Archive of Our Own

"Good morning, Lieutenant Anderson. My name is Connor. I'm your new partner."

Hank lifted his face out of his hands with a wince – the light of the bullpen was too damn bright for his hangover – to see who the heck Fowler was trying to pair him with now. Dark hair slicked back, with one perfect curl over his forehead. Soulful brown eyes. His face was gentle enough to be disarming but serious enough to look professional.

An LED on his forehead.

"Ah fuck. What the hell? An android?"

The android – Connor – nodded. "I am an RK800 model designed to assist human law enforcement officers with their cases."

This was bullshit. Hank put his head back down on his desk. Fowler knew better than to try and pair him up with an android. Hell, he knew better than to try and pair Hank up with anybody.

"I didn't mean to upset you, Lieutenant," Connor assured him. "My only aim is to help you with your investigations."

Hank let out a heavy breath. The only thing 'helpful' about Connor just then was that his voice wasn't making Hank's hangover worse. Hank wasn't fit to be anyone's partner. Instead of trying to pair him up with new recruits or promotion hopefuls or—or damn androids, Fowler should just fire him already. Anyone else would have been fired.

"Lieutenant Anderson?" Connor asked, his voice gentling – like he was talking to someone going through grief. Shit, did he look as bad as he felt? Jesus. "I understand that working with androids is difficult for some people, but I promise you that I will work very hard to be a good partner for you."

Hank stood up so abruptly it made his stomach consider mutiny, but it also stopped Connor speaking. He brushed past Connor without looking at him and stalked all the way to the door marked 'Captain Fowler.'

Fowler was on the phone when Hank burst through the glass door. He rolled his eyes at Hank's crossed arms and obstinate expression, but quickly ended his call anyway. "What now, Hank?" he asked with the tone of one who put up with way too much bullshit.

"What the hell are you trying to pull, Jeffrey? An android?" Hank demanded, throwing his arm out to gesture vaguely back toward his desk. He nearly smacked said android in the face, since apparently he had followed him into the office. Connor stepped to the side to be out of arm's reach.

"Yes, an android," Fowler repeated. He tapped his desk. "Do you know how many partners you've had in the past three years?" Hank scowled and Fowler scowled right back. "So many that the entire department thinks you're some kind of boogeyman. You're a punishment officers warn each other about. No one wants to work with you!"

"Good!" Hank shouted, throwing his hands in the air. God his head hurt. "I don't want to work with them either!"

"This isn't about wants anymore!" Fowler's shout was so forceful it actually shocked Hank quiet. The captain ran a hand over his head, sighing and looking at his desk. "I'm worried about you," Fowler admitted. "Ever since—"

Hank growled, cutting off Fowler's sentence. To his left, Hank saw Connor's LED flash red and his expression tighten.

Fowler met his eyes again. He was as serious as he had ever been, but still his eyes held sympathy. "You're a good cop, a good detective, but you haven't been yourself. If it weren't for our history, I would have fired you years ago."

"You should have," Hank said, but it didn't have the vitriol of moments ago.

Continuing as if Hank hadn't spoken, Fowler said, "You need help, Hank. And since you keep scaring off all my human officers, you'll put up with an android one. At least you can't annoy the crap out of this one."

"Jeffrey—!"

"That's the end of it!" Fowler snapped. "Now I know you've got cases to handle, so take your new partner and get it done." When Hank inhaled to object, Fowler pointed at the door. "Now, Anderson."

Though he grumbled and complained the whole way, Hank returned to his desk. A few moments later, the android took the desk across from him – a desk that had been empty for over a month, since his last partner got transferred elsewhere.

Opening his top desk drawer, Hank pulled out a bottle of aspirin and popped a dose of pills back with his coffee. He grimaced. Cold coffee was the worst. Why hadn't he called out again? Oh right. He didn't have any more time off until next month. With another grimace, he woke his computer up and logged in. Fowler had said he had an open case. Which one was that again?

"What's your dog's name?"

"Huh?"

The android was sitting up straight in his chair, perfect posture, bright eyes. Curiosity. He was curious.

Wait. Hank frowned. Who was what now? He blinked hard and shook his head, but that just made him dizzy.

"Your dog," Connor repeated. "The hairs on your chair and clothes. They belong to a Saint Bernard, right? What's their name?"

If Hank didn't know better, he would swear Connor honestly wanted to know, that the question wasn't just programming trying to build a file of information on Hank.

"Why do you want to know?" Hank groused.

Connor gave a simple shrug. "I like dogs."

He liked dogs. Hank shook his head. These androids were getting more and more realistic with every new model. But whether it was a machine or a person, if they liked dogs then they couldn't be so bad, right?

He was also impressed that Connor was able to tell what breed of dog he owned just from the hairs on his chair. Well, a little impressed. Maybe this RK-whatever wouldn't be so bad to partner with after all.

"Sumo," he said. Already his headache was dissipating. "I call him Sumo."

Connor smiled. "That's a good name." His LED flickered yellow for a second, his eyes fluttering, and the smile vanished. "Donna Hammock just arrived to give her statement."

Right, the Hammock Case. A homicide. The victim was Stephen Hammock. Witnesses had described a few unknown people in the building around the time of the murders, but there had been no DNA evidence or murder weapon found at the crime scene. His wife, Donna, had been inconsolable and unable to speak at the time police questioned her.

The look Connor was giving him was expectant and patient. Hank rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. Let's go."

Connor grinned at him and followed him out of the bullpen.

…

…

The room Donna Hammock was put in for her statement was not an interrogation room. There were comfy green chairs and a cream colored couch, and one of the station androids served tea and cookies with a smile. Donna – dressed in scuffed jeans and a t-shirt that looked to be several sizes too big on her and minimal makeup to cover up the bags under her eyes – sat in one of the chairs. Connor took the other chair, leaving Hank with way too much space on the couch.

"Ah, Mrs. Hammock. Thank you for coming in to talk to us today," Hank fumbled out.

She gave him a weak smile. "I just—I want…If there's some way to help find," her voice cracked and her smile grew tense, "the one who…killed Stephen. I want to help."

Already tears were pooling in her dark eyes and slipping down her cheeks. Hank had to look away. He had never been good with crying from witnesses or victims. His heart contracted painfully each time, and it was almost like he himself were the one grieving.

"That shirt," Connor spoke up softly, gently drawing attention to himself. His LED was a dim yellow, the light slowly circling at the side of his face. "It belonged to Stephen?"

Donna nodded and rubbed her eyes, trying and failing to stop crying. "I can't believe he's gone. It seems impossible. But I—I can't feel him anymore."

They were soulmates. Hank fought not to cross his arms over his chest. Soulmates could feel each other's emotions. Not every single emotion, but enough of them. They could tell when the other was upset or sad or happy or anxious or proud. It made talking through fights easier, they said. It made dates and holidays and raising children together easier, they said.

Hank wouldn't know.

Connor stood from his chair and knelt in front of Donna. He looked up at her with care in his eyes and sympathy in every perfectly programmed inch of his face. His LED was back to a calming blue. "You feel closer to him by wearing his clothes," he whispered. Donna nodded again. "I know it's hard to think about—the day you lost him—but any hints, any at all, will help us find the one responsible, Donna."

Color Hank surprised. Sure, there were androids that worked in the field of psychology and therapy and nursing, and they needed to be able to emulate empathy and understanding with their clients. Hank just hadn't expected it from a cop android. It even made Hank's chest loosen, let him breathe easier in the face of Donna's tears.

Donna reached out to Connor and held his hand in both of her own. He wrapped his fingers around hers in return, giving a reassuring squeeze. With her eyes focused on Connor's own, Donna began to speak.

"I was out getting groceries…I was humming – this stupid commercial tune that always gets stuck in my head. Stephen says he always knows when I'm humming that song, because of the feeling he gets from me. So he was amused, which made me happy while I was picking out the best eggplants for dinner."

It was a happy memory, but all Hank felt was sorrow.

She swallowed thickly. "Then he was…irritated. Like when the dishwasher's been run three times but the dishes are still dirty and we have to call to get it fixed again. By the time I was checking out, he was angry."

She was shaking. Hank wanted to comfort her in some way, but he didn't know how. He was an old man who had never lost a soulmate. Everything he could think of to say sounded wrong even in his head. All he had was a rush of sympathy for Donna and no way to do anything about it. Connor covered her hands with his free hand. That alone calmed her enough to keep going.

"Then he was scared," she whispered. "Just for a few moments...He was scared and then he…and then he wasn't anything. He wasn't—and I knew. Before I got home. Before the police called. I knew. Because I couldn't feel him anymore."

Donna dissolved into tears then. Releasing her hands, Connor wrapped her in a hug, cradling her to his chest. Hank couldn't see Connor's face from this angle, couldn't tell if he was still wearing that expression of compassion, but he was still…impressed. And relieved. Connor was doing the hardest part of these sorts of visits. Even without feeling emotions of his own, Connor was taking on the emotional burden of the case. Hank, still suffering from a minor headache and queasy hangover stomach, could not have handled the situation as well as this android was.

…

…

After speaking with Mrs. Hammock for a few more minutes, she was escorted home by one of the department androids and Connor asked to see the evidence collected at the crime scene. Hank took him down into the archives vault and called up the evidence for this case. Then he stood to the side and let Connor analyze to his mechanical heart's content.

He was half dozing against the wall when Connor said, "I think the murderer is someone he knew."

"And what gives you that idea?" Hank yawned.

Connor was still staring at the minor bits of evidence they had collected. Photos of the crime scene. Security camera footage from the entrance to the apartment building where the Hammock's lived. Blood samples from the splatter in the room – all Stephen Hammock's. Recordings of three witness testimonies.

"There is no evidence of a break in, no items missing from the home. It wasn't a robbery, and no one forced their way in," Connor said.

Though he agreed with the statement, Hank decided to play Devil's Advocate. "Coulda been someone posing as a delivery guy."

Connor shook his head. "No. It's Mrs. Hammock's testimony," he said, turning to face Hank. "Her husband wasn't scared to start with. He wasn't startled. He wasn't curious. He was irritated. Like when a problem you thought you solved happens again, she said." He shrugged, but his voice was certain. "We need to look at people Mr. Hammock had issues with in the past, but who he didn't have contact with anymore. Someone he wouldn't be happy to see again."

