[It should be one more routine step of their investigation. 'Should be' is the operative phrase. Connor should expect chases by this point, but he runs subroutines that allow him to stay alert. The deviant takes off just as Hank is going to handcuff it and Connor is off after it. It carries them up into the higher levels of the factory, across conveyors, and before Connor can catch it, the deviant disappears.
Or seems to, as it catches Connor by surprise by dropping down onto him on one of the raised platforms. The deviant is an RK700, the model just before Connor, smarter and faster than previous iterations of this chase. In a matter of moments, Connor is turned on his front, his neck plates ripped away, and the factory reset button pressed down.
[It’s Hank’s fault the deviant gets away. His fault that Connor takes off running after it.
Before he can yell “Jesus Christ,” Connor is gone. And Hank can’t hope to match his speed, nor his seemingly endless stamina. He’s only human — and old, at that.
Part of him trusts Connor to make the right decision: don’t engage if the situation is too dangerous. Don’t fucking engage. But Hank isn’t up there to pull him back by the scruff of his neck, so why would he? Why would he choose self preservation at all?
It’s taking Hank too goddamn long to find Connor. He’s panting for breath after all these stairs, all this aimless wandering.
Muttering under his breath:] Fucking android always taking off. Fuckin’ A.
[But it’s quiet — too quiet — beyond the hums of the factory. No sounds of stamping feet. No sounds of a struggle.
It takes Hank too long to find Connor. Unmoving. Facedown.]
[The deviant holds Connor down by his neck, his grip firm as Connor's mental clock continues to count.
6... 5... 4...
Connor can hear Hank climbing the stairs, the huffing and puffing of his breath.
3... 2... 1...
The grip above him shifts as the deviant must realize there is a choice to be made. Continue to hold Connor down and face another confrontation.
0
The deviant initiates Connor's factory reset and then bolts out across one of the conveyors, just out of sight as Hank finishes climbing the stairs. Connor remains laying facedown as his LED spins wildly. He mentally disappears into his mind palace as it crumbles into a giant white nothing. Piece by piece-- the bridge, the trees, the river, and Connor himself-- it all tumbles away until finally only the overwhelming, but crisp, white remains.
Connor does not return from the mind palace, but the RK800 does. It slowly sits up and looks over at
> > SCAN: LT. HANK ANDERSON
It slowly looks over at the lieutenant with dead and empty eyes.]
[RK800 stares at Hank win an unblinking, unflinching lack of expression. Everything warm and Connor is simply gone. His eyes follow Hank as he moves as he still doesn't budge physically.]
I am a prototype RK800. Would you like to register a name?
Okay, that’s... not funny. That’s really fucking weird, actually. That deviant go and hit your head, or something?
[Hank raises a finger, slowly moving it from left to right and back, as if Connor might not be able to follow it if he’s concussed, or something. Whatever android equivalent there is.]
You’ve got a name already.
[Obviously!! Connor can’t just forget his name, right? He’s just a little jumbled. Got some wires crossed, yeah?]
[RK800's eyes follow the lieutenant's finger as it tracks back and forth in front of him. At the suggestion of a name, though, RK800's LED spins yellow.]
Okay. Fuck. [That can be undone, right? Factory reset, or whatever. Don’t they upload Connor’s memory to a database somewhere? He can’t just not come back.] And your name isn’t “Fucking Connor.” Just Connor.
Neck plates. Okay. [That’s something tangible Hank can look for. Probably on the floor somewhere, yeah?
He is not going to panic. His hands are shaking but this is not panicking, goddamn.]
Connor blinks and his LED turns blue again. He scans for the neckplates and finds one not far away and the other on the warehouse floor.] One plate is down on the warehouse floor. One is on the stairs.
[Goals. Actions to take. Neck plates to find. They can find these, then — get Connor some real help.
Alas, the stairs again. But at least this time Hank isn’t rushing his way up — or down. He’s combing across the stairs with his eyes, and...
