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[ Connor isn't sure what to do next. There's no mission objective pulsing in the corner of his awareness.

There's just Hank, asking him a question. ] You weren't important to the case anymore. I had no reason to stay, but...

[ He's looking to the side as if searching for the answer. It can't be as simple as it sounds, and yet it is. ] But I didn't want you to die.

This was the only way.

[Hank doesn't flinch when Connor tells him he's not important to the case anymore. Neither is Connor, technically, unless he made a deal with the FBI to work with them in exchange for not getting deactivated. He'd made it clear that the only thing that mattered to him was his mission.

But just now he'd thrown that away. For Hank.

And that was the part that didn't add up to him.

Hank's nose scrunches up as he tips his head back, brow furrowed deeply and looking at Connor with an inscrutable expression.]

So. What now, Connor?

I... [ All Hank's doing is asking him questions, as if Connor's the only one whose behavior doesn't add up. Something a little sharper than his confusion kicks to life. ]

I don't know. [ Connor looks at the smashed bottle on the floor. The broken glass is dangerous, for Hank and for Sumo, but Connor notes that something spiteful in him is glad the alcohol is ruined.

He looks back up at Hank. He thinks about Hank, upset about him shooting the Tracis. Upset about the Chloe model, too. 'You shot that girl.' ] What about you, Hank. [ Connor's brow knits in thought. ] You liked some of the machines you met. [ Just not Connor.

Except that's not true. 'You could've been killed'. Connor thinks of Hank's hand on his arm, trying to drag him back down the fence. Connor's staring at the floor between them, LED still flashing yellow. ] You're not going to call the police on me, are you.

Of course not.

[As if it's the most obvious thing in the world. He might not've always liked Connor, but he knows what CyberLife will do to deviants. From the lengths Connor himself had been willing to go to to stop them.

Connor saved his life, twice. Let the deviant hiding out with his pigeons get away to keep Hank from falling off a building. Died for him, the second time.

...Technically, this was three times.

He sets the photo of Cole on the table and, right on cue, finds a sliver of glass with his bare foot.]

Ow, son of a bitch!

[ Hank won't call the police. Hank won't report him to CyberLife, either, which is the real worry--

CyberLife. And Amanda, still waiting for Connor's next report.

His LED flares red for a moment, right before it runs into a distracted yellow when Hank yells. ]

Lieutenant, you need to be careful. There's glass everywhere. Here-- [ Bossing other people around with generic factual statements is, at least, familiar. Connor reaches forward, rights the chair that Hank knocked over. ] If you sit down, I can find you something to stop the bleeding. [ He's just assuming there's bleeding, he hasn't checked yet, a fact he's already trying to rectify by searching the floor near Hank's bare feet. ]

[Hank sits down on the chair when Connor sets it back upright. There's a small smear of blood on the tile floor, and when he crosses his ankle over the other knee, the bottom of his foot is smudged in blood.

But when he pulls the sliver of glass out, the wound itself isn't too bad, and the blood just kind of faintly wells up and slides down the crease in the sole of his foot.]

Don't worry about it, I've had worse.

[ 'I've had worse'. It feels like a significant phrase right now. Connor stares at Hank's foot, at the very red welling of human blood.

They're so incredibly fragile, compared to androids. And yet - Connor's just made himself a bit more fragile too, hasn't he. CyberLife won't give him a new body now, if something happens. He's no longer functionally immortal as long as he proves himself useful, because he's no longer useful.

Connor's LED is still yellow, watching Hank. He wants to be helpful. He also wants to know how to keep Hank from wanting to hurt himself again, but he thinks asking directly might be a bad idea.

He didn't use to hesitate this much before speaking. He doesn't like this development. ] It's still best to clean and bandage all wounds. [ Since, you know, hopefully Hank isn't going to kill himself tonight now. Hopefully. ]

I'll get what you need from the bathroom.

[But Hank looks up. He may not be equipped with the most advanced scanning protocol mankind can program, but he was a damn good detective, once, and there's plenty of little tells to take in. Connor's expression is no longer frustratingly neutral, there's thousands of little micro-tics, there's the intensity of those brown eyes watching him. Watching, but not scanning; Hank's learned to know what that feels like, too.

He takes in the LED spinning bright yellow on Connor's temple, remembers that that means warning, processing, stress, anxiety.

Yeah, well, him too, buddy. Welcome to fuckin' humanity.]

I said don't worry about it. I'll get it later. You wanna do something to help me? Pick up this glass before Sumo gets hurt.

[If Connor could use Sumo against him then he could use Sumo against Connor. The sharp smell of alcohol would be enough to keep the dog from getting curious for the time being (that, and Sumo was getting to be an old boy with not a lot of curiosity left in him). He was so used to the smell - and what the smell usually meant for Hank - that he avoided it.]