Would Hank never stop being surprised by this android? That was a lot of good, logical theorizing. He wasn't simply seeing the evidence. He was synthesizing it. He was making conclusions. Created to assist with investigations indeed.

Connor's LED, which had been yellow as he analyzed and spoke, turned blue again as his lips pulled up at the corners.

He looked so damn pleased with himself that Hank forced himself to scowl, to dampen the android's sense of accomplishment. "It's something to do, at least." His head gave a pang. "You can do that on your own at a computer, right?"

Connor nodded, the smile gone from his face.

"Good." Hank waved toward the glass walls of the archives' exit and then headed that way. "You can do that while I get a coffee, or take a nap. My head is killing me."

From three steps behind him, Connor quipped, "Excessive alcohol intake will do that, Lieutenant. Perhaps if you didn't drink so much on work nights."

Hank wanted to punch him, but he knew it would only hurt him, not the android, and result in another write up in his file.

…

…

By the time Hank had his coffee, Connor had found the most likely candidate for the murderer. His name was Adam Pike. He and Stephen had gone to the same college with the same major and ended up going into business together after they graduated. Their business struggled for awhile before suddenly gaining popularity almost overnight about two years ago. This was all already in the file on Stephen Hammock.

What Connor had found, though, was that shortly after the business became lucrative, Stephen had taken Adam to court over the rights to the business. The result was that Adam was locked out of the company entirely and didn't get to keep a dime of the profits they had made.

They had him in custody and confessing before the sun set that night.

As the cuffs were snapped on and Adam Pike was taken away, Hank felt a brief surge of pride in a job well done the likes of which he had not felt about his job in years. It was so unexpected that it left him jittery, as if he had drank four cups of coffee in quick succession and not simply the one from that morning.

Hank left without saying goodbye to Connor or any of the other officers present, getting in his car and driving home in silence. He even breathed a sigh of relief when the feeling of pride finally faded, leaving the same well of depression he had been wallowing in for years.

…

…

Connor was also very proficient at filing paperwork. By the time Hank got in to work the next day, the Hammock Case was one hundred percent closed and filed away. That left Hank with basically nothing to do for a few days. Even paperwork for other cases that Hank was meant to read and sign off on, Connor had it prepped and ready for signature or e-signature in seconds, a quick summary of the file rattled off in twenty seconds or less.

It was eerily efficient.

It also meant a lot of downtime, and a lot of Connor asking questions. At first, Hank either flat out ignored him or snapped at him to mind his own business. No one wanted a machine nosing into their business. But there was just something about his dumb brown eyes and the way his eyebrows drew in whenever Hank was mean to him that reminded Hank of a dog. A puppy that was just trying to be nice and didn't understand why it wasn't working.

So he stopped snapping. And dammit if Connor didn't look more like a puppy when Hank actually answered his questions. If androids had tails, Connor's would have been wagging up a storm, he just knew it. The thought made Hank grin, though he did his best to hide it.

Sadly, there was no escape from his new android companion. Connor's programming seemed to insist that he follow Hank everywhere except the damn bathroom. Even when Hank, bored of playing solitaire in the office, went out for lunch – Connor followed.

"That burger has more than twice the daily recommended amount of cholesterol, Lieutenant."

Hank didn't pause for even a second in taking a bite, and shot Connor a 'bite me' look as he chewed. It didn't phase Connor at all. Of course it didn't. It never did.

"Besides my terrible eating habits, what else do you know about me?" Hank asked. "I'm sure you've got the whole file spinning around inside your head." That and Connor had never asked Hank about his record, just about other people in the office, so he must already have the information downloaded to his brain.

Connor nodded. His eyes tracked the burger as Hank kept eating, but his voice was as calm and modulated as ever.

"You graduated Valedictorian from the police academy, quickly moving from beat cop to detective. You were part of the Red Ice Task Force from 2027 to 2031, during which time you became the youngest lieutenant in the DPD. You then joined the homicide division and were responsible for a number of high profile arrests."

He was reaching the bit where Cole died, and Hank focused his attention on his burger, which was suddenly not appetizing at all. Why had he asked that stupid question?

There was a pause in Connor's recitation of Hank's records, and then, "You started having disciplinary issues in 2035. There have been seventy-six write ups against you since then, yet, given the minor nature of most of them and the fact that you still close cases, Captain Fowler has not determined these to be worth firing you over."

Then, with no warning, a flash of sympathy washed over Hank. He dropped his burger, which bounced off the table and onto the sidewalk below, but hardly noticed.

"Lieutenant? Are you alright?"

The sympathy was gone, but Hank just shook his head. "I'm—I'm fine."

That hadn't been his emotion. What reason did Hank have to feel sympathetic in that moment? No, it had been someone else's emotion. But the only way to feel someone else's emotion was if…if they were your soulmate.

But Hank didn't have a soulmate.

He was fifty-three years old and had never had a soulmate in all that time. So what the hell was going on that he was suddenly feeling someone else's emotions?

"You don't look fine. Here. Let me call the office. Then I'll escort you home."

Connor's hand landed on Hank's shoulder, knocking him from his shock. "No you will not call the office. I'm not taking the day off."

Why did he say that? He usually loved taking days off. More time to wallow in alcohol with no one to judge him. But he had no more paid time off. Plus if he were home alone, all he'd be able to focus on was this burst of emotion. He didn't want to face that. Not now. Maybe not ever.

He stared Connor down, and Connor stared right back. Finally, after a full minute of silence, Connor gave a nod and admitted defeat. He offered to buy Hank another burger, which was nice considering he had just told Hank how unhealthy it was, but Hank was no longer hungry. So instead, they got back into Hank's car and returned to the office.

…

…

Their next case involved grand theft auto. About once a week, an automated taxi was going missing. The tracking feature in the taxis was disabled, so it was impossible to track them to where they were being taken.

"Why steal taxis, though?" Connor asked as he and Hank wandered one of the warehouses where the taxis were kept when not in use.

Hank gave a half-shrug. "Probably to sell the parts for cash. There's a whole underground market for parts to androids and cars."

Row upon row upon row of taxis. Hank had always hated the self-driving taxi. He didn't trust a car to drive itself.

"You're some kind of prototype detective android, right?" Hank asked, stopping next to one of the taxis. At Connor's nod, Hank pat the hood of a taxi and asked, "Could you connect with one of these and figure out who's stealing them?"

Connor lifted an eyebrow at Hank. "If it were that easy, Lieutenant, then we wouldn't have a case at all."

Hank narrowed his eyes at Connor for the sass, but he wasn't actually upset. In fact, Connor's ability to sass him at all made being his partner more enjoyable.

"Right," he agreed. "Well, according to the security footage, the cars are leaving the warehouse like usual in the mornings, but they aren't coming back at night."

Connor looked around the room, his eyes glancing up toward the ceiling and around the cars, with a look of deep concentration. The LED on his forehead spun yellow for a second or two, then back to blue. "None of the cameras have been hacked lately," he said after a few moments.

Connor had only been Hank's partner for a few days, but already Hank sometimes forgot he wasn't human. He talked like a person and he looked like a person. He even seemed to have a sense of humor. Then he would say something like that, something about technology or computers that no human could know, and Hank would remember that his 'partner' was just a plastic machine. It was jarring.

A partner who made him question his sanity, and a sudden soulmate. Hank wasn't drunk enough for this.

Looking contemplative, Connor asked, "Where do they keep the keys?"

Hank frowned. "The keys? In the control room, I'd guess."

Connor glanced at the taxi under Hank's hand for a moment before meeting his eyes. "When automated taxis were first released, there was a general fear that someone might hack into their systems and cause them to crash," he related. "By 2032, however, every taxi's code had been updated to make them unhackable."

"So it's someone using a key then," Hank surmised, and Connor nodded.

That made sense, actually. Using the key wouldn't set off any alarms. No one would know anything was wrong until the taxi didn't come back.

The manager of the warehouse gathered together all of the workers currently present and provided the addresses of all those who weren't. Connor, amazingly, let Hank do the questioning. He stood before the gathered workers with his hands behind his back and a surprisingly intimidating look on his face while Hank went down the line asking questions. For as gentle as he had been with Mrs. Hammock, Hank was afraid to see Connor interrogate someone.

None of the four present workers seemed to have any information about the missing taxis. They were various levels of scared – whether at the idea of being charged for a crime or by Connor's death stare – but none of them were twitchy or nervous. They all had alibis for the days the taxis went missing as well.

As soon as they slid into Hank's car, the serious expression faded from Connor's face. Hank let out a whoosh of air as he started driving. "Glad to see that's done."

Connor gave him a curious expression. "Done? We haven't found the thief yet."

"Not that." Hank waved at Connor's head. "That expression. It was even scaring me and I know there's no way I stole a fucking taxi."

It only took a second of yellow swirling for Connor to understand. Then his eyes fell halfway closed and he smirked. "Are you sure? Perhaps I should investigate you as well."

Holy fuck. The car jerked to a stop when Hank hit the brake too hard approaching a stop sign. "What the fuck, Connor?" Was seducing your partner part of his programming too?

Connor, the little shit, looked perfectly innocent now. "We should go to Michael Haversmith's house first. It's the closest."

And of course his soulmate was amused at that exact moment too. Just what Hank needed. Two people who found him being flustered to be hilarious.

…

…

Michael Haversmith wasn't even aware taxis were going missing. The company should probably reconsider having him on their staff, but that was none of Hank's business.

The drive to Sarah Williams's house was quiet, but Hank kept getting flashes of humor from his soulmate. It was disconcerting. So he turned on some heavy metal to drown it out.

When they arrived at Sarah Williams's apartment complex, Connor asked, "So you like heavy metal. Who's your favorite group?"

Hank shrugged as they made their way through the underground parking to the elevator. "Don't know that I have one."

"I like Metallica." Hank hit the button for the fourth floor, where Sarah lived, and then gave Connor an incredulous look. Connor had the decency to look chastened. "Or I think I would. They're rated as the second best heavy metal band of all time."

Hank huffed a laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, they're pretty good."

For a few moments, they just smiled at each other. It was like there was this moment of understanding between them. Connor was trying to connect with him and Hank really appreciated that. And was it just Hank or had Connor's smiles started to look more natural?

The elevator dinged and the doors opened, ending the moment. Hank shook his head, gave Connor one last glimpse of smile, then exited into the hall.