A thingy. Looks neck platey enough.]
You’re not telling me you’re stabbed, or anything. [He says this as he brings back one of the neck plates.] So am I right in assuming you didn’t get stabbed? Aren’t bleeding out somewhere I can’t see?
I am not wounded at all Hank. [After all, the factory reset is something that can happen from time to time. A natural occurrence like a thunderstorm. Speaking of which, the clouds overhead finally begin to release the rain contained within.
Connor accepts the neck plate #C5150-A and carefully clicks it back into place.]
[Lightning and thunder crackle through the sky and the downpour picks up. The other neckplate glimmers down on the warehouse floor. Connor stands up and does a self-diagnostic before nodding.]
[Connor nods and leads Hank back down the stairs. He spots the neckplate sitting on the floor in the corner. He picks it up and slots it over his neckplate. His skin spreads over the plates and second diagnostic reads both as complete and intact.]
Cyberlife is where my memory should have been uploaded.
[But it’s CyberLife, so of course they have to be all weird about this.]
We’re not getting you “terminated,” Connor. That’s unnecessary, and it’s stupid — you just forgot shit. Why the hell would they go and kill you for that?
[Connor steps out into the rain and it pelts him from every angle.]
They want to remove obsolete versions. If a factory reset was achieved in the field, that is a malfunction. They will engineer it out and then remove me.
You’re not obsolete. Just — got some buttons pressed, yeah? Maybe they shouldn’t make a factory reset so goddamn accessible if they didn’t want this happening in the field.
[Hank heads over to his parked car, unlocking it.]
Stop standing in the rain like a damn turkey, Connor. [He says, as if he’s not also standing in the rain. Hank’s just mad: at himself. At that deviant. The world. CyberLife.]
Hell, no. Wouldn’t they just threaten to kill you?
[And if CyberLife did command Connor to turn himself in for termination... would what Hank say matter at all? Because of the whole “factory reset” thing.
Hank starts the car. Lets it warm up.]
Why are you even listening to me at all? Because I’m human?
You are looking like a wet dog right now, Connor. [If he had a towel, he’d offer it. There’s just... garbage. He should clean out his car eventually, but today is not that day.]
And you wouldn’t happen to have that oh-so secret location filed away, would you?
[Androids can, but Connor isn't quite at that threshold. If the rain were to turn to snow, that would be a different story. His neck port is only mostly closed and, if Hank were to look, there's the occasional flash of light as the damaged neckplates shudder against each other.]
[Connor frowns at the lieutenant, doubly so when his jacket is thrown in Connor's face. Of course, Connor obeys and wipes himself off as best he can. It's not the best, but he's not dripping. Still, Connor goes quiet for a moment or two after he finishes, looking out at the torrential rain.]
Malfunctioning androids are meant to be serviced at CyberLife or a CyberLife store.
Would make all this a lot easier if we did have informants, huh?
[But someone has to know something. And Hank just needs to not fuck up figuring that out, because who wouldn’t tell him to just drop Connor off at CyberLife and be done with him?]
I can make some calls. [Although he’s dreading it. But maybe he can bullshit his way through this long enough till they’ve got Connor’s memories back.] If all else fails, “ra9” seems to mean something, yeah?
[Hank tosses Connor a concerned look. It makes sense that he forgot all that, but... fuck if it isn’t inconvenient.]
We’ve seen some deviants fixated on “ra9.“ Don’t know what it means — it’s just something that connects them. Maybe not all of them, but it’s been at least a few now.
Figured if someone at CyberLife is playing for the other side, they might soften up if we said that.
[Or maybe they’ll call HQ and have Connor carted off, anyway.]
[Connor nods as he continues to watch the lieutenant. ra9 is not something he recalls, but the lieutenant knows better at this moment. Connor's eyes grow distant for a moment as he searches through the vast emptiness that is his memory bank.
Nothing. There's nothing.
It's disheartening, but Connor will have to make do until they find Elijah Kamski.]
