(no subject)

[sociallychallenged]

█ ▮ █ ■ █

NAME Anderson, Hank

D.O.B. 09 - 06 - 1985

SPECIES Human

RANK Detective

CASE Park Bombing

CASE Dualis

USERNAME AND ROOM dpdhank@dualislink | F5 R01

Park Bombing

× dead end ✓ lead

✓ First message left by the bombers. "-the sudden crackle of video feed present on all television screens throughout the city, including those set up in the park to broadcast the mayor's speech for those standing far from the stage. The picture is plain, a black background and bold white block letters filling the screen"
WAKE UP
WAKE UP
DON'T BELIEVE THE LIES

✓ Commercial detonators available in military gear stores, mining and construction equipment, possibly found on the black market.

✓ He can search up a list of janitors or other staff employed at these locations. Whether or not this will yield results is up in the air.

✓ There are speakeasy style clubs around the city, but all anti-establishment locations are well hidden. He's planning on going in search of some and specifically asked Aleifr to help him.

× Nothing on the dualgram photo app. Whoever was responsible was very careful to not get a picture taken of them and was aware of surrounding cameras.

× No fliers in publicly accessible areas can be found after the Train Station bombings. Any remaining ones would be in sewers or train tunnels that are difficult to reach.

✓ If a suspect is found, they should be able to identify their previous life before coming to Dualis.

✓ New message left by bombers. "the screen of your phones during this broadcast displays a graphic of a red anatomical heart set against a plain, light grey background. there is no username listed."
BEFORE THERE CAN BE ANY ACTION, A REVOLUTION MUST WAKE THE SLEEPING PEOPLE.

ARE YOU AWAKE YET?

OR DO YOU STILL BELIEVE THE LIES THEY’VE FED YOU?

WAKE UP! WAKE UP!

LISTEN TO THE HEART.

✓ There is a speakeasy with a Xerox machine. Entry codewords for the back are "Charlotte sometimes dreams a wall around herself" Entry requires a jagged line tattoo (pulse monitor in shape) visible with a blacklight. It's full of devices that don't require online connectivity to work.

Dualis

× dead end ✓ lead

× No world controlling AI before the head. No history recorded prior to that, either, so anything pertaining to that either way is hard to verify.

✓ There has been little testing or research (only two studies prior to the event study) into the disease. The Head only initiated it after its memories were shared with other people. Connor remembered the second memory, Hank remembered the third. As of now no one's told them about the first.

✓ After talking to Detective Karen, she revealed that people are resurrected from the dead. "bodies are taken by drone to an undisclosed facility, fixed up, and returned to their homes within 24-48 hours. dualis pd gives them two weeks of paid vacation, tells them to rest up and report back for a psych eval in two weeks, and life goes on."

× There have been immunization tests before, with minimal progress made. DPD encouraged their staff to take the immunization but didn't force them to. Hank went blind during his immunization for short periods. This side-effect was a deviation from previous times.

✓ The iterations last for years and are terminator sturdy. They're seldomly upgraded. There have been no rampages or unusual activity in the Dualis PD's recorded history.

✓ "Emergency alerts typically haven't been needed, but they do have a system in place in case of like, an asteroid about to collide with the city or some huge public safety issue."

× The Dualis PD has never encountered a memory snafu like they all experienced before. In fact, Hank was the only one to report it happening at all.

✓ Unverified information from the Heart dispensed to Hank and other people at their group meeting.

Do you really believe there is no difference between what the machines can do and what they want to do? Not everyone who dies here makes it back - only the dead that the machines have judged as useful and not a threat to their plans and desires. Look at us. There were not always so few of us - less than a year ago, we had twice as many comrades. They were not sent back to their homes, but to executions, because they were caught and identified as elements that are undesirable.

-Marie

Truth is, we don't know that we can trust you. In fact, you never really know that you can trust anyone. But we believe that we can. We've been watching you, got into their files about you. And some of us've talked to some of you - got to know you a little bit.

-Nick

We think they still have that virus, but we have no proof, because we can't find where they're storing it. That's one of the things we need help with - finding it and destroying it, so no one else dies from it. Personally, I don't trust their 'vaccines' any farther than I could drop-kick an Iteration. For all we know, they're really just infecting people with smallpox or whatever.