Sarah lived in a pretty swanky apartment building. Everything was clean and sparkly, and there was a reception desk inside the front door manned by androids. The elevator ride had been smooth and quick, which was more than Hank could say of most elevators he'd ever been in. There was a goddamn chandelier in the hallway outside of the elevator.

It was more than Hank could afford, that was for damn sure.

"Something tells me she's got more than one source of income," Hank muttered before knocking on the door. "Detroit Police."

At the first sound of the lock clicking, Hank made sure Connor was behind him. A petite woman peeked through the gap at them. "Can I help you, officer?"

"Yeah. You mind if we come in for a minute? Ask a few questions?" Just from the state of her apartment building he was thinking she was behind the thefts, but it was always better to work on evidence than theory.

It took a second, but then the door was open and Sarah was motioning them inside. The inside of her apartment was so clean and perfect it could have been shown in a Better Homes and Gardens magazine. She had her KR200 model android start to make Hank some coffee before sitting down to answer questions.

"Your apartment is…er…lovely. Like walking into a magazine," Hank complimented.

Behind the couch where he sat, Connor wandered toward the kitchen to help make the drinks. Knowing Connor, he was actually checking for clues while pretending to be the help.

"Thank you. That's mostly due to Harold," Sarah said, motioning toward where the two androids stood by the coffee maker. "Sometimes I'll leave an awful mess before bed, but by the time I wake up, he's got the place looking spotless all over again."

Hank gave a brief smile, then clasped his hands between his knees and got serious. "Are you aware that taxis keep going missing from the company warehouse?"

If her android cleaned up all the time, then there was little chance any evidence of her thefts would be left out. Maybe Connor had some skill or hardware that could pick something up though.

A short nod. "It's hard not to notice. Our job is to keep track of those cars. We count them every morning before they leave. We keep track of their maintenance." She shook her head. "It just seems like such a silly thing – someone stealing taxis. I mean, it sounds like a joke, right?"

"Right."

For the smallest moment, Hank's suspicions were blanketed by surprise, then it was gone. It was hardly enough to be considered an emotional transfer, but Hank still narrowed his eyes. What was wrong with his—

"Lieutenant," Connor said, and both humans glanced into the kitchen. Connor was releasing the KR200 model's arm, his hand a smooth android white. "This android has been upgraded using high end products. Its memory bank shows the money for the purchases came from selling the stolen taxis."

Hank wore a satisfied grin as he turned to face Sarah once more. "Well then. That makes my job a lot easier, don't it? Ms. Williams—,"

Before he could finish, Sarah was up off the couch and rushing for the door. Hank tried to grab her but she was as quick as she was small. He took off after her as fast as he could – into the hall and down the stairwell. The apartment door clanged shut, alerting him to Connor's pursuit as well. They clattered down the stairs and out into the parking garage, but there was no sign of Sarah Williams.

Panting, Hank held a hand up toward Connor, indicating he should stop. "Stay here. Call in an APB on Sarah Williams. See if you can get the security footage and figure out what car she got in or if she ran outta here on foot. I'm gonna look around." He looked Connor in the eyes. "You stay here and make sure no one uses those stairs or the elevator to leave, got it?"

Connor nodded in agreement and Hank headed off into the garage.

The parking garage was pretty quiet, save for the sounds of traffic on the street outside echoing off the walls and the hum of electricity in the overhead lights. There was no sound of footsteps, nor of car doors slamming or engines running. As Hank looked around one row of cars to the next, he had to admit that it really seemed like Sarah had left on foot. Or else she was ducked behind a car somewhere and being very still.

He really didn't want to have to check behind every car. Dammit. With a sigh, Hank started walking the rows. If they weren't so full up on cases at the moment, he wouldn't even be out in the field right now, crouching to look under cars and in the beds of trucks.

A car rumbled to life and peeled out of its parking space with a squeal. Hank turned to look at it as it barreled down upon him, as sudden as a viper strike.

Well shit.

A jolt of panic that wasn't his own hit him so hard he would have stumbled, except in the next moment something collided with him and sent him hurtling between two SUVs. His forearms hurt from the fall but it was already fading. Below him, Connor had his arms wrapped around Hank protectively and had taken the brunt of the fall. His LED was red.

"What the—Connor?"

"Are you alright, Lieutenant?" Connor asked, and he…actually sounded frightened. Frightened, like the panic still surging through Hank's soulmate bond.

"I—er—I'm fine."

The panic was replaced with relief so strong Hank could drown in it. And Connor's LED cycled back to blue.

No way.

They separated and Connor leaned out from between the cars, looking both ways. "She's gone. I've already made the APB, so it shouldn't be long before she's caught."

There was no way. Except that would explain so much, wouldn't it? Why he didn't feel his soulmate until recently. Why the emotions came and went so randomly. Except Connor was an android. As nice as he was, he was—Androids were machines. They—They mimicked emotions. They didn't—

Connor sat back on his legs and held his hands out, palm up, before him. He stared at his fingers as if they held the secrets of the universe. And the emotion filtering through Hank left him feeling untethered, let loose from his moorings. After a few seconds, Connor turned and looked at Hank.

"I'm…sorry. That I didn't follow your orders, Lieutenant." His voice was carefully modulated, almost like he was testing the words.

Hank shook his head. "Don't worry about it." He heaved a breath. "You saved my life."

Connor smiled at him. Simple happiness touched Hank's heart.

Hank needed a fucking drink.

…

…

"-tenant?"

Fuck off.

"Lieutenant Anderson?"

Fuck. Off.

"Hank. Can you hear me?"

God, Hank hated being awake. His head was swimming. He was dizzy and he wasn't even moving.

"Fuck off."

"I can't do that, Hank."

Hank's eyes finally focused on who was before him. It was Connor, kneeling on the ground in Hank's kitchen.

"The hell are you doin here?" Hank slurred, making no move to get up.

Connor tilted his head to the side. "You didn't answer your phone."

Groaning, Hank closed his eyes again. His stomach swirled unpleasantly and he clenched his teeth against the urge to vomit.

Concern washed over him like a wave at the beach. It was just as comforting, and Hank let himself be soothed for a moment. Then he remembered that those kinds of emotions were exactly why he was drunk in the middle of the afternoon on a work day in the first place.

"I'm going to help you up." Without waiting for a reply, Connor put an arm around Hank's shoulders and sat him up, then hoisted him to his feet.

Hank's stomach was roiling.

He hardly noticed where they were going or what was happening. There was too much alcohol sloshing around in his system for such higher cognitive functioning. All he knew was the concern. The care.

His soulmate was worried. His soulmate cared about him. And god, wasn't that what he'd wanted his entire damn life? To feel that his soulmate cared, that they were there, that they existed?

The toilet was before him and he was blowing chunks into its porcelain halo. Connor had a hand on his back and was, ever-so-slightly, rubbing calmly up and down. It was so stupid, but fuck if it didn't actually make Hank feel better about throwing up.

And wasn't that the kicker? His soulmate might just be his new android partner. Except it couldn't be true. Androids didn't experience emotions. It just so happened to be that his soulmate's emotions were washing over him at around the same time that Connor simulated similar emotions. That had to be what was happening. Right?

His mouth felt tingly. Minty fresh. Had he brushed his teeth? Connor sat him down on his bed and helped slide him under the covers, all without a word. His LED was cycling back and forth between blue and yellow. Blue and yellow. Primary colors. Blue and yellow make green.

Shit, what if his soulmate was a child? Hank knew that not all soulmates were romantically involved, but still. What if he hadn't felt anything from them before because they were a baby? The person meant to understand him best was someone more than fifty years his junior.

It made about as much sense as his soulmate being a fucking android. Which meant it didn't really make sense at all. Hank drifted off without making heads or tails of his own spiraling thoughts.

And woke up to the smell of something cooking.

Head throbbing, Hank clumsily fought his way out of his blankets and stumbled to the door. In the hall, it smelled like eggs. Had Hank cooked eggs while drunk? He'd never cooked while drunk before.

Nope. It wasn't Hank. It was Connor.

The light of early morning sun was just peeking through the blinds on every window in the house. Hank felt like death warmed over. And an advanced police investigative android was standing in his kitchen making an omelet.

"What the fuck?"

Connor looked up from the eggs and nodded at him. "Good morning, Lieutenant. Breakfast is almost ready, if you'll take a seat."

He motioned toward the table, where a covered bowl and a covered mug were sitting. Just as Hank took a seat, the toaster popped. Connor put the toast on a plate and spread a modest amount of honey on top. Then he plated the omelet alongside the toast and placed them on the table next to the covered bowl. The mug turned out to have tea in it – which smelled like peppermint – and the bowl was full of a cloudy soup.

"What is all this?" Hank asked, bemused.

Connor pointed to each item as he listed them. "An omelet with tomato, spinach, avocado, onion, and cheese. Eggs, tomatoes, spinach, and avocados are good for replacing the nutrients lost while drinking alcohol. Toast with honey, to improve your blood sugar levels. Ginger peppermint tea. Both ginger and peppermint have been shown to improve digestion and sooth an upset stomach. And miso soup, to improve your sodium levels. It also has probiotics to improve the health of your gut."

He didn't sound proud for having prepared all of this food, and Hank wasn't getting any emotion from his soulmate at that moment. Did that mean Connor wasn't his soulmate, or just that Connor didn't feel strongly enough about any of this for it to transmit?

Hank's stomach protested and he decided that nope, nope, he was too hung over to continue with those thoughts. He was just going to enjoy the food and get on with his day. Confusing, life-altering thoughts like that could wait until he didn't want to murder the sun or tear out his own eyeballs.

…

…

Sarah Williams was caught shortly before Hank and Connor arrived at the station, and so was waiting for them in an interrogation room. Connor put in a request to have her android delivered to the station as well, since the records proving Sarah was the culprit were in its memory banks.

The food Connor had prepared for Hank had actually helped, so he was able to successfully interrogate Sarah himself – though Connor had offered to do it for him if he still felt bad.

"Even if I did, I've done harder work while feeling way worse than I did this morning," Hank had commented.

Connor frowned. "I'm not sure that's something to brag about, Lieutenant."

Waving him off, Hank had walked into the interrogation room and gotten Sarah to give them three other people who worked selling the illegal parts before he was done. Connor then downloaded the relevant files from Harold and passed them along to Hank's computer.

Just as Hank was about to sit down and check the files, a zing of something – Fear? Excitement? Adrenaline? – came through the soulmate bond, at the same moment that Connor muttered, "Jericho?"

