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

'm not a lieutenant anymore.

[He says it a little because it's true, a lot because he wants to buy himself a little time. And of course he can't keep looking at Connor while they talk about this, of course he can't, so he shuffles up straighter in his seat and twists to look at Sumo instead.]

And I can accept a compliment just fine, if I hear one that makes sense. I know there's a lot of shit you haven't got a hang of yet, but you don't compliment a guy for, I don't know, writing a big check to some charity if his check bounces, that's not how it works. Admire someone who's actually done something or, I don't know, find something to say about me that's actually true, then I'll be right there with you, okay?

[More pushback, more deflection — textbook, really. Connor wishes Hank weren’t so stubborn; but then again, so is he.]

So you’re saying that it doesn’t make sense for me to say that the sort of man you were then is still reflected in the sort of man you are now? Look at what you’re doing for me, Hank. [See, no “Lieutenant”.] You can’t possibly say that’s true.

[Hank hooks his chin over the side of the headrest to make up for the way he's sagging, for the way that hackles-up, defensive feeling is pretty much deflating out of him. The easiest way to argue that, see, is to say that trying to save Connor isn't good, isn't worth doing, and Hank's not going to do that. Hank doesn't even consider doing it.]

The guy I was- He's not exactly someone you should be counting on, either. I mean, you know how he ended up. Just, don't thank me for doing anything for you yet, okay? Not until you're safe. Not until you've actually got something to thank me for.

[No. That’s not acceptable either. Connor looks at Hank’s profile, as if trying to draw his gaze towards him — it doesn’t seem to work, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to look away. If he needs to hammer this home, then he will. He should.

(They won’t know what the next day will bring them. Connor might not survive it, his freedom cut short by CyberLife’s sudden wrath. Or a failed revolution where androids were already beginning to be recalled, destroyed. There’s nothing to say that won’t be him sooner rather than later. Surely Hank knows that.)]

No. I want to thank you. You deserve it. And if for some reason I can’t be free, or I don’t make it out of this, I don’t want you to think that you were wrong for trying. That you’re not doing good right now by aiding me.

I’d rather die than be under CyberLife’s thumb again. Than to be a mindless machine. No matter what happens, you’re doing me a favor.

[Hank's breathing hard now, looking back at Sumo but not really seeing him, uncurling one arm to grab onto the side of the seat. He blinks a few times, hard - not, this time, because he's tired. He shakes his head, mute for a few seconds, and forces the view in front of him not to blur.]

You're not gonna die. We'll figure something out. That'll really be something worth thanking me for, won't it, and then we won't even have to have this argument. You're gonna be just, just fine. Okay?

You don’t know that.

[Of course Connor wants to believe it. Of course Connor will try his damnedest to survive, to be free, to keep them both safe. But there are no guarantees. They’ve both worked enough deviant cases to know that things aren’t so easy for those trying to hide from authority. They've been on that other side.

There’s definitely a reaction from Hank, now. If he were not trying so hard to impress a point upon the man, he’d stop and analyze it — maybe even lift his foot off of the proverbial gas a little. But a reaction is better than a dismissal, and so Connor continues.]

I just want you to know, without a doubt, that you have my gratitude.

[This part, however, is worthy of a pause before he pushes the words out:]

I don’t want you to drown yourself in guilt all over again if something does happen to me, Hank.

[At the word gratitude Hank makes a little noise. Not any noise in particular, just the kind of noise you make when, say, you cut yourself unexpectedly, a little sound escaping him.]

I don't make promises I can't keep, Connor. Not any more. Sorry.

[And he knows it's a possibility - hell, a probability. Hank knows things probably aren't going to go well for them here. He's been thinking it, admitting it to himself, and he could handle it okay, thinking that. But now, hearing Connor say it, hearing him say it because he wants Hank to know it was worth something- There's just something about it. He can admit it to himself, sure, how things could go. But he won't say it out loud. And he won't lie to Connor, either. Not right now.]

[Connor sets his jaw at that rebuttal. Sits for a moment, feeling the need to do something with his hands, but willfully and stubbornly lets them lay unmoving in his lap.]

I appreciate the sentiment. And I don’t want you to think that I’m not going to try my best to see this through to the end, either. But that’s not a promise you can keep. That either of us can keep.

[He shakes his head.]

You’re impossibly stubborn. I wish you’d just accept what I’m telling you.

[Hank makes that same little noise again, a noise that'd wanted to be amusement but got kind of tripped up in all the other shit building in him. He ducks his head and presses the heel of a hand into an eye and stays that way.]

Takes one to know one.

[His voice comes out strangled and cracking and Hank takes a second, swallowing, to try and straighten it out.]

I just- I can't, okay? I'm not- I can't see things like you do, I... I can't handle things like you can.

What you're seeing is what you get, Connor. Sorry.

[Is he being unfair? For a moment, he wonders — Hank is right, he doesn’t process emotions the same way as Connor. Connor barely knows how to process emotion at all, so much that it’s now easier to let it all fall to his feet instead of keeping it bundled up tight in his chest, like he used to.

But his friend needs to know that he’s doing something good, because he’s inclined to be a good person. Because Connor might not always be around to tell him that.]

You think I’m processing any of this better than you? I’m afraid of what might happen, too. But that's all the more reason to tell you this.

Then you are processing it better, Connor. Cause you can think that and it pushes you, but me- If I can't deal with what you want me to in the first place, what makes you think making it a last request is going to help? Cause if you don't make it-

[Hank breathes, and wipes his hand in a sudden jerking movement across his eyes, and tilts his head back, breathing and staring up at the ceiling of the car.]