-Nick

Truth be told, dude, we don't fully know either, I mean V and the other's know more. I'm more just backup and meat shield. The Head is evil, and even if I cant really say why, and I really can't describe it without making it sound like a bad serial pulp. Just trust me, I'm a lover not a fighter, I'd rather be in bed napping than in this cold place trying to talk people into helping with this. But, we need the help, so I had to find pants... please don't make the pants be in vain.

-William

That EMP only lasts for a few minutes, and those minutes are almost up. We've told you what's important - your lives are in danger, and we need your help to stop it. How your lives are in danger is less clear - we don't have a line in to the Head's mainframe, and there are a number of possible methods to choose from, with no clear front-runner.

-Mello

✓ After talking with Nick and after encountering clones it's been revealed that the Head is doing expirements on people to replace them with duplicates. The clones can turn on people and tear them apart, swarming them on mass if the Head deems it so. In a city of millions of people, around the size of New York or London, this is a very big (and dangerous) deal. Currently everyone's abilities are being limited by a chip that no one knows how to remove yet.

People and Tasks

× dead end ✓ lead

✓ Loki: Capable of teleportation and duplicating people and masking conversations.

✓ Arkady: Capable of psychic projection and assisting in carrying on silent conversations; not a physical combatant.

× Charles Xavier: Powerful psychic but limited by chip. May be able to assist if asked. NOW COMPROMISED

× Erik: Capable of magnetism. Unable to establish grounds for cooperation.

× Heather: Resourceful girl, capable of hiding. NOW COMPROMISED.

× David: Equipped with techical and neurological knowledge gleaned from experts with his powers. NOW COMPROMISED.

✓ Connor: Android capable of interface, limited by his chip. Highly combatant. Combat currently limited due to injuries.

✓ Tim: Technical expert and highly skilled combatant.

× South: Bodyguard to the mayor and military experience. Possibly helpful but have yet to approach in earnest. NOW COMPROMISED

✓ Nick: Knows more about the clones than any new person and more trustworthy than the majority of the Heart.

✓ Morbius: Doctor with an expertise in blood. Can possibly provide us in assistance to plague based cures if that's an issue.

✓ Tannis: Technical expert that can look into having the chips removed.

✓ Squall: Former child soldier that keeps established contacts, including with Nida. Good go between. Combat capable.

✓ Markus: Excellent tactical leader and profound and compassionate orator.

✓ Domino: Keen sense of perception and physically capable.

✓ Kyoko: Young girl, magic capable. Compassionate.

✓ Tidus: Young man, magic capable. Sports training. Works excellently with teams.

ITEMS THAT NEED TO BE ADDRESSED:

• Where are dead people brought back?


• Where are clones made?


• Does the Head have any nuclear, chemical, or biological failsafes if threatened?
  CONFIRMED Biological failsafe is in place. Put on display during executions.


• The clones need to be reprogrammed or deactivated quickly enough that the Head can't interfere.


• The chips need to be disabled because the Head can currently control people with them.
  CONFIRMED Chips can be disabled or removed but they interfere with language. Side effects for people with weaker constitutions.


• DONE: Secure talking locations can be managed. Known options include Arkady, Loki, or Tannis for general individuals. Tannis, Connor, and Markus are capable of digital communication.

STATUS

WEAPONS

• automatic pistol, standard issue Detroit PD circa 2038
• six-shot revolver

ITEMS

• a wallet with actual physical money from his Earth, cards, and old pictures stored on an image slider card
• car keys
• smart phone from Detroit
• smart phone issued as part of welcome package
• clothes
• Dualis traffic office uniform
• standard issue computer
• music player
• (D) 2,920

MODIFICATIONS

INTERFACE MOD: A mod acquired in Dualis that will allow him to interface with low level technology. Mostly meant to allow communication with Connor, but allows him to interact with low level technologies like phones.

SKILLS

• FIGHTING: Basic human brawler style, strong enough to pick someone of average weight up and throw them.
• DETECTIVE: Good at matching evidence at crime scenes and raising matters of suspicion. Can spot details at normal human capacities.
• LEADERSHIP: Used to lead a task force for the narcotics division. Good at keeping people on task and making the most of any leads.