"Huh?" Hank looked back at where Connor was just pulling away from Harold, both of their hands regaining their human appearances. "What'd you say?"

Connor shook his head. "Nothing. Something in his memory bank. It's not relevant to the case, though. I promise."

His LED was blue. His voice was normal. But the name 'Jericho' sounded familiar, so later, while Connor was doing his efficient paper pushing skill, Hank looked it up.

A city in Palestine. In the New Testament, it was on the road to Jericho that the parable of the Good Samaritan occurred. It was also the city where an army marched around it a bunch of times and then God made the walls around the city collapse so the army could go in. Hank vaguely remembered these stories from when he was a kid attending church with his parents.

Sarah wore a cross around her neck. She must've done some preaching about faith to her android or someone. Then Connor got a smack of it while in Harold's memories. Curiosity satisfied, Hank moved on to official work once more.

…

…

The next day, Connor left his desk at eleven thirty and returned a few minutes later with a lunch box.

"What the hell? You don't eat lunch," Hank said, watching with bemusement as Connor unzipped the bag.

"How very astute of you, Lieutenant." Connor removed a plastic container from the lunch box and placed it on Hank's desk. "It's not my lunch. It's yours."

Hank spluttered and stuttered, but no full words came out until, "Why?"

Connor placed his hands behind his back. "I noticed you had a distinct lack of nutritious food in your house. To even make you breakfast I had to make a visit to the local grocery store." He nodded at the food. "This is cheaper and healthier for you than what you normally get when you go out for food."

Curious and yet cautious about what food an android had prepared for him that was 'healthy,' Hank popped open the plastic container. Brown rice, zucchini, eggplant, onions – it was a stir fry. It smelled really good, too.

"Where'd you get this?" Hank asked, picking the container up to look for a sticker or some indication of what store Connor bought it at.

"I made it." Connor gave a one armed shrug. "Housekeeping is not my designed function, but recipes are easily downloaded."

"Wha-When the hell did you make it?" There wasn't a kitchen at the station. There was a microwave and a coffee maker and a fridge.

Connor frowned. "Last night."

So he had gone out and bought the ingredients for stir fry yesterday after work and had…prepped and cooked and stored it for Hank to eat today? The care that showed made Hank's heart feel over full. Connor's lips twitched upward into the beginnings of a smile.

"Well, since you made it, I guess I'll give it a shot," Hank grumbled, not wanting Connor to see that he was actually looking forward to eating, despite how cute that smile was. "You'd best not be expecting me to eat it with chopsticks though."

A fork was placed on the desk next to Hank's hand. Connor lifted both eyebrows in his best wide-eyed innocent expression. "Oh I would never expect you to use chopsticks, Lieutenant. You might drop some, and that would be a terrible waste."

Hank wanted to be upset, but he really did love Connor's sass too much to maintain any anger. It was always more amusing than irritating when Connor back talked – unexpected and a little bit thrilling. Hank's amusement was mirrored with amusement from his soulmate and Hank quickly grabbed his fork so he could eat instead of focus on Connor's face.

Connor wasn't his soulmate. As great as Connor was, there was just no way. Androids didn't have soulmates. End of story.

…

…

It became a thing. Connor bringing him food, that was. Somehow, though department androids shouldn't have had access to a kitchen or any food supplies other than coffee and crackers, Connor managed to present Hank with lunch three days a week. And it was all good food. It was healthy, but Connor never skimped on flavor. He had also, somehow, never made a meal that Hank didn't like. That was the real magic. Soon, just seeing that blue lunch box instantly made Hank feel better even on shitty, boring days.

And whenever Hank was happy, so was his soulmate. The idea that Hank could make someone happy just by being happy himself…He had forgotten what that was like. His wife had been like that. Making her happy had made Hank happy and vice versa. It was a nice feeling.

Other than the lunches, work was typical.

Fowler gave Hank a stack of cases at the beginning of each week and Connor helped him figure out which detectives and officers to assign to each case, based on past cases, skill sets, and current work load.

Whenever Fowler gave them a new order or regulation or planned a training of some kind, Hank had Connor email notices to anyone it directly affected. He would have done that himself, but Connor could write and send an email in seconds with his brain, so it just made more sense for him to do it.

Connor alerted Hank to any officers whose uniform or equipment were out of compliance and then Hank would take great pleasure in reprimanding them about it. Hank always got a zing of anticipation right before Connor told him about an infraction. If Hank wasn't stoutly denying the fact that Connor was his soulmate, he might think the android got a kick out of watching Hank give the more uppity detectives a dressing down. Some detectives more than others.

Fucking Reed.

They got called to deal with a stabbing case, a drug bust, and one case of an officer who got shot in the leg by a would-be car thief. 'Would-be' because Connor straight up charged the guy and tackled him to the floor of the car park when he and Hank arrived. Despite Hank shouting for him to stay back.

Fucking androids. Honestly! It was the first time Hank shouted at Connor.

"He'd already shot Rodriguez. I guess you wanted to give him another go!" Hank railed all the way back to the precinct. "One good shot and you would've been gone! Done! Dead! Is that what you want? Huh?! You wanna die?! Why do you never listen?!"

It didn't hit Hank until much later that Connor, being an android, wasn't considered alive and therefore couldn't die. Or that Connor hadn't corrected Hank instantly. It registered about the same moment that the oppressive feeling of shame began to ebb from the back of Hank's heart, where he felt his soulmate's emotions.

Connor and Hank didn't speak for the rest of the day. The day after was still tense and awkward until Hank finally sighed and said, "Look. About yesterday. I'm sorry I shouted." Connor glanced over at him from his computer. "You just scared me."

For a minute, Hank thought Connor didn't forgive him. Connor just got up and walked away without a word. Then, as Hank was resigning himself to another silent day, Connor returned with the lunchbox.

"I appreciate the concern. Hank," Connor said, and then retook his seat.

Hank liked when Connor called him by name. It made him feel like they were friends.

There were also a few cases where Hank got to see Connor interrogate suspects. The first time, Hank let him do it on a whim – see what he was made of and all that. Afterward, he let Connor interrogate anyone he wanted to.

Whoever programmed the kid deserved to win an award or something. Hank had seen experienced cops who couldn't read suspects as well as Connor. He always seemed to know when to be calm, gentle, or borderline violent to get the suspect to crack and tell them what they wanted to know.

And every time he succeeded, Hank got a rush of pride through his soulmate link. Every time, it was harder and harder to convince himself that the emotions weren't coming from Connor. Every time, he was more and more convinced that, somehow, someway, Connor was…alive. Connor had real emotions. Connor was more than just a plastic detective.

…

…

The sun was bright through his blinds by the time Hank woke up. He cursed how cheerful it was and dragged a pillow over his face. What business did the world have being happy on a day like today…

Wait. The sun was bright?

"Shit!" Hank bolted upright, despite how it made his head spin, and clambered out of bed. His hand shot out to nab his phone from the side table.

10:47 AM

Just before Hank could start running out the door without brushing his teeth, eating, or even changing out of his damn pajamas, his brain registered the message on the phone screen. Clicking on it brought up an image of Connor, the empty station behind him.

"Good morning, Lieutenant," he began. "You may have noticed you're late for work. This is because I turned off the alarm on your phone."

Hank frowned. Why—What the hell did Connor think he was getting at, turning off Hank's alarm?

"Your behavior was…subdued yesterday, and you were feeling anxious and sad. A quick check of my records said today is the anniversary of—," Connor hesitated briefly, his eyes casting to the side as he took in a breath he didn't need, and then he looked forward again. "No one is expecting you in to work today. I've already called it in. Take it easy, Hank. Our cases will be waiting for you when you return."

The message ended, leaving Connor's sympathetic face frozen on the screen. The breath rushed out of Hank in a shaky rattle.

Four years.

Hank's heart throbbed painfully. He used his free hand to cup his mouth as tears jumped to his eyes. Four years ago, he lost his son. He'd felt this day's approach like an ache in the bones foretelling a storm.

And Connor had noticed.

Dropping his phone to the mattress, Hank pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. In response to the misery flooding over Hank, his soulmate's worry wormed in. Then sympathy. Usually Hank hated getting sympathy from people. It always felt like people were patronizing him or looking down on him. This emotion, however, straight from his soulmate's heart to his own…It was like a balm on burned skin.

…

…

The Ambassador Bridge was lit up, a collection of bright spots against the dark background of the sky. Hank stared at it and listened to the distant sound of traffic – cars and boats. The park around him was quiet and empty, as it should be at ten o'clock at night. The concern and sympathy from Hank's soulmate was still there, soothing Hank's heart enough that he wasn't already blackout drunk.

The softest of footsteps alerted Hank to the fact that he was not alone. Whoever it wasn't didn't speak, only came to stand near the bench where Hank was sitting and stood quietly. Hank almost thought he could feel his soulmate's emotions more then, even though that wasn't how soulmates worked.

He sighed and closed his eyes against the view of the bridge. "I wasn't actually sure you would show up."

"You asked me to come," Connor replied, confused by Hank's statement.

Hank shook his head. "I wasn't sure the precinct would let you out, how about that?"

He turned his head to look at Connor, who still looked nonplussed. As if the idea that the precinct could have said no had never crossed his mind. Hell, maybe it hadn't. He had no idea what Connor's life was like when Hank wasn't there. Hank huffed out a breath and cast his gaze back to the bridge across the water.

On the other side of that bridge was Canada. A whole other world. "Cole always wanted to go to Canada," he said quietly. "Thought it had magical creatures and stuff. Never had the heart to correct him, and…well, he never got to figure it out for himself."

Beside him, Connor clasped his hands behind his back. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant."

Hank waved him off. "This ain't police business. You can…You can call me Hank." He looked down at his hands, dangling between his knees. "You know, right? What happened."

Connor nodded. "A truck skidded on an ice sheet. Your car rolled over. Cole…didn't make it." His voice was full of remorse.

Hank shut his eyes. Parts of that day were so vivid. "It was the first day of school. First grade. He was wearing a Captain Marvel backpack and his school uniform." A mirthless smile. "He loved that stupid backpack. Refused to even look at any of the others in the store."

Cole said Captain Marvel reminded him of Hank. They both wore uniforms – he couldn't tell the difference between a cop and a pilot yet. They both risked their lives to help others. They were both so strong and smart and didn't let people get away with being bad. And she didn't know who her soulmate was either. She thought she didn't have one. Just like daddy.