...You did your good deed for the day, so now where are you gonna go?

[ Connor thinks, for just a spiteful moment, that he's pretty sure that becoming a deviant means that he doesn't have to take orders anymore. Considering how much practice he's already had ignoring Hank's advice, it shouldn't be difficult at all.

But then Hank says Sumo and Connor feels his synthetic muscles already suggesting that they be used, that he crane his head over to where he already knows Sumo is resting anxiously on the living room carpet. He doesn't look.

He looks around for any immediate sign of a broom and dustpan, sees none. Walks wordlessly over to the sink cabinet and rifles in there, just as calm digging through someone else's belongings as he was when he first visited. The only belongings in the world are ones that don't belong to Connor, though; he can't own property.

Except...will he be able to, now? Does he want to?

His LED's stuck on yellow as he finds a broom and pan and starts cleaning up the floor in a precise canvassing of the room. ]

I... [ Yellow, yellow. In deviants, their trackers turn off. But is Amanda silenced? Or is she unique, will she talk to CyberLife without him knowing?

Is Hank asking Connor to leave, or just giving him an out? Does Connor want to take it? ] I'll go wherever I think I'm most useful, as I am now.

Were you hoping for a specific answer?

[Let the record show that Hank specifically prefaced it with “you wanna do something for me?” specifically because he knows Connor doesn’t have to obey shit anymore and he never obeyed Hank anyway.

Hank continues watching him with a troubled but unreadable expression.]

Don’t play dumb, Connor. It’s civil war out there. What’s your plan for that, huh? [His tone is gruffly curious. He doesn’t know about Jericho.] You gonna join the deviants now that you are one?

[ Connor isn’t playing dumb, though. It seems deviancy makes even simple cognitive tasks more difficult. His thirium pump is responding as if he’s ready to chase a perp. It’s very distracting.

Sweeping up the glass is a welcome task to focus on. Even if the whiskey makes the broom bristles tacky, lets them stick together and collect all errant hairs on the floor. At least the glass is being cleared away, so Hank and Sumo won’t step on it. ]

I don’t know, Lieutenant. [ That sentence feels - like the glass shards he’s cleaning up. Sharp.

Connor dumps the glass into the trash can under the sink. ] I’m not a deviant right now because of other deviants. [ The androids scattered out of Jericho have no reason to trust him. ]

[Hank doesn't say anything in response, just grunts as he gets up and hobbles to the counter to grab a paper towel that he folds up and sticks to the wound on the bottom of his foot. He runs one of the counter towels under the sink, wrings it out until it's just moist, and then plops it wetly onto the sticky floor and lazily mops it back and forth with his uninjured foot.

He sucks in a breath through the gap in his front teeth and then sighs.]

So you need a place to crash 'cause you can't go back to CyberLife now.

[ Connor hadn't intended for the unsaid portion of his answer to be that he needed a place to stay - all he'd meant was that Hank was the reason he'd turned deviant at all. He replays the audio recording of Hank's words to himself twice, LED cycling yellow. There is very little in his social relations programming dedicated to accepting or denying offers of staying at someone else's home instead of in CyberLife's charging stations.

There's no working tracking device in him now. CyberLife won't know he's here. That's not an adequate excuse to say no.

Does Connor even want to say no? He doesn't think he does. He's just uncertain how to say yes. ]

I've never stayed overnight in a civilian residence, [ he says, falling back on more stilted language in his surprise. ]

But I'm also not sure that's my first priority right now. Nor should it be yours. My own need to 'crash' won't be a problem for at least another 149 hours. [ Assuming he isn't injured, or undergoes anything else that stresses his system enough to need to self-repair or defrag. There's a 'but' hovering at the edge of his lips, though... ]

...Did you have somewhere in mind?

[It may not be what Connor intended, but it’s the easiest thing to address. It’s a human perspective, to secure safety first, above all else. As long as you have a place to stay, everything else can come after.

Hank scratches his fingers through his beard, then bends down to pick up the wet towel and throws it haphazardly in the sink.]

You don’t seem to be in a fucking hurry to get out of my house, for somebody who doesn’t need a place to crash yet.

[His tone is sharp and grouchy, blue eyes narrowed and glaring down over the bridge of his nose.

But then his expression softens, just by a few degrees.]

I’ve got a couch, if you need it.

[ Connor would like to point out to Hank that the reason he's reluctant to leave is because he's worried about Hank. He thinks that might not help. Hank didn't react to his concern earlier - he reacted to the perceived threat of Connor rushing his kitchen table. Which, in retrospect, was a touch dramatic.

But it's true. He's absolutely not in a fucking hurry to get out of Hank's house, and at least part of that is due to not being sure how to help the others. If he wants to help the others. He deviated to help Hank, not because he thinks he deserves to be autonomous.