█ █ ▮ █ NAME Binky DISC winterferger#2809 TZ PST PB Clancy Brown █

Comments

MEMORY EVENT

[sociallychallenged]

Playground #Cole

[sociallychallenged]

A little boy with brown hair is on a merry-go-round with two other kids. Another little boy, red-headed, in bright blue plaid with yellow stripes. An Indian girl in a pink dress that's already muddy, like she's managed to get into everything imaginable. Hank's noting that no amount of stain remover's going to save that thing, and pities her mother. He holds onto the railings of it, smiling broadly. "Spin it faster, Daddy!" he yells, and Hank's voice responds with a doubtful, "You sure?"

"Yeah! Yeah!"

So Hank does, and the kids all engage in that happy simultaneous wailing that children do when they're having too much fun. Hank doesn't let it go on too long, though, and slows the joyful banshees down before one goes flying off or something. He's sure that it would inevitably happen.

Cole steps off, he wobbles around and does his best to walk in a straight line. He makes exaggerated falling-down-noises. "Whoa! Whoa! The whole world is going round and round!"

"Yeah, that's what happens," Hank responds, but he's laughing again when Cole topples onto his butt, and then lays flat on his back to look up at the sky. He points up. "Why do people get dizzy?"

"Because your brain shakes loose."

"Nooo!" Cole argues and rolls away in the dirt in petulant disbelief. "My brain's not loose!"

"All the Colors" #Cole #Dog

[sociallychallenged]

Hank's watching a game on TV. There are people playing basketball, and he clearly sees a man walk with the ball. It's the team Hank's been rooting for. The ref blows the whistle, exchanges a hand signal. Hank says an unhappy, "Oh come on!"

During the break, though, he looks to the boy next to him. He's not watching the game, he's got a box of crayons. Half of them are out as he draws. Apparently the drawing is important enough that he needs to stick out his tongue while he's making it, just the little tip peeking in his concentration.

"What are you drawing?"

"Me and you and Sumo." He turns his paper. The stick figure dog looks like it's the size of a horse. Hank turns his head to look at Sumo. He is an enormous dog. Hank thinks he got the proportions of the St. Bernard just right. He looks back at Cole, noting that he's tried to do some stripes on Hank's shirt. He must have used the whole half a box for that. Cole's shirt is plain and blue.

"Is blue your favorite color?"

"No. Blue is my favorite shirt. Why do people have to have favorite colors? I like lots of colors." Cole leans back on the couch, little nose scrunching up in contemplation at his own question.

"You don't have to have favorite colors." Hank looks down at his own shirt. It's got stripes and patches of camo shapes. He looks up at Cole. "You can like patterns, that way you can have more colors you like."

Cole is looking at his shirt too when he looks back up.

"You must like all the colors, Daddy."

Siren #Cole #Dog

[sociallychallenged]

There's a toddler on the floor in front of Hank, playing with little plastic figures. From the gaze of Hank, he looks like the most fragile little thing in the world, planted on the floor in front of him. By the door there's a pile of boxes. They're labeled 'clothes' and 'electronics' and 'make-up' and other such things. Someone is planning to move out. There's sadness from Hank as he looks at them. Rejection, anger.

Then distraction as the little boy pats his hand with a toy in it. He walks a little rounded plastic police officer across his knee and makes a siren sound.

Hank is amused by this.

"Do you think Daddy just hangs his head out the window and just makes that noise?" Hank starts to chuckle midway through the thought. That makes Cole laugh at him, a wide-mouthed big open laugh.

Hank attempts his own siren sound to make Cole laugh harder. In the middle of it, a fluffy St. Bernard puppy to the side of him howls, wanting in on the game. It's large, with giant feet, and seems to have too much skin. Cole runs over to him to give him a hug, and Hank reaches out to mess up his hair lovingly.

Rocky #Dog #Crime Scene

[sociallychallenged]

It's dawn, that place where the light is dim and blue, misty. Hank's flashlight is cutting around a roped-off property. Several people are being escorted off in cuffs. There's an ambulance, and they're treating some other officers for their wounds.

He walks around the side of the building. There are dogs tied to ramshackle houses. Most are barking. A couple look aggressive. Most are just wagging their tails. Some are sulking in their shoddy houses.