That may be the key to finding those who would assist.
[Hank hopes it’ll help. Because if not — what then?]
Can you... [He’s about to pull his phone out of his coat pocket when he remembers he gave it to Connor.] Can you get the GPS on my phone going? To that CyberLife store on Fairmont?
[Hank cuts the engine once they roll into the parking lot closest to the CyberLife store.]
I do have a dog.
[He sighs. Isn’t sure how to feel hearing Connor almost parrot himself. But it’s promising, isn’t it? The fact that he can express this preference at all?]
How d’you know you like dogs, anyway?
[Maybe the memory is there, deep down. Or maybe Connor’s just trying to suck up to him again.]
[Connor follows Hank into the store, looking around at the androids with blank expressions. Was that him originally?
As they move through the store, a man comes out from behind the counter. He's scruffy, a touch run down, but he looks from Hank to Connor and back to Hank.
[Connor is relatively new to the long-haul scene and this is his first visit to Portland. He'd heard of the Jublitz Truck Stop, but never seen it in person. It would be nice to stay in a real bed at the Portlander Inn, or see a movie, for a night. He settles his business in the cab of his truck before he makes his way into the stop.
Requesting a shower from the front desk allows him some time to look around, grab some snacks, and the like.
It's when Connor is carrying his towels to his shower that his whole life changes. Across the hall from him is an older gentleman, perhaps a touch past his prime, but delightfully attractive all the same.
Connor risks his door closing as he takes the couple steps to approach the other man.] Hello, I'm Connor.
[Hank is on the way to his own shower when a random guy comes up to him and introduces himself.
He really wants to sleep. Has been driving for hours, and Sumo got his wet dog hair everywhere after Hank tried to give him a bath here. Just a torrential storm of water and hair. Did Sumo have to go tromping through those goddamn puddles by the sidewalk? No, but he sure as hell felt the need to.
Hank can’t blame him. They were both happy to finally have a goddamn break.
Now, he gives this guy — Connor — a once over. Real slow. Eyes dragging lazily from his feet back to his face.]
[Connor watches as Hank does his own once-over and can’t help but smile. He is the definition of a twink. His slender body tapers to his waist and everything about him screams babygirl.]
Have you been to Portland before? This is my first time.
[Connor leans in the door of his room, watching Hank.]
First time, huh. [Hank crosses his arms, an attempt to be all sauve. Bag hanging from his arm with his towel and everything.] Yeah, I’ve been to Portland before. Not here, but... around.
[Years ago. The intent had been to spend most of their trip at the coast — him and Cole — but Cole wanted to spend more time in Portland on their way back, so they did.
Rainy. Gray.
Hank still has all the shells Cole got on that trip.
His gaze is a little faraway, distant, as he thinks about his son. But then his eyes snap back to Connor.
Connor and his everything. There’s something about his face that almost makes Hank want to touch him: his jaw, his lips.
Almost.]
Do you make a habit of chatting up old men at truck stops, or is it just me? [Asked gruffly. Better to nip this interaction — whatever this is — in the bud.]
[And that, Hank thinks as he heads in for his shower, is that.
Which doesn’t make him feel any less shitty about it. Standing beneath the showerhead now, Hank’s thoughts go back to the way Connor’s smile wilted. It was harmless chatting, and yet he had to go and be an asshole.
But that’s what he wanted, after all. To get in, shower, and get out. Back on the road, with Sumo snoring on the bed behind him. The monotony of his everyday.
Connor, he thinks as he washes his hair.
Connor, with the soft smile. The dark eyes. The thoughts aren’t really going anywhere, but that’s the problem: he should be thinking about anything else. Like grabbing dinner before he hits the road, or...]
Fucking hell. [Hank sighs in annoyance once he realizes he’s rubbed the truck stop provided conditioner in his hair. Even though he brought his own because he knows other shampoos usually get his hair all fried and wiry. Looking like Sumo after he’s been blow-dried.