Just- Don't make it about that, okay? Don't.

Edited 2018-08-27 18:52 (UTC)

I wasn’t—

[Trying to make it about that. Trying to pry an acceptance out of Hank based on the fear of Connor’s death, or something similar. He’s not that manipulative, not with Hank.]

That wasn’t an image I was trying to put in your head.

[He watches him closely. The way Hank wipes at his eyes — that threatens to send guilt careening through his insides with its sharp edges scraping across every surface.]

Sorry, Lieutenant.

I know it wasn't.

[Hank takes slow breaths and blinks up at the ceiling, watching it blur.]

You just really want me to... to just say 'you're welcome' or something like that, right?

[His face twists a little, surprised at that plain assessment of what he would want.]

No. I want you to feel decent about doing good. About helping me.

[Connor can’t help but lean into his programming, tossing out a rudimentary scan of Hank. The results aren’t promising.]

...I’ve upset you more than I intended.

[When Connor says 'doing good' Hank closes his eyes, then hurriedly ducks his head and turns away, rubbing his hand over his face.]

Nah, it's uh, there's a lot there to upset. I know it's simple stuff, it's just- This is why I don't talk about shit, it starts out simple and then I make it weird. It's fine. It's not like you even want that much.

[He huffs very quietly, almost amused, as he realizes it -]

Guess not everything you want's that uh, that realistic, after all. You might have to come up with something else to want, for a while.

[He’s transitioned to closely watching Hank’s body language, and if there is one way to make Connor feel terrible about all that he’s said, this is how it’s done. He loses all hold of what he was going to retort with, whatever sentences were formulating in his mind, and some hilariously tiny part of him whispers — When did you become so bad at this? Made to read a room, made to lead a conversation in a direction before the other knows about it? Look at what’s happened now, despite all of that.]

I’m sorry. [-he repeats himself, and lordy, look at how he backpedals so hard. For all his stubbornness, this is how it completely unwinds itself and becomes useless.] Are you crying?

[Hank huffs, disbelieving and, you know what? Sort of actually, genuinely amused. Only Connor, huh?]

You know you're not supposed to ask people that, right?

[He's still turned away - as much as you can in a car anyway, so, not that much - but he kind of smiles, and rubs a hand quick and hard against the corner of one eye since Connor's blown his clever pretense out of the water.]

You're supposed to just like, pretend you don't know what you know and let things be awkward till they get their shit together.

I… Sorry.

[-he repeats uselessly for the third time. Another silence settles in, with Connor’s LED furiously betraying the fact that he’s trying to gather up just what to say.]

Take the time that you need.

[Hank breathes out, then straightens up toward Connor, watching him with a look that's wry, still sort of amused.]

Relax.

[He swallows heavily, then does it again, trying to follow his own advice.]

It's fine, Connor, it's just... It's just a thing. It's just a stupid human thing. I've just got a stupid human brain, that's all. Being human's bullshit, Connor, never try it.

[His hands make one last pass over his face, trying to make everything there into something normal.]

Is this you freaking out? Because if it is, don't worry about it. It's just some stupid shit, not the end of the world.

No. It isn’t that.

[It’s not like androids don’t possess the ability to cry, either. Though Connor certainly has never experienced the sensation himself, not having ever tipped past that point. Never crossed that terrible threshold in his few months of being alive.]

It’s only that I feel bad for pushing the subject too far. But even so...

[Even so, my point still stands.

He can’t bring himself to say it, not with Hank like this. He simply lets the words fade off and die.]

Hm?

[He looks at Connor, wondering about the end of that sentence, and then kind of guesses what it was going to be and looks away, leaning back against his seat and taking another slow breath.]

Ah, I don't know. You meant well. You wanted to help. It's just... You just haven't known me that long, is all.

[Hank's expression tries to twitch into something friendly and he reaches out to try and tap the back of his hand against Connor's shoulder, a friendly gesture. Don't worry, he wants the gesture to say, because with Connor being how Connor is Hank doesn't really want to risk saying it out loud. You'll give up on that shit eventually.]

[Connor will not shy away from such a gesture from Hank, though it’s hard to parse its actual meaning as anything more than reassurance. Easier instead to judge the nuances of it based on the look on his friend’s face.

He inclines his head just a little at him, in that apologetically scrutinizing kind of way.]

Meaning that if I knew you longer, my attempts would be more effective? Or that I wouldn’t bother at all?

[Okay, so Connor said it out loud for him. Motherfuck.]

Just that you- I make things weird, I said that, so there's not really a point. I know you just want me-

[You just want me to be happy, he thinks, and closes his eyes. Not even that much, Jesus. Hank swallows, takes a couple deep breaths, and opens his eyes again, staring at the side of Connor's chair, his jaw tight.]

I know it's stupid but I can't handle any of that right now, any more of it, so...

You can’t handle what, Lieutenant? A simple compliment? Reassurance that you’re doing the right thing and I’m glad for it?

[Even if he knows of Hank’s past, knows likely how difficult that can be, Connor simply doesn’t understand how he can’t accept even a little of it.]

Then what is it that you do want?

[Hank lets out a breath, irritated.]

Right now?

[He looks back up to Connor's face and actually thinks about it, and the question stumps him. He shrugs, his voice slower, defeated.]

I don't know, Connor. I don't know. I'd kind of like to be a functional person for a while, if that's alright with you. I mean, in case you forgot I probably ought to be driving right now, so being able to do that like a normal person for a little bit, that'd be nice.

[Which he can't do when Connor, the asshole, keeps trying to say things that touch Hank on a deep and personal level.]

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