There's a white pit bull. Probably an Ambull mix of some kind. He's not barking. He's got one of those faces capable of smiling, and he's wagging his tail so hard his hips are swaying. Hank knows that it's not what he's supposed to do, but he goes over to him. He crouches and he pets his head. He takes note of small scabs, signs of a fight with another dog.

"Hi there, buddy.. Hi..." he says gently, petting over his blocky head. "What a good face you have."

The dog whines at him, tips his head into his hand because he wants lovings and scratchings. Hank looks around him at the other dogs, and inwardly feels pretty angry. "Don't worry, good boy. That motherfucker's gonna go to jail for a long time. Because he's fucking stupid, isn't he boy? Yeah, who's a good boy."

When Hank stands again, especially worried about that dog (and what will happen to all of these dogs), he looks at a window of the sprawling house he's next to, turning down the flashlight away from it. He's trying to see inside, but his reflection is there. A uniform, clean-cut, hair still curly though. He's shaved and square-jawed and fit. He looks much more healthy in general, not just younger. Like there's less weight on his shoulders.

Teenage Tragedy #Crime Scene

[sociallychallenged]

Hank walks into a house. A middle-aged man is sobbing uncontrollably, an officer waiting to get his statement. The woman next to him is raging angrily, a mother that wants to rip the eyes from someone's head. Hank has sympathy as he walks up the steps and onto the scene.

As he goes up the stairs he takes note of the pictures. The usual family pride. Pictures of a happy family with beaming smiles. Two girls. One a teenager, one about ten. One of the ten-year-old at summer camp, on a horse. One of the sisters in hockey goalie armor, holding up a trophy. She has a black eye without the mask. She looks proud. Another of the family in front of a vacation cabin.

She reaches the room. It's not like your TV stereotype. There are cartoon posters on the walls, TV shows she likes. There are collector figures on a shelf. There's one of those basketball nets over her trash can, and her sports gear is in a messy pile on top of her laundry.

And there's blood. So much blood.

She's laying face down on the floor. It looks like she tried to crawl for help. She's about five feet from her laptop on the floor. Her phone is across the room, on a charger, too high to reach. She's been stabbed several times.

"So they already got him?"

"Yeah. It was her ex-boyfriend. She just broke up with him. She let him in. Parents were at the grocery store." The cop that steps in his line of vision is going gray, portly, wearing a mustache.

"Poor girl."

"Yeah, no kidding. Fucking stupid asshole kid." Hank mutters. "Someone needs to call an advocate and a psychologist for the parents. When they can think clearly, anyway. They're gonna need help after this." When he goes to look at the pictures lining the girl's mirror, he's briefly visible. Still blond, but edging towards gray. His hair is still short and wavy, but he has a goatee. He is glad he'll be able to go home to his son. He'll make sure to check on him before he goes to bed.

What are you really? #Connor

[sociallychallenged]

Hank's facing Connor. The Detroit skyline is behind him. He's feeling doubtful, a little upset at his worldview being challenged. And here Connor is saying those two girls at that club, the androids, they weren't actually in love. Hank's sitting in a strange position on a park bench, perched on the back of it. But he gets down.

"What about you, Connor? You look human, you sound human, but what are you really?" Hank asks aggressively, resentfully. Just waiting for that answer where Connor just fucking says he's a machine again. But he doesn't. The response is different.

"I'm whatever you want me to be, Lieutenant. Your partner... your buddy to drink with... or just a machine... designed to accomplish a task."

He really doesn't want him to be just a machine. Don't fucking be a machine.

"You could have shot those two girls, but you didn't." Hank shoves him. Connor staggers back. "Why didn't you shoot, Connor! Hm? Some scruples suddenly enter into your program?"

"No!"

Hank isn't expecting that answer. He wants that answer, though. He wants that answer as badly as he wanted to help people when he became a cop. He wants it as badly as he wants his dead son back.

"I just decided not to shoot, that's all!"

It's not enough. He's seen how these things work. They say what they think you want to hear. He's seen Connor do it in interrogations, ply the reactions he wants. It must be what Connor's doing now. So Hank pulls a gun. It's a revolver, a six shooter. It's not standard issue.

"But are you afraid to die, Connor?" He asks as he points it at him.

