the right word for it. Who’d they research, a buncha preteens oohing and aahing over baby’s first boyband pictures?

[Last time he said something like this it was deliberate, a pointed way to tell Connor his attempts to bond weren’t working. This time it’s the opposite; this time Hank’s just razzing him and is obviously enjoying himself, just starting to get into his groove.]

[Wow get Connor some ice for that sick burn

Though it’s a little above his head, references that require more than a modicum or pop culture knowledge that he doesn’t always possess.]

And are you implying something more than the fact that I would apparently be suited for the entertainment industry?

Hey, you said it, not me.

[As easy as it would be to turn that into a joke about Connor admitting he'd make a good stripper, or something, that kinda feels like it'd make things weird. So Hank leaves the implied whatever at that. He'll probably wait until the poor kid's been out in the real world for more than a month before he makes those sorts of jokes. Keep it PG, Hank.]

Nah, you just got the kinda face that'd be on some tween magazine, you know? Why, what did you think I was implying?

[Hank, did you forget that they went to an android sex club together? Though admittedly, maybe a stripper comment would make the conversation go down a very awkward path that the other man wouldn’t be prepared for.]

I have a face that is meant to be pleasant and approachable. I simply thought you were implying that I had a handsome face, which would contradict the point you were trying to make. But I guess that is what you were saying.

Well- [Hank tilts his head, studying the face in question.] Yeah, I guess that's it. I mean, you all look like you're about to walk into a photoshoot at any second, which I guess makes sense, but you look like... Good looking in a harmless, dorky kind of way. Not really the kind of look I'd expect them to go in for on a cop bot. You can look goofy and handsome at the same time, you know, just cause I'm all one all the time doesn't mean both are mutually exclusive.

[Unsure if they’re still talking in underhanded compliments, Connor falls back into rational thinking. His reply is to reason out his supposed “goofiness” as pointed out by Hank.]

Don’t forget that I was also created for the sake of negotiation. I’m sure what you’re perceiving as “goofy” [to use Hank’s inelegant term] was just an attempt to not look intimidating to those I’m trying to talk down.

[Every part of his design had a purpose, he was certain of it. Of course, it could simply be Hank’s perception of him, which he could hardly change.]

Mmm. Yeah, that makes sense.

[Hank slumps a little further still. He doesn't need to sleep, that's still true, but he's relaxing now and has to brace his feet on the side of the footwell against it.]

But I don't know, there's lotsa ways you can get someone to trust you, if you know what you're doing. You saying I don't have a face that can charm someone into a confession? [Hank doesn't bother to hide his little grin.] Gotta be a cleancut prettyboy to make it work?

[An arch of the brow as he neatly sidesteps the “clean-cut pretty boy” comment.]

Being charming consists of a multitude of factors. Appearance actually has very little to do with it.

[He gives the appearance of scrutinizing Hank, a look that the man should probably recognize. The same way Connor peers at a piece of evidence.]

It has more to do with attitude and demeanor. Yours is often... rough around the edges.

Heh.

[Hank blinks slowly as his body keeps trying to tell him it's time to doze, and mentally awards a point to Connor. He's not wrong.]

I dunno, I used to clean up okay. But I mean, some people respond to rough too. You think you got to be smooth and polite all the time to get the job done?

No. But that’s not charm. That’s intimidation.

[He knows the difference, being what he is. Being able to do both.]

...take a nap, Lieutenant. You look you’re about to fall asleep.

That your example of bein' charming?

[Hank lets his eyelids do what they want for a moment - and only a moment - before he takes a slow breath and blinks them open again. Yeah, sure, nap, whatever, he's got heckling to do.]

That wouldn't convince a housefly to take a nap.

[Do houseflies nap? Yes. Yes they do. Fuck you.]

[Um, no? Incorrect.]

I don’t think houseflies nap.

[Thus your point is invalid!]

Well, fuck, not when you talk to em that way they don't.

[Hank squints balefully at Connor. Or maybe at the concept of napping. Or maybe at the idea that he doesn't know much about wildlife. All three? Yeah, he can multitask, let's say all three.]

[It’s almost amazing how Hank can be nearly as stubborn as Connor. The android pauses, giving an idea an assessment, before clarifying with a question:]

Am I supposed to construe this as a challenge to charm you to sleep?

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