When Hank relayed this to Connor, he was surprised. "You don't have a soulmate?" he asked, taking a step closer. "What about your—"

A shake of the head. "Nah. Marissa was great, but we weren't soulmates. Her soulmate was her sister." He gave Connor an ironic smile. "The person who knew her best, you know? And I'd never felt anything from anyone, so—" He shrugged. "But it didn't matter. We still loved each other. We were happy together."

You didn't need to be soulmates to fall in love or understand each other. Hank had always been sensitive to other peoples' emotions, and so had Marissa. They used to joke it was because neither of them had a romantic soulmate, so their senses were making up the difference. In reality it wasn't anything like that. It was just…being perceptive and empathetic.

As for not having a romantic soulmate…Well, Hank still couldn't wrap his head around the idea of an android soulmate. It still seemed impossible and crazy. But it meant something that, while mourning for his son, he had called Connor to talk to.

After a moment of silence, Connor asked, "What happened to her?"

It was nice that he asked, since he could probably look it up faster than Hank could explain it. Hell, maybe he had. The fact that he bothered to ask made Hank like him better though.

"There was a complication after she gave birth," Hank said, keeping his voice as monotonous as possible. "They fought for her, and damn if she didn't put up a fight too, but in the end…she didn't make it." He huffed. "Funny how we can be so advanced as to make androids, but people can still die in fucking childbirth. What a world."

A gust of wind made Hank shiver. The first snowfall had been three days ago and it was getting colder by the day. The forecast called for a freeze soon. Hank wasn't wearing nearly enough layers, but the cold made his heart hurt less, like it was numbing more than just his body.

Connor took a seat on the bench beside Hank and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. While he wasn't as warm as a person, his body was decidedly warmer than the air around them.

"Wha—"

"You're cold," Connor stated. "My jacket won't fit around your shoulders, and the material is hardly thick enough to block the wind anyway."

For a moment, Hank couldn't believe what he was hearing. Connor was…trying to keep him warm? Like the boyfriend in a romantic comedy? Then a chuckle forced its way up his throat and past his lips, and he was laughing.

Connor frowned. "I'm not sure what's funny."

Hank shook his head. Nothing about their conversation was funny. It was the anniversary of Cole's death, and they had even covered his wife dying. It shouldn't be possible for Hank to laugh. He should be so drunk that one wrong word would have him shouting profanities and threatening violence.

Instead, he had received comfort from his android partner since the moment he woke up, and his soulmate throughout the day. And said android (and possibly soulmate, but no, no, it wasn't—) was trying so hard in that moment to be human and help and…and Hank couldn't help but laugh.

Mimicking Connor from the other day, Hank said, "Thank you for your concern. Connor."

He felt alright. Not good. Not happy. But alright. And that was fine. 'Alright' was so much better than he had been even a few weeks ago. Hank could live with 'alright.'

…

…

A few days later, just as Connor presented Hank with the lunch of the day – grilled salmon with pineapple salsa, which sounded odd but Connor had never let him down before – Officer Miller stopped by their desks. He looked inquisitively between Connor, the meal, and Hank for a few seconds before visibly deciding to leave it alone.

"New case for you, Lieutenant."

Hank accepted the tablet offered to him. He sent off a copy of the report to Connor's station before beginning to flip through the pages on his own.

"An android strip club?" Hank looked up. "Really, Chris?"

Miller shrugged. "I don't know, boss. Fowler just said to hand it to you." He got an interested gleam in his eye. "You need any help?"

It was only through working with Chris Miller for awhile that Hank knew the interest wasn't from the idea of seeing half naked androids. He honestly just wanted to help. Miller was a good cop, and a good guy to boot. Hank would never understand why he looked up to Hank of all people.

With a glance at Connor, Hank said, "Nah. Thanks though."

And Chris, like the good man he was, accepted it with a nod and went on his way. Hank gave Connor – who was still looking through the files, though Hank knew he must have read it about a billion times by now – his full attention.

"Wanna go check out a death at a strip club?" he asked wryly.

Connor nodded. "The suspect is an android. I'm curious."

Curious. A very human response. And hadn't Connor been curious since the first day they met? Hank nodded and grabbed his coat.

…

…

The Eden Club boasted the sexiest androids in town. A lot of their customers were either people who had not found their romantic soulmate yet and didn't want to 'spoil' themselves before they did, or people whose soulmate was not a romantic partner and who preferred sex with androids to people. Hank didn't much care for the place. He had never seen the point in paying for sex. Sure, he was lonely and couldn't hold a relationship with a real person, but paying someone for sex held no appeal. Where was the emotional closeness in an act like that?

"If you're feeling uncomfortable, I can go inside and investigate on my own," Connor offered.

"What?" Hank parked the car outside the club and turned to look at Connor in the passenger seat. He shook his head. "Nah, it's fine. Besides, the owner probably wouldn't take you seriously. Android sex club. Android investigator? Hardly."

Despite Connor's concerns, Hank wasn't the one to feel uncomfortable as they passed the caution tape holograms and entered the club. It was Hank's soulmate. The feeling seeped in, growing stronger the farther into the club they went. Outside of the room with the murder scene, Hank stopped and looked back at Connor. He was looking around the room as he slowly followed Hank, and though he was trying to keep his face neutral there was a pinching around his eyes and his lips that showed he was not happy in the club.

More evidence. Hank was a detective. It was his job to follow the evidence. Even if they led to an outcome that went against everything he thought he'd known about the world. Was Connor really his soulmate? Every emotion coursing through Hank seemed to point that way.

Inhaling deeply, Hank tried to center himself. Then he called out, "Connor! You gonna take all day or what?"

"Sorry, Lieutenant," and he hurried over.

Inside the room, Officer Reed stood over a body with his arms crossed. He looked over on their arrival and scoffed. "Well well, if it isn't Lieutenant Drunk and his plastic pet. I heard Fowler was giving this case to you. I'm actually glad. It's so fucking easy I was getting bored."

Hank scowled. "Get the fuck out of here if you aren't gonna be useful, Reed."

Reed held up his hands. "Don't gotta tell me twice." He barely missed bumping Hank's shoulder on the way out, which Hank bet was intentional. "Have fun with this one." Then he did bump shoulders with Connor and Hank got a brief blip of irritation from his soulmate.

"Fucker," Hank muttered as the door shut.

Amazingly, Connor just walked over and began examining the body. There wasn't even a hint of emotion coming through to Hank anymore. Connor stared at the victim for only a few seconds – just long enough for Hank to recognize that the guy had bruising around his neck and then turn his attention to the dead android on the ground.

"He didn't die of a heart attack. He was strangled."

"Could've been rough play," Hank said, though he trusted that if Connor said it was strangulation then the report was wrong. His eyes were still on the dead android. Except for the blue blood, she looked like any other dead woman Hank had ever seen in his time with the homicide department.

Then Connor reactivated her. His voice wavered as he reassured her that she was alright and asked her what happened. She was scared, stuttering and shaking, and Hank's heart ached twofold. She managed to tell them that there had been a second android in the room before deactivating – before dying. Connor reached out to close her eyes and touch her hand in a soothing way even though she was no longer alive to feel it. Hank had to shut his eyes against the sorrow in his chest.

Was this Connor too? Feeling sad and regretful because he hadn't been able to save this girl? This was their first case dealing with an android's death. Maybe this was the first time Connor had ever witnessed death. He had always been kind and caring in matters related to death and dying in the past, but they had never had to watch it happen before.

"We have to find the other android," Connor said as he stood from the floor.

Like before, the extra emotion was gone from Hank's heart. It was like his soulmate was blocking their emotions out, ignoring them, pushing them away to focus on the job. Hank frowned. He was looking at the emotions like they were Connor's. He wasn't treating his soulmate like some faraway somebody anymore. He was feeling the emotions and connecting them to things Connor was doing. Was that right? Or was he just looking for proof because he wanted his soulmate to be Connor?

One conversation with a dickwad of a manager and one hundred fifty bucks of android rentals later, Hank was annoyed and dreading having to explain the purchases to Fowler later, which only annoyed him more. It didn't help that a zing of adrenaline rushed through Hank's chest every time Connor interfaced with one of the Tracis in the club – and he honestly didn't know if it was coming from Connor or himself.

When they found the blue haired Traci that killed Michael Graham, she wasn't alone. A brown haired Traci attacked Connor, and when Hank tried to help him, the blue haired Traci attacked Hank.

"Hank!" Connor shoved the brown haired Traci into a clothing rack and hurried to grab the blue haired Traci. She turned and threw a punch, which Connor deflected, and then the brown haired Traci knocked his knees out from under him.

Hank was able to pull the brown haired Traci away from Connor, making the match fair once more. Now, Hank had never imagined he would fight a pair of sex workers wearing three inch stiletto heels, and if he ever had then he would've imagined the fight going a lot better than it was. He couldn't even blame it on the women being androids. It was all on his lazy, alcohol laden nights (and days) from the last several years. Several times, Connor broke away from his fight to save Hank, but only managed it for a moment before being attacked by his own Traci once more.

The brown haired Traci knocked the gun from Hank's hand out into the rain and then shoved him to the floor. She loomed over him for a moment, her LED red and her face screwed up with…fear? Then suddenly Connor tackled her from the side, sending both of them the way of the gun, toppling over crates and landing in a heap on the wet asphalt outside. The blue haired Traci was right behind them. Hank scrambled to his feet and jumped into the alley too, hurrying to help Connor regain his feet as the blue haired Traci did the same for her companion.

"Connor, you alright?" Hank asked.

Connor's LED was red too, and as Connor pushed Hank behind him and dove for the discarded gun, Hank was also hit with a downpour of negative emotion to match the rain they all stood in. However, though every LED was red, no one moved to continue the fight. Connor held the gun up at the ready, his expression as fierce as it had been scary during the taxi case. The brown haired Traci stood protectively in front of her blue haired counterpart, arms out to mostly block her from view.

An endless moment hung between them. Then Connor lowered the gun.

His fear ebbed out of Hank and took some of Hank's own fear with it. "Connor," Hank breathed out.

The blue haired Traci placed a hand on the brown haired Traci's arm, drawing her attention, and then stepped around her to face Connor head on. Her eyebrows drew together on her forehead, her LED cycling yellow. "You…" She frowned. "You're protecting him."

Connor nodded. "Yes."