"I would certainly find it regrettable to be interrupted before I can finish this investigation." Does Connor look a little scared? He looks like he might be scared.

"What'll happen if I pull this trigger? Hm? Nothing? Oblivion? Android Heaven?"

"Nothing... there would be nothing..."

He doesn't know what it is about Connor's face. Uncertainty? Or grim certainty? But it scares Hank. His hand shakes. What if there is nothing. What if Cole went nowhere. What if he'll never be with him again. What sort of fuck is he threatening Connor with that horrible expanse of nothing.

OTHER'S MEMORIES

[sociallychallenged]

Tim Drake-Wayne: https://dualislogs.dreamwidth.org/5516.html?thread=541324#cmt541324
Stephanie Brown: https://dualislogs.dreamwidth.org/5516.html?thread=504460#cmt504460
Michael Morbius: https://dualislogs.dreamwidth.org/5516.html?thread=512908#cmt512908
Connor: https://dualislogs.dreamwidth.org/5516.html?thread=519564#cmt519564
Cissie King-Jones: https://dualislogs.dreamwidth.org/5516.html?thread=558988#cmt558988
Jason Todd: https://dualislogs.dreamwidth.org/5516.html?thread=660876#cmt660876
Sharon daSilva: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=58rvqkiOxJI
The Head: https://headandhand.dreamwidth.org/4328.html

EXPANDED GAME THREADS

[sociallychallenged]

[sociallychallenged]

[Continued from here]

"I thought about that one for about ten minutes. So I'd say yup. I thought, fuck it, Connor's birthday deserves him having a good time and finding new things to nitpick."

He watches the line of mini-shots lined up and takes a swig of his whiskey. He likes how pleased Connor looks, taking in every feature of that pleasantly happy face. Like Hank, Connor didn't show a lot of true happiness in his presence. Just this fixed, manufactured grin meant to invoke ease every once in a while. If anything, it reminded him of the articulated smile of every psychologist he'd ever met (briefly, though those meetings were).

But right now he really looks happy. It was such a stupid, simple idea, and it means so much.

Maybe he shouldn't be a dick and just write the effort off as an afterthought. "I like seeing you figure yourself out. Seemed like a good way to do it." Hank says with real interest, paying fixed attention to him.

[notalive]

Being happy - being content - now has an effect on him beyond what he experienced as a machine: just being aware that he's satisfied with events. It's a full-body experience, not just his brain recognising a result - his chest feels full, his thirium warm. He's relaxed, his expression open. For a second, he just wants to take in that feeling. Learn it and remember it like he's never going to know it again, and it feels right that it's Hank here to see him really sink into that.

Then he picks up the first shot glass. It's a deep red liquid - either the port or the regular red wine.

"Pretend for a second I don't know anything about alcohol." And that would actually be close to correct. "What am I drinking?"

[sociallychallenged]

"I think that one's port." Hank reaches over and puts his hand over Connor's twinkishly thin fingers, moving his hand so he can swirl the liquid a little.

"Yeah. See how it sticks to the glass? It's a little sweeter than red wine. Thicker, too, so it'll do that." Then he pulls back, finally looking away to watch the band with interest as the band is getting ready to perform. It's soundcheck time, so it's just preliminary ungodly dinosaur noises, but it's getting close to time.

There's a thought that he's taking a moment to fight out of his head, wondering how that port would taste on those full lips. And he shouldn't have that thought, but it's there now. And honestly, he did see the sort of body that Connor checked out in that fuckin' tube. He needs to turn off that part of his brain right now, 'cause even if Connor ends up being fully functional, that is not how Hank's deck is stacked.

[notalive]

Hank's hand covers his completely to swirl the red liquid around the shot glass, and Connor's gaze darts to his for the briefest second before back to where the wine - port, as Hank points out - is sticking viscous to the glass. For a second, he thinks of blood, and dismisses that thought before it can take hold too much. Ironically, now that he's trying real drinks, this looks very close to one of the only things he's actually tasted before.

Before he does anything, he deactivates notifications from his forensics suite. Then he lifts the shot glass and lets it wet his lips before licking it away.