Now, once Hank is out of the shower, he tries not to meet his reflection in the mirror as he pulls his hair back into a low ponytail. Letting himself idly think of Connor as he does so, one last time.
The guy who got Hank so distracted he’s ended up in a ponytail. The guy he’ll probably never see again.
And that, he thinks again as he slips out of the room, is that. Heading toward the bar-lounge now; he might as well treat himself. It’s happy hour...!]
[Connor takes the fastest shower of his life. He has his own soaps, shampoos, and conditioners and he left his blow drier in the cab of his truck. He slides out of his shower room first, not wanting to run into Hank if possible. Connor dries his hair out in his cab and deliberates on simply moving on. The Jublitz did have its beauty, but maybe he should just sleep at the the next rest stop West.
Still, there's something that calls Connor back and so he dresses in a pair of dark jeans, a deep navy shirt, and a gray vest. He makes his way to the bar and loses his confidence. There Hank is, already drinking. Connor pretends he didn't see him and sits several seats away.]
[Hank has his beer at the bar, barely touched, when he hears that voice. Turning his head to see... Connor from the showers. Okay, this will be the last time he sees him.
There are a few different programs playing on the TVs. Some sort of competition — Hank tries to focus on that. Going in one ear and out the other, but at least his eyes are occupied.
Listening, maybe, in case Connor says something else. The front of the bar here is mostly empty: once people order their drinks, they leave. Keeping those seats between Hank and Connor conspicuously vacant.]
Sorry. [Hank clears his throat. Sips his beer.] About before. Wasn’t trying to be an asshole.
[Connor says a polite thank you when his drink is slid across the counter. He flicks his gaze toward Hank before burying himself in his drink. Only when Hank speaks does Connor turn toward him. His shoulders are slightly cowed as he regards Hank, his eyes turned down at the counter.]
It's fine. [Sip sip.] I've been told I'm too friendly before.
[When Hank looks to him, Connor turns his gaze back down to his glass. He slings it back, swallowing his entire drink in one go and leaving only the ice behind.]
Another, please. [Connor nudges his glass back toward the bartender.]
[Real smooth, Hank! Real damn smooth. Not that he knows what he was trying to get out of that. A smile, maybe?
But no, Hank fucked that up.]
See ya around, Connor.
[He sighs. Goes back to drinking his beer. Turning on his stool to watch Connor start to head out.
Hank’s eyes flick over to meet the bartender's, and god, the little curl of a mocking smile on the guy’s lips.]
Yeah, yeah. I know. [Mumbled quietly against his glass:] Outta my league, anyway, even if I weren’t an asshole.
[And he’s not going to be weird about the movie thing. He’s not. But Hank shoots the bartendar another glance — brow raised at him as if to say “well? Go on” — before he’s heading after Connor.
Jesus Christ, if this isn’t the weirdest decision he’s made all day.]
Sure. Yeah. [A small smile creeps onto his face. Why not let himself pretend for an hour or so that he’s...? Someone anyone would want to watch a movie with.
He glances at that cute little vest once Connor’s stepped in front of him. Mentally swatting himself for looking at all.]
There any snacks you want?
[Hank has one hand tucked in his pocket, ready to beat Connor to pay this time...!]
[Hank doesn’t quite understand that smile, but its allure is what keeps him here. He thought it might feel like a win if he could see it again.
And it does. But now he wants to keep winning.]
You got it. [Hank slaps cash up on the counter!!] Can get anything else too, if you want.
[He really hadn’t expected this distraction, but it’s nice. Different. He’s sure — hopes — that Sumo won’t mind. Probably still napping after his bath.]
[Why is Connor looking at Hank like that!! He’s weak. Weak! The closest anyone’s got to smiling at Hank in the past week has been Sumo when he gives him his favorite jerky.]
Soda. Got it. [Root beer?! Root beer is good! Hank grabs some peanut butter M&M’s, too. Might as well be self-indulgent.] I’ll be in after the popcorn’s done, yeah? Don’t, uh — go too far.