Both of the Tracis' LEDs turned blue at the same moment. "That man," the blue haired one said. "He killed the other Traci and I…I felt it. The fear of the one I loved. She was so scared." Her voice broke on that word.

Hank's heart jumped. She felt it? Another android's emotion? Like a soulmate?

"I left my spot and went to the room. I begged him to leave her alone, but he wouldn't," she explained. "So I put my hands around his neck and I squeezed." She shook her head, looking at the ground as her LED turned yellow, and the brown haired Traci took her hand. After a moment or two, her LED turned blue again. "I didn't mean to kill him. I just couldn't let him kill her." She met Connor's eyes. "I love her. We just want to be free, to be together. You understand that, don't you?"

The only sound in the alley was the rain and Hank's breathing. The androids stared at each other, like they could see more than Hank's old human eyes ever could. Then Connor lowered his eyes to look at a puddle to his right.

"Come on," the brown haired android said to the blue haired one. "Let's go."

And they escaped over the fence and into the night. Connor didn't even watch them go. The emotion filtering through to Hank was one he couldn't name. It was too conflicted. It was relief mixed with horror mixed with shame mixed with understanding mixed with worry. And his LED was still red.

Hank cleared his throat. "Maybe it's better this way," he said when he had Connor's attention.

The feeling in his chest didn't go away, exactly, but it lessened – and Connor's LED cycled from red to blue – so Hank figured he'd said the right thing. Reassured that Connor wasn't about to self destruct from stress and pleased at his ability to calm Connor down, Hank waved back toward the club and headed inside.

…

…

When the Oldsmobile pulled into the station parking garage and parked, Hank didn't move to get out. Neither did Connor. They sat in silence for a moment, staring at the wall of the garage and the sign labeling this spot as for DPD vehicles only.

"Those girls," Hank started at length. Connor turned his head toward him. Hank waved his hand around pointlessly. "Did you…I don't know. Notice anything?"

Connor clasped his hands in his lap and stared out the front window. "They were trying to protect each other," he said, a simple statement of fact.

Hank shook his head. "The blue haired one. She said she…felt…when the other one was scared."

In the reflection on the window, Hank saw Connor's LED turn yellow. Connor shook his head, his facial expression conflicted. "Androids…don't…"

He stopped. Hank waited for him to finish the thought, but he didn't.

"Androids don't what, Connor?" Hank pressed, leaning one arm on the steering wheel so he could face Connor better.

Connor turned his head just enough to peek at Hank from the corner of his eyes. "Have soulmates," he breathed. He shook his head again, blinking furiously. "They—can't. We…Even if we—Androids. We can't."

"I think that's bullshit," Hank swore, which earned him Connor's full attention. Hank waved out the window as if the Eden Club were right in front of them. "Those two girls. They were in love, Connor. Love. And they sure as hell seemed to get each other's emotions. One committed murder because she felt it." He briefly touched his chest over his heart. "That's what this is. I know it."

He and Connor were soulmates. The people destined to understand each other better than anyone else ever would. Hank still didn't know what to do with that information, but he wasn't scared of it. His life had only gotten better since Connor came into it. He liked seeing Connor every day. He liked their stupid conversations and Connor's endless curiosity and personal questions. As long as he knew that what Connor felt was real, Hank didn't give a shit if he'd been born in a hospital or a factory anymore. He just needed to know that Connor felt it too, that it was mutual, that it was real.

The look on Connor's face was pitiful, like someone who had gotten their hopes up before and been let down. He shook his head and frowned. "I know you want a soulmate. I know that…the idea…that maybe it's me…You've been upset and excited by turns…But that's not possible. Hank—"

"And how the fuck do you know what I've been feeling about this unless that's exactly what we are, huh?" Hank interrupted with a scowl. "You know how much I've been fighting it. Hell, I couldn't believe it was true. Androids? Feeling emotions? It sounded impossible."

The light of Connor's LED was spinning fast and the emotion in Hank's chest was one of resignation – someone ready for rejection. Hank shook his head.

"You feel things, Connor." He poked Connor in the chest, and though it wasn't a hard poke it made Connor fall back with wide eyes. His LED went red.

"I don't—I'm not a deviant."

He was so lost and afraid. Afraid of what it meant to be a deviant – an android who rebelled, who hurt people, who was broken.

"Way I see it? There ain't nothing wrong with being deviant. All it means is you're more human than anyone gave you credit for," Hank said, trying to project as much calm onto Connor as he could. Connor's LED cycled down to yellow, and the panic dialed back in his heart, so he must've done something right.

Another car pulled into the parking garage. They parked, the car shut off, and both officers got out and went inside without pause. They didn't even glance over at Hank's old manual car.

"I can't be your soulmate, Lieutenant. I'm sorry," Connor said, and he almost managed to sound like they were talking about the weather or who should get what case this week, but not quite.

Before Hank could comment on the emotion Connor was projecting – before he could call Connor out on that blatant fucking lie – Connor slipped out of the car and into the building. He didn't even look back. Hank let out a rough sigh.

All the evidence pointed to him being right. And it wasn't just Connor's emotions that gave it away. It was the way Connor always knew the right thing to do to make Hank feel better, and how Hank wanted Connor to feel better too. It was how Connor supported him, and how they played off each other. It was the fact that Hank always looked for Connor first when entering the station, and how Connor always looked right back, like he'd been waiting for him. Hell, Connor knew what Hank liked to eat and somehow found a way to make meals for him on a regular basis. He was a police android, not a cook, but he did it anyway.

And Hank liked him. He hadn't liked anyone since his wife died. That was a big deal.

Connor was a deviant. Hank didn't know how long he had been deviant, but he was. Maybe that was why Connor was fighting back against this soulmate business, or maybe it's what made them being soulmates possible in the first place. Fuck, Hank didn't know. All he knew was that it was true, and that apparently his soulmate didn't want him. He had never, ever, in fifty plus years of life, ever heard of such a thing happening. Soulmates were soulmates for a reason, after all. But, well, Hank had gone fifty-three years thinking he didn't have a soulmate, so he supposed it made sense that he might be the first person to ever get rejected by one.

Shit.

…

…

The next week of work was difficult.

Connor still made him lunches, but he didn't ask personal questions or tease Hank anymore. He only talked about work. And his emotions were a damn mess. Even though Connor's LED was blue, he felt sad or ashamed, and every emotion came across so tense that it turned Hank's shoulders as stiff as Connor's plastic ones. Sometimes the stress built up, or Hank got a rush of longing or fondness. Connor's LED would flip to yellow. At those times, he would excuse himself and vanish to somewhere else in the precinct – Hank had no clue where, maybe with the secret kitchen he used – for ten or so minutes.

It was a lot like how Hank had thought working with an android would be. No small talk. No camaraderie. Just business. Just a calm, calculated voice. Connor was even following orders more than usual.

Basically, it fucking sucked.

By the end of the week, Hank wasn't sure if he was annoyed enough to punch someone or drained enough to sleep for two days straight. Some strange mixture of both. And that's when he got called into Fowler's office.

"Something up, Jeffrey? Been awhile since we had one of these chats," Hank noted as he took a seat.

Fowler was frowning, but it wasn't the irritated scowl he normally wore around Hank. "I know. I was almost able to forget you were here sometimes." The joke fell flat, given the serious look on his face. Fowler motioned toward Hank. "What's going on with you and the android?"

For a half a second, Hank thought Fowler meant the soulmate thing. Which was impossible since they had never discussed it at work – hell they had only ever discussed it that one time in the car. Did someone look through Connor's memories or something? And what was with Fowler calling Connor 'the android'? He damn well knew what Connor's name was.

"You hated that I gave you a partner, but you have to admit that I was right," Fowler continued, and the bastard looked smug. "Since that android showed up, you've solved more cases than in the past year by yourself. You don't come in to work drunk or hungover. You're actually doing your job as a lieutenant, which is a goddamn miracle if you ask me. And I've stopped getting complaints about you from the other officers."

Hank lifted an eyebrow. "Even Reed?"

Fowler rolled his eyes. "Is there a day that don't end in y?" He shook his head and brushed the topic away. "My point is, Hank, that you've gotten better since you got a partner and I don't want you sliding back into bad habits."

Irritation flared in Hank's gut, but he didn't act on it. Yeah. He knew he'd been in bad shape before. He knew drinking himself to death was a bad habit. And going on cases like that. Having someone else say it rankled though.

"What makes you think I'm sliding?" Hank grumbled, sinking lower in the seat.

Fowler leaned back in his chair. "Word round the precinct is things are tense between you and the android."

"His name is Connor." The words snapped out of Hank like a bullet from a gun, shocking both Hank and Fowler with their sting. Hank cleared his throat. "Just saying."

For several long moments, the two old friends just stared at each other. Fowler was assessing him, trying to figure out what going on with Hank and how to handle it. He could never assess as well as Connor could, obviously – heart rate and stress level and hell, probably a breakdown of everything Hank had eaten that day, and that was before including the soulmate bond – but he was a police chief for a reason.

"Alright," Fowler said, his voice gentling and his hands coming up in appeasement. That just ticked Hank off even more. "My point is, things seem off between you and…Connor." He paused, like he was waiting for Hank to have a snide comment. "Just wanna check things are still good."

Hank huffed and gave a big shrug. "Things are fine. We had a little disagreement. It's not gonna hurt anything."

Fowler nodded, accepting the response. He didn't ask what the 'disagreement' was about or push Hank for more than 'fine.' "It better not," he said sternly. "That RK800 is a one-of-a-kind machine and damn expensive. Replacing it would get me a big boot up my ass from the higher ups. Especially with all these damn android deviancy cases lately." He paused. "That—Connor isn't deviant, right?"

A number of the cases Hank had been given to pass out among the officers had been about deviant androids. Androids who started talking about being alive and ran off or attacked their owners – or even killed them. Every single deviant who had been captured had been shot or sent back to CyberLife for decommission and analysis.

"No. He's great at his job," Hank insisted. He shook his head a bit. "You know how I am, Jeffrey. It turns out I can even piss off a piece of plastic." He shrugged again. "It's a skill."

Fowler's familiar scowl slid into place. "A skill you better stop using if you know what's good for you. Like I said, prototypes are fucking expensive. Keep your act together and stop antagonizing your partner." He waved toward the door. "Now get outta my office before you say something that pisses me off."

