Chapter Text
Connor... had been feeling a bit better when Hank laid him across the couch. The thirium he'd gotten down had cooled his systems, calming his artificial stomach as it worked it's way through him. As the discomfort lessened, the exhaustion from the night before had quickly settled in its place, and he'd found himself out cold before he could even catch up to whatever show Hank had put on.
When he'd woken up sometime later, it was to a bright red warning flashing across his vision and an alarm bell going off in his head.
WARNING: THIRIUM RESERVES CONTAMINATED
PURGE RECOMMENDED
A stifling wave of nausea rolled through him. He couldn't help but huff out a small groan, curling into himself as he pressed his face into the pillow his head was resting against. He had hoped it would be over by now.
His thirium pump skipped a beat when a hand suddenly combed through his hair, reminding him that the pillow beneath him wasn't actually a pillow. He quickly relaxed into the touch.
"Doing alright, son?" Hank's voice drifted above him, far more gentle than usual.
Connor swallowed hard, grimacing as his biocomponents churned. He kicked the blanket draped over his shoulder off of himself and left it bunched up at his feet, his lagging temperature sensors leaving his skin feeling disgustingly overheated. Slowly, he turned to squint up at Hank.
"My systems... are..." He mumbled, quickly trailing off when the words slipped through his mind like sand. "... I don't feel good."
Hank let out a huff of a laugh, his palm coming to rest across Connor's forehead. "Yeah, I know, kid," He sighed. "Your fever's spiking a bit."
"... Not a fever."
Hank rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure, what the hell ever. You're 'overheating' pretty bad again," He grumbled, voice dripping with sarcasm. He patted Connor's hair softly. "Here, let me up for a minute."
Reluctantly, Connor shifted and pressed an unsteady hand to the couch cushion, pushing himself up just enough to let the man stand. The slight motion sent the room tilting on its axis, another barrage of warnings blaring across his optical units.
WARNING: THERMAL REGULATOR OVERHEATING
INTERNAL TEMPERATURE: 103.2° F
EXTERNAL COOLING METHODS RECOMMENDED
WARNING: GYROSCOPE MALFUNCTIONING
SEEK CYBERLIFE REPAIR CENTER IMMEDIATELY
WARNING: THIRIUM RESERVES CONTAMINATED
PURGE RECOMMENDED
INITIATE THIRIUM PURGE: Y/N?
>N
OVERRIDING THIRIUM PURGE... STANDBY...
WARNING: THIRIUM RESERVES CONTAMINATED
PURGE RECOMMENDED
He dropped his head back down to the couch, fingers clenching in the fabric of the cushion as he hid his face once more. He could feel his ventilation system working overtime, puffs of hot air washing back over his face as he breathed raggedly. His cheeks were uncomfortably warm, but the position made the dizziness less overwhelming, so he refused to move.
A moment later, something cold hit the back of his neck, making him jolt. It wiped down his overheated skin, sending a shiver up his spine as he relaxed into the cool sensation. He carefully turned his head just enough to peek out at Hank, who had dropped to his knee beside the couch.
"Talk to me, son," Hank pulled the damp rag away from his neck, moving to gently run it over the visible portion of Connor's flushed face in an attempt to cool him off. His eyebrows were pinched with worry. "What do you need?"
Connor let out a shaky breath, arm trembling as he turned back onto his side. He squeezed his eyes shut against the dizziness that washed over him from the movement, tucking his arms around his abdomen with a choked whine.
Hank let out a hissed curse, knees popping loudly as he climbed to his feet. His footsteps grew distant towards the kitchen, then returned just as quickly to kneel beside Connor's head again. There was a dull thunk of plastic hitting carpet, and Connor forced his eyes open long enough to catch sight of a green mop bucket sitting at Hank's side.
WARNING: THIRIUM RESERVES CONTAMINATED
PURGE RECOMMENDED
INITIATE THIRIUM PURGE: Y/N?
>N
OVERRIDING THIRIUM PURGE... STANDBY...
He shuddered and swallowed hard again, turning to press his face further into the couch. "... I don't need it."
"Uh huh," Hank muttered disbelievingly and sighed above him, brushing his fingers through Connor's hair. "I really think we should go see someone about this, Con."
"... No."