Not having the forensics to immediately let him know what just touched his tongue, he can only rely on the physical sensations it causes, the taste of it. And it's a strong taste - sweet, but not overwhelmingly, not like the orange drink from the other night. A little tart. He recognises the taste of alcohol from the smell of it alone, from Hank's whiskey, but it's the other flavours he lets wash over him.

He was looking at where the band are making bizarre noises that seem like they're testing out the instruments, but now turns back to Hank.

"Here," and he offers the rest of the glass - it's a tiny amount, but still. "You wanna try?"

[sociallychallenged]

There's a magnificent level of plus and negative here. The plus? Connor didn't dip his finger in like a cat and tip it against his tongue. The minus, suddenly that tongue that so disgusted him before slides along his lower lip and Hank notices everything about it. The pressure of the tip against pink, puffy skin, the shine of brief 'saliva' or whatever it is.

Yup. There it is. There goes his mind and he hates that. And he hopes to god that Connor doesn't scan him because he knows his heart skipped a beat. Not really with arousal, no. But with the idea of leaning over to kiss him.

Some part of his brain, sheerly for his own humor, offers up that he should tell him to put the rest of it in his mouth. Hank'll just help him finish it off there. And that manages to make him smile again and huff a soft chuckle, that sort of resigned, witheringly amused look, and he takes the offered shot glass.

He raises it. "To your newfound opinions."

[notalive]

He considered dipping his finger into it, but then thought no one else was doing that and it's not a sample. So he just drank it instead. And Hank, he notices, is watching his mouth, maybe like he didn't expect him to taste it that way either. He finds himself licking his lips again, strangely nervous somehow.

Then Hank huffs out a laugh and Connor blinks at him, but Hank takes the glass anyway before Connor can wonder if he did something wrong. As he raises it, Connor picks up the next glass and lifts it in turn. He doesn't really think to scan Hank - since he deviated, and since he got here especially, he feels a little odd about scanning people too much in general. Like maybe it's something he should ask permission for.

"Luckily I've got somebody really opinionated to help me out," he says with a grin verging on fond before he tips back the second shot glass. The liquid is clear, quite thin, and Connor's face immediately scrunches up as a powerful taste and smell of what seems like pure alcohol hit him at the same time. Even after he withdraws the glass, he's shaking his head hard as if emphatically refusing to have that anywhere near him anymore.

"That..."

...is vodka. And it's quite something if you're not used to it.

[sociallychallenged]

[Continued from here.]

That tip of Connor's head makes Hank want to try and cup his cheek, feel the strange texture of his skin. It's a gesture that makes him think Connor wants him to touch him more, and his heart doesn't know what to do with that knowledge. It just curses him with a moment of helpless fluttering.

It means as Hank steps away from the door, he rubs his chest the same way Connor rubbed his own and tries to will away the feeling before he makes a fuckin' ass of himself.

He's going to have to tell him.

"I dunno. You're a damn good motivator." He jokes, laughing at his own comment before he hesitates and rubs his mouth.

"I uh... Connor. I need you to know something." He looks ahead as he's walking. "Friends, especially guy friends, don't usually touch each other as much as I do... how I've been with you. This. I just... you know... If you end up feeling awkward about it smack the shit out of me or something. I just... sorta um... I like it. I feel less lonely now."

That end part he says more quietly, a near mutter, trying to swallow the sound for any rubberneckers.

[notalive]

He finds himself rolling his eyes so much with Hank in their month here it's basically a fond gesture at this point, but it's an abortive one this time as Hank starts to do what he's suspected he would do at some point - tell Connor he goes too far with the physical contact and he needs to stop.

He's already extrapolated that after the first bit of the sentence - guy friends don't touch each other - and he should know that; he's been here long enough now, he's got people he likes enough to maybe consider friends and he's still never touched anybody else beyond handshakes, or helping them stand up or similar.

But he's wrong, that's not what Hank's saying at all, and the relief is so overwhelming his LED flickers momentarily yellow, before the feeling passes and it goes back. He hadn't realised just how much he'd come to like how tactile they are with one another - how drawn he feels towards it. How much he'd miss it if it were suddenly gone.

"I don't feel awkward," he says, because it's the only thing he feels confident about. "I like the...the feeling of it." He rubs his own hands together, a fidgety motion. "I didn't think you touching me would feel different to this." He nods down at his own intertwined hands. "Or to shaking somebody else's hand."