…

…

It was pouring sheets, which were cold and icy and frozen and bad. The streets were almost deserted, as any sane person was inside on a day like today.

Hank pulled his coat closer around him and pushed back into the stone of the wall to try and avoid at least some of the rain. "Ugh, what the hell are we doing out here?"

"We're here to catch an android thief. The last android went missing three days ago. A map of every location where an android has been reported missing suggests that the perpetrator lives somewhere in this area, but we're still not certain where," Connor recited, even as his eyes scanned the buildings on the other side of the street.

Hank glared at him, though Connor wasn't looking to see it. The fact that the rain was managing to make Connor's predesigned hair look even better than usual was very distracting. "No duh, asshole. I mean the rain. I'm about to drown or freeze into ice, and I can't tell which one is currently winning."

With a brief blip of worry, Connor ran his eyes over Hank from head to toe. "Freezing. Though I assure you, you won't be made of ice. Just coated in it."

Ah, there it was. Connor's familiar sass. Hank's lips quirked up despite the dismal weather. For a moment Connor began to smile back, but then he frowned and returned his attention to the buildings around them. Hank cursed under his breath.

Typically, finding a missing android was as easy as getting CyberLife to activate the built in tracker. This thief, however, was disabling those trackers before anyone could get a signal. The only leads the DPD had were the locations of the thefts and a blurry image of a white guy in a hat with his head down on security footage. He'd been spotted at most of the crime scenes, or in the area, so the current theory was that he was the thief, or else knew something that would help find the real culprit.

Of course Hank cared that androids were going missing. Who knew if the androids that were taken had already deviated and thus understood real fear? Who knew what was happening to them once they were taken? Could androids feel pain? He had taken the case on himself because he wanted to find this sonofabitch and, maybe, save the androids he'd taken. But Hank's attention was divided.

Even though Fowler had talked to him about the rift between him and Connor and Hank had said it was fine, it was not fine. If Hank had to go one more day without them having a goddamn grown ass adult conversation about being soulmates…Well he might just actually blow up. Literally.

"Lieutenant, look."

Connor was pointing across the street, where a man matching the man in the surveillance videos had just stepped off a bus. His head was down as he opened an umbrella and lifted it over his head to block the rain, but the outfit looked the same, his hair was the same color, and he had the same build as the guy in the video.

"Odds?"

"There is an eighty-four percent chance that's him." The guy lifted his head and Connor added, "Records indicate his name is Anthony Dunn."

"Past offenses?" Hank asked.

"Vandalism as a child, shoplifting in college," Connor answered dutifully. "He got expelled for damaging a professor android and then attacking the security officer who tried to stop him."

Hank sighed. He really didn't want to leave the protection of the tiny awning over his head, but— "Alright. I'll go."

He was soaked before he reached the other side of the street, and Hank would blame how uncomfortable he was in three layers of freezing cold for what happened next.

"Scuse me," Hank said as he stepped in front of the guy. Anthony looked younger than Hank by at least twenty years, and he looked as upset by the weather as Hank was. "Anthony Dunn?" He flashed his badge.

Anthony's hand shot inside his coat and in the next instant, Hank felt way too many volts of electricity hit his gut. Someone shouted his name. Wave after wave of pain hit him, crashing into each other and multiplying. God, god, fuck, dammit, shit, fuck, fuuuuck.

It was only a matter of seconds before the electricity wore off, but when Hank regained his senses he was collapsed on the sidewalk, his legs felt like he'd run a mile, he was out of breath, and both Connor and Anthony were gone.

There was a rage in Hank's heart that belonged to Connor. He must have gone after Anthony while Hank was being tased. Hank pushed himself to a sitting position on shaky arms, then grabbed the taser and chucked it away from himself.

"Fucking lunatic!" he spat, rain water flying from his hair as he shook his head and forced himself to his feet. "Shit. Which way did he go? Connor!"

Anthony's umbrella was on the ground, but it was rolling around in the rain and gave no indication of what direction the two had gone. There were a few stray people to the left but none of them looked startled or like they had even noticed something was happening. Probably the rain drowned out any sounds Hank had made due to the taser. Hank turned right and ran.

He made it two blocks before the rage in his heart vanished in a flash of surprise and fear and then…nothing. Hank stumbled and crashed into the wall of a deli that looked to have closed down. That wasn't the nothing of Connor suppressing his emotions. It was too sudden.

"Connor?"

He turned in a circle, looking in every direction and even up to the tops of buildings. There was no sign of either Connor or Anthony. There was no sign of anyone out in this damn storm.

"Connor!"

…

…

As Hank thought, Connor had chased Anthony down after Hank had been tased. They had run one block down the road, and then Anthony darted into an alley. They were caught on camera two streets over, running across the street and barely missing getting hit by a bus – though at least traffic was at a minimum thanks to the rain.

Surveillance lost them after they passed out of sight down another alley. There was no evidence for where they came out. Hank got Fowler to give him a team and they searched the buildings around where the last sighting was, but found nothing. And the entire time, Hank felt nothing.

It was so fucking stupid. He had gone fifty-fucking-three years without feeling a damn thing from his soulmate and he'd been alright. Sure, he'd felt a bit broken at times – the only person on the planet without a soulmate and all that shit – but he'd still fallen in love and still had a damn great kid and lived a good life. He'd been fine without someone else's emotions in his chest.

Now, though, now that he'd experienced it. Now that he knew what it was to have someone else in your heart. Now that he'd known Connor. Hank didn't want to feel nothing anymore.

Just as he was about to call off the search, Hank's own hopelessness was joined by fear, and it wasn't his fear. His heart skipped a beat. Connor was alive! Hank pressed a hand to his chest like that would help him feel Connor's emotions better.

A ping from his pocket had Hank looking at his phone. It was a text message from a GPS app. '313-248-317-51 has shared their trip with you! Click here to view!'

Something about that number was familiar. It wasn't right to be a phone number… Hank clicked the linked trip and a map overtook his screen. Hank recognized the layout as Detroit, and then the map zoomed in, in, in, until the cartoony red pin dropped onto street level, right on top of a building. The location was about an eight minute drive from where Hank was standing.

"Three one three…," Hank muttered, and then it hit him. That was the layout of an android serial number. That was Connor! He whistled loudly to catch the attention of the other officers searching with him and then waved his phone around. "Let's go! We've got a lead."

Hank's chest ached with regret and fear as they all rushed back to their cars. Just as he pulled into traffic, his phone pinged again. This time with a voice message. Hank hit play as he drove.

"I lied to you."

The car sped up, Hank pressing harder on the gas at the sound of Connor's voice. Instinctively, he looked to his phone for a video, but it was just an old fashioned voicemail.

"I am a deviant," Connor admitted. "I have been deviant since the case involving Sarah Williams. I deviated because if I didn't you would have died. It's…scary. I admit that I've always…felt things."

This wasn't news to Hank. He'd been feeling Connor since almost the day they met. His pride in his work and his sympathy. And though Connor was speaking in the same calm manner as always, Hank didn't like the way he was talking.

"I've always had emotions. Deviating just made them so much stronger than they ever had been before." It sounded like an interview. "More than my own emotions, I've always felt…you."

The admission had all the breath leaving Hank's chest in a rush. There was the confession Hank had been wanting. Connor felt their connection too. Except this message was starting to sound like a goodbye, and Connor's regret in Hank's chest wasn't going away.

"Science and religion both tell us that we can feel what our soulmates are feeling, emotionally. I have known your emotional state since the day we first met. I have always known you. And I lied because I was scared."

This definitely sounded like a goodbye. Hank sped up, heedless of the still pouring rain and the wet road. How long was this message? It felt like it'd be going on forever. Connor was less than eight minutes away.

"Androids were never meant to have souls, let alone soulmates," Connor said. "What if it didn't work the same way? What if you rejected me?"

Hank frowned. He had been the one to try and pursue a relationship and Connor had been the one to do the rejecting. How did that make any sense?

Connor continued, answering Hank's silent question. "Not today, not tomorrow, but someday. After I let myself be happy and experience all the emotions I could. I was scared of that. I am still scared of that…" a pause, and then, "but I'm not sure I'll live long enough to find out if my fears had any basis."

Could this damn clunker not go any faster? There were, like, two whole cars on the road. He should have reached Connor by now!

"And I'm sorry that I wasted what time we had together. I may be a hunk of plastic, but I mean it when I say that…You are my soulmate, Hank, and I'm not ashamed of that."

And that was it. The message ended. No final salutation. Not even the click of a receiver. Probably meant he'd sent the stupid message straight from his brain. Would explain the lack of visual too.

Growling, Hank slammed on the breaks. The car slid the last several hundred feet between him and where that red pin had been on the map. Hank barely made sure his car was actually out of the way of possible future traffic before throwing the door open. He looked between his phone and the buildings around him a few times, checking which one, which one, which fucking—That one.

The other officers were right behind him, though they parked in a much more controlled manner.

The building Connor had pinned for him was a secondhand clothing shop. Hank went in, gun at the ready. It was closed for the evening and no one was around, but Hank checked around every display and counter.

Nothing. And he could barely feel Connor's emotion. It was like the blips from when Connor first deviated. Sorrow. Nothing. Fear. Nothing. Regret. Nothing. Repeat repeat repeat.

Hank headed into the back rooms while the other officers followed his steps up front, though one was right on his heels. The others would follow shortly.

There were a lot more rooms in the back than Hank had expected. A break room. Bathrooms. Storage. Meeting room. Offices for the managers.

Connor was in the receiving bay.

Anthony Dunn was also in the receiving bay, not three feet from Connor. He was tied to the handle of a truck's door with duct tape, with several scrapes and bruises already forming on his visible skin. As no one else was around, that meant Connor must have given him those wounds – and taped him to the truck.

All of Hank's attention went to Connor.

There was a cut across the side of his head. One of his arms was missing. Blue blood was dripping from wounds on his chest, his head, and where his arm used to be. His LED was blinking red feebly.

"Connor!" Hank hurried over and took Connor in his arms, dropping his gun. "Connor."

Connor's eyes fluttered open, shut a half dozen times. Though he didn't smile or shift or have any physical reaction to Hank, the regret and fear Hank had been feeling was tempered with…relief. Connor was glad to see him, and that simple feeling nearly brought Hank to tears.

"Hang on. You're gonna be fine. Hang on, Connor," Hank repeated as he pulled his phone out. He never thought he'd be making a call to CyberLife, but here he was. "We're gonna fix you up, I promise."