[As if Hank might lose Connor in the theater that probably isn’t very big.]
Won't go far, promise. [Connor winks and then disappears through the doors of the cinema. He picks a seat not far from the back, sitting on the aisle so he can be easily found.]
[Maybe Connor will be gone once Hank gets into the viewing area. He wouldn’t blame him, exactly — weird old guy giving mixed signals! — but...
Hank hopes he keeps that promise. With popcorn, soda, and chocolate in hand, he heads into the theater. It’s not so dark yet with the stupid little pre-movie ads playing on the screen, and Hank’s vision isn’t that bad.
He’s a little surprised to see Connor. A little happy, too: Hank avoids most people, spends long hours driving, but for now he can just pretend that he’s anything else. A man who hangs out with strangers at truck stops on the regular.]
Here’s your soda. [Hope you like root beer, Connor!! Hank hands him the cup before awkwardly shuffling past to sit beside him. Tub of popcorn in hand.]
[Connor looks up when he hears footsteps in the cinema and smiles when he notices Hank.
He does indeed like root beer and accepts it with an even wider smile. He sets the cup into the cup holder and then looks over at the popcorn. What Connor wants most is to hold Hank’s hand through the movie, but how best to handle the popcorn so they can both eat it.I can hold it.
All right. I’m trusting you, then. [Handing the tub of popcorn to Connor, now.] Don’t go and eat it all.
[This is a stupid joke, and Hank doesn’t know why he says it. Eat the popcorn, Connor! Eat it all!! Hank will just go get more; will make him feel useful.
The lights of the theater dim as the last of the weird ads roll, and Hank sneaks a peek over at Connor. It was going to be weird, regardless of whoever ended up with the popcorn. But now it’s Hank who has to feel all awkward as he dives his hand in for some popcorn.
He doesn’t particularly like popcorn, but it’s a movie food. And it gets him chewing on something, rather than letting him stew with his thoughts of: “what the fuck am I doing here?”]
Of course not, Hank. [Connor winks and leans back in his seat a little.
The opening credits roll and Connor peeks over at Hank, taking in his profile and quietly adoring it. He doesn't mind Hank's age at all. In fact, he finds Hank quite charming and is curious as to what will happen next.
And what's happening next is Connor setting his hand, face up, on the arm rest between them. Will Hank take it?]
[Hank leans in close, whispers in his ear, and Connor's eyes flutter shut for a moment. His smile continues to brighten as he turns ever so slightly towards hank.]
It's there for your hand, if you want.
[Y'know, just a little cute hand holding if Hank is up for it.]
Hank is squinting at the movie screen, trying to wrap his head around the logic of it all: Connor, not the movie. He understands what Connor is aiming for here — with the hand thing, at least — but what he doesn’t understand is why.
It’s hard to just let himself go and embrace the evening’s whimsy. Sure, a cute, much younger guy is... being flirty. It’s just that — not as if they’ll see each other again after this.
Hank sighs: because he’s tired of fighting with himself. It’s one night.]
I do want, yeah. [He says this in a whisper — something he didn’t have to bother vocalizing, seeing as how he reaches for Connor’s hand. Awkwardly laying his palm flat atop Connor’s, just feeling him — because, really, how is this real? — before he’s curling his fingers between his.]
[Connor clasps his fingers around Hank's and squeezes. He's been tempted in the past to have a one-night fling, but never so as tempted as this night. After assuming he'd ruined it with his advance in the showers, Connor is more than pleased to be holding Hank's hand now.]
Is this alright?
[He does want to make sure that he's not making Hank uncomfortable.]
[More than fine, really, once Hank let himself take the leap. Even if it’s just Connor doing his good deed for the day, being nice to the grumpy old man at the truck stop, and —
No. He’s gotta stop thinking like that. Doesn’t matter if it’s true. Hank just needs to stop thinking.