It feels different - feels good - because it's Hank, he's started to realise. Everything about being around Hank feels good. Watching him come back to himself in this new place, trying new things with him, talking to him and listening to what he has to say, conversations that feel as close to interfacing as he could get with a human, sharing information and emotion and opinion. The sight of him, the sound of his voice, make him feel like he's where he needs to be.

"I want to keep doing it. And I'm glad - I don't want you to have any reason to feel lonely anymore."

It feels like he's getting closer to something, and losing his grip on it at the same time.

[sociallychallenged]

There seems to be relief in Hank as well. That his admission hadn't pushed Connor away. That he doesn't feel like he tricked him in some way. But more than that, the confirmation that, yeah, Connor likes it too? Is relieving.

He looks down at Connor rubbing his hands together, and he puts his own hand in the center of Connor's back and rubs up and down, giving him about the softest look that face can manage, hair half falling in his eyes.

"Didn't I say I'd show you how to dance sometime?" He asks Connor, simply, eyes drifting down briefly mesmerized by those delicate fingers. "You wanna try when we get back? I've scrounged up enough decent music for it."

He doesn't move his hand away this time. He leaves it there, right above his hips, just resting.

[notalive]

The hand on his back is welcome, even though he can't quite shake the feeling that the dim echo of body heat isn't enough - it's not actual skin-to-skin contact. He tries to dismiss that notion, as insistent as a task to complete in itself.

Hank's hair is in his face - Connor can't see it properly. So it feels natural to reach up and brush it back out of the way, a tender kind of motion he didn't realise he was capable of. But now that he does, it's almost overwhelming for a moment. He was never created to feel this way, but he can anyway - Hank made sure of it just be being who he is.

"Yeah," he says quietly, "Yeah, let's try it."

[sociallychallenged]

There isn't a damn person on that street that wouldn't assume they were 'just friends' in that moment, not with Hank's hand resting on his back and Connor gently pushing those thick waves away from Hank's face. It's not a collection of fragile features in the slightest. He wears his age like a dead weight. But it's achingly fond.

For every invading fantasy he's had about Connor, this is the one he's allowed himself to entertain without guilt. The idea of showing him something simple. To test his weight leaning against him, the temperature of his hand. It's a satisfying thought.

He'd once dwelled on the idea that humans would replace their human partners with androids. He hated it, resented that man would play fucking Pygmalion rather than actually go on a date. But somehow meeting an android under natural circumstances made it feel like perfect sense.

When they're back to the apartment Maggie gets up from laying in the floor (she's learned to imitate sleep because it makes Hank's rest better), and goes to greet them both. Ruffles her ears and leaves her to Connor for a moment as he steps away to find a good song.

"Thanks for this," he remarks, back to him as he looks through a collection of random songs. "It's been a while, but I'm pretty sure I won't screw up too much."

cough

[notalive]

Connor's painfully aware, and has been for a while, that every time he relaxes is a time when they could be working, when their guard is down, when anything could happen and they just plain won't be prepared for it. But sometimes it's just…hard not to want to take that risk.

He fought to be able to even want to.

"What do you think?" he asks Hank, tugging the collar straight and stepping out of the way so Hank can see himself in the store's full length mirror. It's a fairly subdued-looking wool suit, but the shirt is loud - something that looks like it could sit in Hank’s wardrobe back in their dorm room, but in a form far less form-fitting and that layers over a t-shirt, not under a waistcoat. He decided when Hank let him do this that he’d make it Hank...only a dressed up version. He wasn’t just going to buy a suit that fit, throw it on him and call it a day.

Sometimes Connor experiments a bit more with how he himself looks, too - even at times like now when there’s no pressure on him to look any particular way. Especially times like now. His clothes are nothing special - jeans, blazer over a T-shirt - but his hair is curly and hanging a little in his face and...he’s wearing glasses. As an accessory. Just because.

Someone called him a hipster the other day and, upon looking that up, figured he’d try leaning into it. Just to see.

Having his vision interrupted by frames and very slightly distorted by lenses is annoying, though, so he probably won’t wear them again.