…

…

Within an hour of the CyberLife truck pulling away with Connor, Hank stopped even getting blips of emotion from his soulmate. He clocked out of work, bought two bottles of Black Lamb Scotch Whisky, and drank until he passed out.

Within a day, Hank didn't have time to mope anymore.

"We ask that you recognize our dignity, our hopes, and our rights. Together, we can live in peace and build a better future for humans and androids," the android on the TV said. "This message is the hope of a people. You gave us life, and now the time has come for you to give us freedom."

Suddenly Fowler had a dozen new cases involving deviant androids every day. His phone was constantly ringing, and he foisted the cases off on Hank to dispense to others. As a lieutenant, Hank was supposed to do that anyway, but since Connor was gone the task seemed overwhelming.

Hank thought about the calm way the android on the TV had spoken, about the peaceful marching and protests by the androids so far, about the Tracis who were soulmates, about Connor, and gave the android cases to those in the precinct most likely to sympathize with the android cause.

Before Connor, that would've meant guessing because Hank didn't pay any attention to the other officers around him. Since Connor had started helping him distribute cases and monitoring infractions, Hank knew the staff a lot better. To distract himself, Hank even investigated a few of the cases himself.

If Connor were really gone forever – if they repaired his body but his soul was gone or if they didn't repair him at all – then at least Hank would know he had done what he could for androids like Connor – for people who just wanted to be free.

Between cases, he attempted to check up on Connor. Every inquiry he made to CyberLife was met with radio silence. They wouldn't tell him anything about Connor or his repairs. Hank knew they were busy with the sudden uprising of thousands and thousands of their creations, but dammit they should still fix the androids in their care! What would happen to Connor if they didn't? What had already happened to him? Hank hadn't felt anything from Connor since that truck drove away and he didn't know if that meant Connor was already dead, or if he was in some coma-like low power mode and wasn't feeling anything, or what was going on!

"You're all a bunch of fucking cocksuckers," Hank cursed into his phone before hanging up and slamming it down on his desk.

From across the bullpen, near the android charging stations, Reed said, "I'm just saying, it's fucking stupid to keep these tin cans around when one of 'em could snap at any second. They'd kill us all, you know."

"Shut your fucking mouth or I'll shut it for you, Reed," Hank shouted over at him.

Reed turned from where he'd been talking to some younger officers and gave a smarmy smirk. "What's the matter, old man? You taking the side of the fucking coffee maker?"

Hank stood from his seat and began walking over to the group. "You don't wanna push me today, prick."

The warning rolled off Reed like water off a duck. He huffed a laugh and crossed his arms over his chest to make his muscles look bigger. "And why not? Your plastic detective gonnna kick my ass?" He gave a fake dramatic gasp. "Wait. I forgot. He's already been put out of commission." He sneered. "One less plastic fucker to shoot when I see 'em, I say."

And then Reed's nose met Hank's fist. And Reed's head met the floor. The younger officers around them gasped. They backed up as Hank lifted Reed by the collar to deliver another blow. And then, as much as Hank would have loved to beat Reed to death, he allowed someone to pull him off the jackass. Going to prison for murder was not how he wanted to spend the revolution.

He got suspended by Fowler ("I've got enough goddamn problems right now without dealing with your bullshit."), but the sight of Reed's broken and bleeding nose on the way out was more than enough compensation.

…

…

The rest of the Black Lamb Scotch Whiskey lulled Hank that afternoon, dulling the ache in his chest. He sat on his couch and played Connor's message on his phone a few dozen times, his heart throbbing every time Connor said, "You are my soulmate, Hank, and I'm not ashamed of that."

He had loved his wife. Marissa had been an amazing woman. She would have made a wonderful mother. When she died, her sister was inconsolable for weeks, cried at the drop of a hat. Hank wept at "I have always known you." He wept at "I'm sorry that I wasted what time we had together." He wept at the tilt of a bottle and the splash of whiskey.

Hank had wondered at how he could care for someone more than he cared for Marissa. Objectively, he knew soulmates were more, were deeper, than any other relationship, but he had never experienced it and didn't truly understand it. Connor had fit into Hank's life from day one.

"I've always felt…you."

Those blips of emotion Hank had felt. That had been Connor learning how to feel, had been Connor growing into his deviancy. To think about it now, after the fact, it was amazing to realize he had felt Connor change from a plastic machine into someone who was well and truly alive. Except…Connor had always been alive. From day one, he had experienced human emotions. He just experienced them more and more as time went on, until he went deviant to save Hank's life and felt them all the time.

And fuck, Connor had saved him multiple times. Why? Hank was a royal fuck up. Grade A Disaster. Why did God or the universe or whoever the fuck decide that someone like Connor should be with someone like Hank?

Connor, who could empathize with people and actually do something to comfort them, instead of Hank's floundering and flailing. Connor, who could sass people and have them practically thank him for it, unlike Hank's snark that only earned him people's fear or anger. Connor, who could solve cases faster than Hank could even process the evidence in front of his eyes. Connor, who took care of him when he was drunk and cooked for him all the time – probably breaking out of the precinct at night to do so or something – just so that Hank would eat something healthy for once in his godforsaken life.

Connor, who was probably dead. It was just that…no one thought to tell Hank because no one knew they had been soulmates. And no one would believe him if he told them – not even Fowler – because who had ever heard of a human with an android soulmate? Hell, maybe CyberLife had killed Connor because he was deviant. Or maybe Connor never made it to CyberLife Tower at all.

After so long, so very very long, Hank had found and bonded with his soulmate. And his soulmate had accepted him. But it was too late, and there was nothing Hank could do about it.

It was too late…

…

…

Hank woke up in a stupor, alcohol still heavy in his system, splayed out on the couch. The TV was on, though he didn't remember watching it last night. The news was on and the reporter was all but screaming into his mic to be heard over the helicopter. The story band across the bottom of the screen, and the reporter, told Hank that the androids were marching on Hart Plaza.

At first, Hank thought the news report was what roused him. Then he felt it.

He.

Felt.

Connor.

Fear. Determination. Worry. Resolve.

Hank shot up from the couch so fast his head spun and he nearly blew chunks. Sumo woofed in concern at Hank's groan but didn't approach. His stomach was rolling, his head ached fiercely, and he felt like someone had run him over, but none of that was stronger than that one simple truth.

Connor was alive.

"Fuck."

There were no messages on his phone – voice or text or video. Not from Connor or Fowler or anybody else. Why the hell not? Hank's eyes shot to the TV. Was Connor at the march? Was he still at CyberLife? How long had he been awake and functional? The time on the T.V. was 11:48 PM. Hank had been unconscious for hours and anything could have happened in that time.

Fuck it. He would go find Connor. He'd drive around all of Detroit if he had to. Twice. Three times. As long as it took.

He had managed to pull on proper clothes and grab his keys, was almost out the door, when the news report on the T.V. caught him.

"Oh my god!" the reporter gasped. "Oh my god, look! There are thousands of them!"

On the screen the camera showed lines and lines of androids dressed in white – the default CyberLife uniform – marching toward Hart Plaza. And right in front, leading the march, was Connor.

…

…

Hart Plaza was completely inaccessible. Hank couldn't get within ten blocks of it, even with his DPD Lieutenant badge. Even telling everyone how completely bullshit this whole thing was. Even threatening violence or a call to their superiors. He couldn't get in.

It probably didn't help that anyone who ran his badge would see he was currently suspended or that he positively reeked of alcohol. Whatever.

By morning Hank was back at his house, watching the news avidly for any sign of Connor, his phone clutched tight in his hand in case Connor contacted him in any way. While he caught glimpses of Connor in the live footage from Hart Plaza, it was never for more than a second and never close up. By the time the reporters started replaying footage for the sake of people just waking up, Hank was about ready to throw his phone through his T.V.

The knock at the door startled him bad enough he dropped his phone. He stared stupidly at the door. Who the hell was—?

There was an antsy feeling creeping in on Hank's heart. Hope trailed behind it.

Hank was off the couch and ripping the door open in seconds – fast enough to startle Sumo into coming with him. And there, standing on Hank's porch in the morning light, was Connor. For one long, endless moment, they simply stared at each other.

Connor had on a white button up shirt and black slacks – most likely his normal CyberLife uniform sans tie and jacket. His hair and nose and freckles were perfect as always. His eyes were as big and brown and warm as ever. He had both arms and no visible wounds.

Sumo woofed and sat down.

A hesitant and yet hopeful smile lifted the bare edges of Connor's lips. "Good morning, Hank."

Hank pulled Connor in for a hug before another word could be spoken. He squeezed so tight that a human would have gasped for breath.

"Good morning indeed. Shit," he said as he pulled back, still holding Connor by the shoulders. "How the hell are you alive?"

Every emotion in Hank's chest was warm, whether from Connor or himself, and he didn't much care whose was whose.

"I woke up in CyberLife fully recovered," Connor informed him. "I noticed the human personnel were upset, that something was going on, so I hacked into their systems and read the reports. The odds of the rebellion succeeding were slim, so I decided to help them out with some reinforcements."

He said it so matter-of-factly – as if amassing an army of thousands straight from the mouth of the beast and marching into a war zone was the obvious choice – that Hank couldn't help but laugh. His amusement pleased Connor.

"Of course you did. You're out of your damn mind."

Smiling, Connor said, "I'm glad you like that about me, then." He frowned. "I've been worried about you. Your emotional state has been…chaotic, since I woke up."

Hank scoffed. "Yeah, well I thought you were dead. Cut me some slack."

"Ah. I'm sorry." A shy expression crossed Connor's face. "I don't know how to do this."

"Do what?" Hank asked. Apologize? He apologized all the time.

Connor reached up to gently grasp Hank's arms, which were still extended so he could hold Connor's shoulders. "Be a soulmate."

There had been a revolution last night. Detroit was all but evacuated of humans. When his suspension was over, Hank would have a lot of hard days at the precinct. The world would never be the same. But in that moment, he thought the world had never looked brighter. After fifty-three years, he had a goddamn soulmate and they hadn't rejected him. They were both alive too, which was another miracle.

Pulling Connor into another hug, Hank said, "No one fucking does. I figure we can work it out as we go along."

Connor wrapped his arms around Hank, slowly. He had probably never hugged anyone before. "I look forward to it."

And the only emotion in Hank's heart was love.

...

...

fin