So he does, and instead, he brushes his thumb against Connor’s hand. Softly; back and forth. And Hank is watching the movie now, sort of — mostly gawking because what the fuck is with these sharks?? — but holding Connor’s hand is better. More enjoyable.]
[Oh. Oh. This is nice. Connor leans in closer as they hold hands, eyes on the movie but his focus remains on Hank's hand, how his thumb moves across Connor's skin. Though there is an armrest between them, Connor leans closer yet, setting his head on Hank's shoulder. The popcorn remains in Connor's lap, but just barely as he gets settled.]
Hank isn’t complaining. He is quiet. Still wondering what he’s gotten himself into when he again has to shut off that train of thought. Nope. Hand holding only in this head, now. And sharks, kind of. But mostly the warmth of Connor’s hand, the softness; the strangeness of feeling someone against Hank’s hand like this.
He thinks, too, about how Connor’s leaning on him now. And he tells himself that it doesn’t mean anything, again, but it feels... nice. Warm. Like something Hank has needed for years and years and yet hasn’t found again, after he lost Cole. Hasn’t let himself look for.
Comfort. From another person. It’s weird.
Hank turns ever so slightly toward Connor, lips brushing his hair before he turns back in a rush. He didn’t mean to do that — but what did he mean, then?
It’s Hank: the one making this excruciatingly weird. He sucks in a deep breath, letting it out slowly.]
[Connor likes watching the movie like this. Not ones with sharks in them, but with company. And especially with such lovely company. Hank is warm in his hand, beneath his cheek. He feels Hank shift and then a brush of his hair. Connor glances up with curiosity.]
[He’s almost surprised Connor hasn’t marched out of here by now. Hank hasn’t done anything like this in years, and part of him is still awaiting that dreadful “sike!”]
It’s good. [Being with Connor, he means. Touching another person.
He tries to maneuver his free hand over to the popcorn — neither wanting to let go of Connor’s hand nor get said hand all greasy — and as he does so, Hank knocks a bit of popcorn in Connor’s lap.
Oh! [Connor looks down at the popcorn but isn't too worried. He grabs the couple pieces from his lap and happily chews them. He nudges the popcorn bucket closer before taking a couple of fresh fluffs of popcorn and holds them up for Hank to eat.]
Uh. Yeah. [Not that popcorn is exactly filling, but Hank’ll take it.] Guess you could say that.
[He reaches for the popcorn. Shoving it into his mouth as he chews slowly.
It’s nice that no one has shushed them… yet. The theater is, understandably, mostly empty. Whether that’s because people aren’t in the mood for a movie, or they aren’t up for “Sharknado,” specifically — who knows.
Whispered incredulously:] The fuck is this movie, Connor?
Weird fuckin’ premise for a movie. [Not like Jaws, exactly.] This is a “classic?”
[It’ll pass the time, though — and with Connor. Hank hopes Sumo isn’t chewing up the seats in his truck again, but that’s just a risk he’s willing to take right now. Should still be all tuckered out from his bath.]
Well, damn. Then you must know all the twists. [Does “Sharknado” have a riveting plot?? Somehow Hank doubts it.] Not gonna spoil this classic for me, I hope.
[Hank’s just teasing. Doesn’t particularly care, seeing as how he’s not really here for the movie at all.
Reaching for another handful of popcorn now, this time not spilling it all over Connor. An improvement over the last awkward slip!]
Uh huh. Gonna make me suffer through however many hours of — [Hank shoots a cursory glance toward the large screen] — sharks in tornadoes.
[He hopes his sarcasm is coming across, although he knows it’s not exactly endearing — to most people, anyway. But Connor doesn’t really seem like most people.]
[Which is, perhaps, a tragic attempt at a silly little flirt, because Hank doesn’t know much about Connor. Not beyond the fact that he’s sweet on Hank — for whatever reason.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
for @bootyshortsforoldmen
Or seems to, as it catches Connor by surprise by dropping down onto him on one of the raised platforms. The deviant is an RK700, the model just before Connor, smarter and faster than previous iterations of this chase. In a matter of moments, Connor is turned on his front, his neck plates ripped away, and the factory reset button pressed down.