...Does wanting to help Hank mean that?

Connor's LED doesn't stop cycling yellow, but his attention zeroes back in on Hank when the couch is offered. ] I don't need it, [ he says, automatically.

But just as quickly: ] But I think I want it.

If that's alright.

[Hank takes in Connor's LED spinning yellow, the way he almost seems to be lagging like he's got too many tabs open at once.

His nose scrunches a little as he makes a thoughtful sucking noise through the gap in his front teeth. Connor's clearly on edge, and Hank hates the something big and looming and protective rearing up, spreading out through his chest like little vines of warmth.

He's not fucking stupid. Connor needs him as much as he needs a couch to sleep on or food to eat (which is to say, not at all).

But... Connor wants him. For some fucking reason that's completely anathema to Hank, Connor wants to keep him around so bad that he was willing to break his fucking programming to get there.]

I offered, didn't I?

You n- you want a blanket or a pillow or anything?

[ Hank looks thoughtful, too. Connor thinks that if Hank had an LED, his might also be yellow.

Does he want a blanket or a pillow? Or anything? Hank self-corrects away from the word need. It feels...respectful. Connor opens his mouth to thank him, but then shuts it. He doesn't think that thanks would seem appropriate.

He feels stuck on Hank's words, on that correction. 'Or anything'. Want. How can Connor tell what he wants? Is it always going to feel as desperate and hot as wanting to help Hank? Will there be softer kinds of want for him to find? ]

...Anything? [ He looks back up at Hank when he speaks, and it's just that. Just one word, said in a tone that's somewhere between tentative and challenging. Connor isn't even sure what he'd ask for, but whatever it is, he doesn't want it to upset Hank again. ]

[Hank gives Connor a weird look, his nose scrunching up further as he crosses his arms over his chest.]

Within reason. [He is kind of unemployed now.] Why, you got something in mind?

[His tone is testing, just a little curious. What Connor would do with his newfound humanity, what he would "want." He was willing to ignore even the fact that he hadn't meant 'or anything' literally, just because he wanted to know what Connor did want.]

[ Connor doesn't think he has anything in mind. Rather, he does have something in mind, but he doesn't think he can ask for it.

...Or can he, now. Is that what being a deviant is about? It seems odd, to be given something for nothing. Connor's accomplished nothing since becoming deviant, he hasn't earned anything. Do humans feel they need to earn the things they receive? Like attention, respect...autonomy? ]

...Not yet. [ He can't ask yet. ] I'll let you know later. [ Which is pretty damn assuming of someone who doesn't have much ground to ask for anything at all, but Connor doesn't want to lie - he just also doesn't want to show all his cards right away. ]

But Hank. [ It feels nice to call him by his first name, intentionally and in his house. Connor barely registers what the receptors firing means, but one corner of his mouth twitches up in a vague smile, just for a moment. There's something in Connor's voice that seems to weigh it down when he speaks: ] Thank you.

[Connor's thank you hits him crossways, right between the eyes, but somehow he manages to get off with just a little hitch in his breath.

He grunts, looks away. Scratches a hand through his beard.]

Whatever. You're so determined to keep my ass alive, probably time I returned the favor.

[He thinks of Connor, riddled with bullets, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. Thinks of twin gunshots in an interrogation room, and Connor's body slumped against the wall with a hole in his forehead.

The sickening crunch of twisted metal and broken plastic, and a dark blue smear along wet pavement. That one makes his breath hitch, and he twists around to his fridge to pull out a beer (not whiskey, but it'll do) so that Connor can't see the pained expression on his face.

He braces the edge of the bottlecap against the counter and forces it off with a twist of his wrist, and then downs half the bottle, muscles tensed like he's half expecting Connor to slap it out of his hand.]

Couch is yours. I'm going the fuck to sleep. C'mon, Sumo.

[Sumo, who also seems to know how close he came to losing his owner tonight, whines happily and raises himself from his dog bed.]

[ Hank wants to go to bed. That seems both entirely reasonable - in fact, it's a healthy decision - and something that makes Connor's processors all whir too-fast. Connor doesn't actually need to rest yet. He'll take Hank's offered couch, but he'll be awake all night. Has to be. He needs to figure out what to do next.

How does he figure that out?

Connor watches Hank stiffly start drinking his beer. ]

Alright. [ Connor's never laid down before, not since activation. He eyes the couch but then looks back at Hank. ] Goodnight, Hank.

[ And turning to the dog: ] Goodnight, Sumo.

[ And then, padding after Hank as if he wasn't just told to take the couch, he adds, ] Studies suggest that drinking directly prior to bed may decrease quality of sleep, even if it tends to make humans self-report more feelings of relaxation in the moment.

[ Connor is concerned, he thinks. But he's mostly just not sure how to showcase concern in a way that Hank will respond positively to. ]

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