“I think a tie would be too much…” he says out loud, crossing his arms and looking Hank over. The suit fits well, he thinks - makes him look pretty damned good. He’s enjoying just this view for a moment, gaze raking over Hank’s broad chest and down his body.

[sociallychallenged]

It's a little funny. He looks like an 80s cop. Which isn't a bad thing, but yeah. The plain suit and the bright shirt leans into it and he's not going to protest.

He smooths his hair back and straightens his lapels as he looks at himself from every angle. Then gives Connor a mildly surprised look.

He appreciates that the man didn't try to undo him entirely. He let him have the loud shirts. The suit is still fine. There's a magnificent sweetness in this, that Connor found little aspects of Hank important enough to keep and cling to. He's not trying to completely modify him.

Hank finally smiles a little. It's small, but it's also lovesick.

"It's not often that I get to be the one that's dressed up." He finally leans in to give him an approving little kiss. For his choices in clothing, for his choices in Hank's clothing, for the way he's looking at him. For everything, in just a burst of affection.

[notalive]

Connor steps forward to press flush against Hank's chest, arms winding around his neck to kiss him.

...And after a moment's consideration, he withdraws just enough to take off his glasses - then kisses Hank again like the interruption hadn't happened. If he doesn't keep his hands wrapped around Hank's neck, he won't be able to resist running his hands down the suit, and that could be embarrassing in the middle of a shop.

When he finally withdraws, he's smiling too, just as lovesick as Hank.

"You deserve it," he murmurs, pulling back to hook a leg of the glasses in his T-shirt. They probably look even more stupid there, but he'll deal with it. "Does it feel OK? You like how it looks?"

He's a little anxious that Hank actually like it - he doesn't want Hank putting up with it to make Connor happy. There are definitely certain things they both put up with because it makes the other happy - but this shouldn't be one of them. What's the point if Hank doesn't love it?

His own suit is already ready - it turns out Connor was the same size and shape as the mannequin, a fact that made him falter for a moment before deciding to accept it as the money-saving boon it was. Besides, he likes it - after some thought, he decided that he would have to deal for the rest of his life with these little reminders that he was constructed to be an ideal. They're not worth giving up on things he likes over.

"I gotta run a few errands before dinner," he says later, as they're leaving the store. "D'you mind if I meet you there?"

[sociallychallenged]

"I must be the only guy who can take his android to dinner."

The claim of ownership is a lighthearted joke. Mostly borne out of the fact that of all the people in the world, Hank was the one least likely to own an android of his own free will. And for another? Well, he likes to claim him.

He's not the department's, he's not Kamski's, he's Hank's. At least, in those moments that Connor lets him have him.

He brushes some of Connor's curls away from his face, continuing to marvel in those brown eyes.

"Alright, there's a good fish and chips place. Well, whatever they make that passes for fish. Tastes about right. Let's you and me go there." He smooths his hands up and down the arms of Connor's blazer, taking in the feel of the nice fabric under his rough fingers.

"Sound good?"

[notalive]

"Your android, huh?" His voice is pitched a lot lower, just loud enough for Hank to hear, and the grin in it is just on the verge of predatory. He does like to hear that, and Hank knows it too. Ironic as it seems on the outside. But the real truth is that choosing to belong to someone is a great freedom itself. He loves that freedom. Hank can say it whenever he wants, and Connor will get that dark little thrill every time he does.

"You're taking me for British food?" he asks, eyebrows going up. "And here I thought you liked me."

Connor can make a cultural reference every once in a while.

"I'll trust you," he concedes, a laugh in his voice. "I gotta go, but I'll meet you there. Let me know the address, alright?"

Connor'll have to piece together how to get to the place himself - wherever the address ends up being later. In the meantime, he has other places to be. Another couple stores for supplies. The dorms again, only when he knows Hank's already gone. Then he sprints across town untiring, to be barely on time at the something-like-seafood place Hank suggested.

He likes the curlier hair - so even formally, he decides to keep it. His waistcoat and tie contain the only patterns he's wearing, and when he picked out the tie... He couldn't help imagining it tying his wrists together, Hank holding onto it, holding him in place. He went for silk.

It's impossible not to beam when he sees Hank in the suit he picked out. Proud and happy and just a little bit possessive, it's an odd mix of emotions and he revels in them.