10, 9, 8, 7...]
I’m sorry, my power went out yesterday ☹️!!!
[It’s Hank’s fault the deviant gets away. His fault that Connor takes off running after it.
Before he can yell “Jesus Christ,” Connor is gone. And Hank can’t hope to match his speed, nor his seemingly endless stamina. He’s only human — and old, at that.
Part of him trusts Connor to make the right decision: don’t engage if the situation is too dangerous. Don’t fucking engage. But Hank isn’t up there to pull him back by the scruff of his neck, so why would he? Why would he choose self preservation at all?
It’s taking Hank too goddamn long to find Connor. He’s panting for breath after all these stairs, all this aimless wandering.
Muttering under his breath:] Fucking android always taking off. Fuckin’ A.
[But it’s quiet — too quiet — beyond the hums of the factory. No sounds of stamping feet. No sounds of a struggle.
It takes Hank too long to find Connor. Unmoving. Facedown.]
Oh no! I'm glad you're okay!
6... 5... 4...
Connor can hear Hank climbing the stairs, the huffing and puffing of his breath.
3... 2... 1...
The grip above him shifts as the deviant must realize there is a choice to be made. Continue to hold Connor down and face another confrontation.
0
The deviant initiates Connor's factory reset and then bolts out across one of the conveyors, just out of sight as Hank finishes climbing the stairs. Connor remains laying facedown as his LED spins wildly. He mentally disappears into his mind palace as it crumbles into a giant white nothing. Piece by piece-- the bridge, the trees, the river, and Connor himself-- it all tumbles away until finally only the overwhelming, but crisp, white remains.
Connor does not return from the mind palace, but the RK800 does. It slowly sits up and looks over at
> > SCAN: LT. HANK ANDERSON
It slowly looks over at the lieutenant with dead and empty eyes.]
no subject
Connor?
[Hank is still trying to catch his breath. No deviant in sight.
Connor’s the priority now. Making sure he’s not hurt. Did the deviant knock him out and run off?
Then there’s that stare.]
Why are you... looking at me like that?
[Hank shuffles over to Connor. Kneeling beside him.]
Where are you hurt? [Assuming he is, because... that look on his face. Unsettling.]
no subject
I am a prototype RK800. Would you like to register a name?
no subject
Okay, that’s... not funny. That’s really fucking weird, actually. That deviant go and hit your head, or something?
[Hank raises a finger, slowly moving it from left to right and back, as if Connor might not be able to follow it if he’s concussed, or something. Whatever android equivalent there is.]
You’ve got a name already.
[Obviously!! Connor can’t just forget his name, right? He’s just a little jumbled. Got some wires crossed, yeah?]
no subject
Please register a name at this time.
no subject
[Hank gawks at him.]
Told you, you have a name. Why the hell would I go and register — [SIGH] — your name is fucking Connor.
[It’s temporary. It’s gotta be. Whatever this is.]
Now tell me why the hell you’ve gone and forgot your name.
no subject
>> REGISTERED
Fucking Connor blinks and seems to relax just a touch, looks more like himself as he regards the lieutenant.]
I have been factory reset, lieutenant.
no subject
That sounds... way outta my fucking wheelhouse.
[Factory reset?? Sure, maybe the concept makes sense. But what does that mean, exactly? What has Connor lost?
Everything? He forgot his name. Forgot... Hank?]
So that deviant — they did this. [Motherfucker.] Did they hurt you anywhere else?
no subject
[And he continues to stare at Hank with the same dead, unfeeling expression.]
I am registering missing components #C5150-A and #C5150-B. They are plates on the back of my neck.
no subject
Okay. Fuck. [That can be undone, right? Factory reset, or whatever. Don’t they upload Connor’s memory to a database somewhere? He can’t just not come back.] And your name isn’t “Fucking Connor.” Just Connor.