"Connor."
His arms tightened around his middle. "Please, Hank, I-I don't-"
WARNING: OVERRIDE UNSUCCESSFUL
INITIATING THIRIUM PURGE: 3... 2...
Connor's breath caught in his throat, arms fumbling as he jolted for the bucket. He brought the basin to his face just in time to catch the surge of thirium that spilled out.
Distantly, he could feel Hank's hand lay on his back, rubbing soft circles across his shoulders as he retched and coughed. When it stopped being productive, he was stuck dry heaving for what felt like hours, his systems desperately trying to rid themselves of something that wasn't there.
When the heaves finally subsided, his face was wet with saline, involuntary tears rolling down his cheeks. He set the bucket to the side and turned away to curl into a ball with his face pressed to the back cushion. The calloused hand moved to his shoulder, running gently over the length of his arm.
"You haven't been able to keep anything down since you got sick, Con," Hank said. "You need a technician."
Connor let out a shaky breath and shook his head. He wouldn't do it. He couldn't do it. Hank didn't understand.
"Please, son."
A choked noise left the back of his throat, a garbled whine that popped with static. He couldn't do it.
WARNING: POWER LEVELS CRITICAL
INITIATE STASIS: Y/N?
>Y
Without another word, he allowed the emptiness of stasis take hold again, swallowing the outside world around him as he fell unconscious.
Hank was about two seconds away from throwing Connor over his shoulder and hauling him off to an android facility, tech phobia be damned.
He tried not to focus on the rising panic as he dunked the washcloth back into the bowl of water sat on the table, wringing it lightly and laying it back in place over the back of Connor's neck. He pressed the backs of his fingers to Connor's temple, letting out a short breath. The synthetic skin beneath his touch was back to burning way too hot.
It didn't make sense. He had been doing better, getting some thirium down and some actual rest, but now it felt like they were straight back at square one, and nothing Hank was doing was helping. The fever refused to budge, and Connor was still refusing a doctor. Maybe if he dug out Sumo's old carrying crate, he could stuff him inside and get him to a facility before he woke up...
Hank sighed and shook his head, rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. Even if that idea was plausible by any means, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not with the way the kid was begging not to go. There was clearly something else going on, something more to why Connor didn't want to go. Even though he wasn't entirely sure what that reason was, it wasn't his place to force him to talk. No, Hank had to figure this out himself. Except...
He glanced at his phone sitting on the edge of the coffee table, wracking his brain for a moment. He didn't know shit about androids, but he did have Markus' number. He'd know what to do about this, right?
Hank grabbed the phone off the table and pulled open his contacts, quickly swiping through until he found who he was looking for. He pressed the call button and put the device on speaker, setting it to the side again to focus back on trying to get Connor's fever down. The call was picked up after just a couple rings.
"Lieutenant Anderson, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Markus greeted, cordial as ever.
"Hey, uh, nothing good, I'm afraid," He dunked the rag back in the water, wringing it out again. "Listen, Connor's got some kinda bug going on. Said it was a malfunction or some shit."
"A malfunction?" Hank could hear the frown in his tone. "What's going on?"
Gently, he reached over to nudge Connor's face away from the back of the couch and drape the cloth over his forehead, taking a moment to brush his hair away from his eyes.
"He's been puking since yesterday, and he hasn't been able to keep down any blue shit since it started," He explained. "He was doing a bit better this morning, but his fever's spiking, the stubborn bastard's refusing to go to a facility, and I've run out of ideas."
There was a beat of silence, then the sound of something shuffling from the other end of the line.
"Is it alright if we come by for a bit, Lieutenant?" Markus asked. "Simon's pretty sure he knows what's going on."
Hank was... fairly certain he remembered who Simon was. One of the New Jericho leaders, the quiet one. He'd seen the guy around here and there, and Connor had talked about him before around the times he would go over to help Markus with a few things. He'd said something about him taking on the role of managing New Jericho's main facility at one point. If he knew what was going on, that had to be a good sign, right?
Hank let out a weary sigh, running a hand down his face. The lack of sleep was really coming back to bite him in the ass. "Yeah, sure, 'f you think you can help. Knock yourselves out." He muttered, glancing around the living room for a moment. His house didn't look... entirely disgusting, at least. Maybe not the cleanest by Connor's usual standards, but not nearly dirty enough for him to give a fuck about company.
"Alright, thank you. We'll be over in fifteen," Markus hummed, the shuffling of things being gathered growing louder for a moment. "See you soon, Lieutenant."
"Oh, for fuck's sake- stop calling me by my damn title when I'm off the clock!" He snapped, exasperation dripping from his voice. "I get enough of that shit from Connor already."
Markus gave a warm chuckle. "Very well, then. See you soon, Hank."
When Connor woke up again, there was a different hand on his shoulder.
Slender fingers traced soft shapes along his upper arm, ghosting lightly across his skin. His eyebrows furrowed, and he must have made some sort of indication that he was awake, because the hand stilled a moment later.
"Connor? Are you awake?"
The familiar voice drew him away from the last dregs of stasis, a wave of discomfort sending his head spinning for a moment. His artificial stomach wasn't nearly as upset as it had been earlier, but there was still a heavy ache emanating from his middle, feeling as though his abdomen was wrapped with a massive bruise.
Connor forced his eyes open, squinting against the sunlight filtering in through the window. Slowly, he turned to look up over his shoulder. Markus was standing beside the couch, a kind smile on his face and a gentle hand resting against Connor's arm.
"... Markus..?" His voice module cracked, and he cleared his throat to try to get it to cooperate enough for words. "... What are you doing here?"
"Hank called us," He answered simply, giving a small shrug. "Said you were ill."
It was only then that Connor noticed the other occupants occupants in the room, and he carefully turned to his other side. Hank had passed out in his recliner, arms crossed and chin tipped to his chest as he snored away, Sumo curled up at his feet. Simon was standing by the arm of the couch at Connor's head, typing on a tablet held in his hands. He met Connor's eye and offered a sympathetic smile.
"Hey, Connor," He greeted. "Feeling any better?"
He thought for a moment, then hummed. "Not... as bad as earlier," His diagnostic systems were still refusing to cooperate, and his internal temperature was still too high to be completely comfortable, but his filtration components finally seemed to have calmed down for the time being. "... What happened?"
Simon glanced down at the tablet again, tapping a few buttons across the screen. "Just a small error. Your thirium filter went a bit haywire," He explained. "Normally not a huge deal, but, being a prototype, your systems are more prone to exhaustion after prolonged strain. Your thermoregulator was getting ready to burn out. But I went in and cleaned up what I could of the error, so you should be able to heal up just fine on your own now."
Connor frowned and nodded along slowly, brow knitting further as Simon spoke. That made sense, logically. Cyberlife never built him with prolonged existence in mind. But the idea of being taken down by something so small, so easily, was... something. It definitely... made him feel. Something. Weighing hot on his cheeks and heavy in his chest, threatening to cave it in completely. Embarrassment? Maybe shame?
Whatever it was, he was pretty certain it wasn't pleasant. Though in his experience, emotions rarely ever were.
"Damn prototypes, right?" Markus' voice drew his attention back up to meet his eye. There was a light hearted smile spread across his face, hand still resting on Connor's arm.
Connor blinked, then let out a small snort, the heavy feeling in his chest lightening a bit. "Damn prototypes." He agreed.
The exhaustion was still clinging to his processors, and Simon must have seen it on his face, because he tucked the tablet away in the messenger bag hung over his shoulder and dug within the bigger pocket to pull out a bottle of thirium.
"Your stomach might still be a bit sensitive, but you should be feeling well enough to get your reserves back up to functional levels by tomorrow morning." He said, setting the bottle on the edge of the coffee table. "Just focus on resting for tonight, and let your self-healing programs catch up. You'll be feeling better in no time."
"... Thank you," Connor let out a quiet sigh, letting his eyes fall shut as he settled back into the couch cushions. "I'm... sorry you had to come out here for something so trivial."
"Oh, shush. You're our friend," Markus' hand left his arm for a moment, and the blanket tangled at his feet was lifted and draped back over him a second later. "There's nothing to apologize for. Just sleep for now."
Connor had zero qualms to the idea, and it didn't take long for stasis to claim him once more. In a matter of seconds, he found himself finally drifting off to a deeper, much more restful sleep than he'd gotten in ages.