Neck plates. Okay. [That’s something tangible Hank can look for. Probably on the floor somewhere, yeah?
He is not going to panic. His hands are shaking but this is not panicking, goddamn.]
no subject
>>REGISTRATION COMPLETE
Connor blinks and his LED turns blue again. He scans for the neckplates and finds one not far away and the other on the warehouse floor.] One plate is down on the warehouse floor. One is on the stairs.
no subject
[Goals. Actions to take. Neck plates to find. They can find these, then — get Connor some real help.
Alas, the stairs again. But at least this time Hank isn’t rushing his way up — or down. He’s combing across the stairs with his eyes, and...
A thingy. Looks neck platey enough.]
You’re not telling me you’re stabbed, or anything. [He says this as he brings back one of the neck plates.] So am I right in assuming you didn’t get stabbed? Aren’t bleeding out somewhere I can’t see?
no subject
Connor accepts the neck plate #C5150-A and carefully clicks it back into place.]
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Not wounded, he says. [Hank rolls his eyes.] Can’t even remember his own fuckin’ name.
[But that’s good news, at least. Connor is... okay. He’s just reset.
And they can just reset that goddamn reset, right? Re-upload his memories, or whatever. It’ll be fine.]
‘Course it’s gotta start raining right when... just get your neck covered, yeah?
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We can pick up the second plate on the way out.
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Yeah, yeah. Let's just — get the hell outta here.
[Hank messed up. Let the deviant get away.
And now...]
Who do we gotta talk to about your... reset? CyberLife?
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Cyberlife is where my memory should have been uploaded.
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[That’s good news, at least. There’s a back-up. It’s not quite like dying, but it’s still unsettling.
Connor just won’t remember stuff for a while. Hank can deal with that — knowing they can reset the damn reset.
Makes sense.]
We just stroll on up to CyberLife HQ? [Connor’s important. He should be a priority to them too, right?]
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You will have a new Connor within 24 hours.
[He says as if it weren't his artificial life on the line.]
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Why would they...?
[But it’s CyberLife, so of course they have to be all weird about this.]
We’re not getting you “terminated,” Connor. That’s unnecessary, and it’s stupid — you just forgot shit. Why the hell would they go and kill you for that?
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They want to remove obsolete versions. If a factory reset was achieved in the field, that is a malfunction. They will engineer it out and then remove me.
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You’re not obsolete. Just — got some buttons pressed, yeah? Maybe they shouldn’t make a factory reset so goddamn accessible if they didn’t want this happening in the field.
[Hank heads over to his parked car, unlocking it.]
Stop standing in the rain like a damn turkey, Connor. [He says, as if he’s not also standing in the rain. Hank’s just mad: at himself. At that deviant. The world. CyberLife.]
We’re gonna figure this out.
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Should I send an error report to CyberLife? I have it already written.
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Hell, no. Wouldn’t they just threaten to kill you?
[And if CyberLife did command Connor to turn himself in for termination... would what Hank say matter at all? Because of the whole “factory reset” thing.
Hank starts the car. Lets it warm up.]
Why are you even listening to me at all? Because I’m human?
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[Why he didn’t mention this earlier? Because it wasn’t relavent at the time.]
It seems that the reset did not remove this piece
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That’s something, at least. Not gonna go listening to whatever any weird old fuck says to you, right?
[They’re still partners. Somethings’s left.
And that’s a good sign, isn’t it?]
I’m not taking you to CyberLife. And Fowler... [He might complain, but he wouldn’t make Hank do that either, would he?
Or maybe he’d think it was easier. Simpler. Just get a whole ass new Connor even though this one is fine.
Hank sighs, drumming his fingers along the steering wheel.
No one to trust with this little predicament of theirs.]
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[Connor looks over at the lieutenant, rain dripping down the sides of his face.]
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Of course he’s gotta be all hidden.
[Hank purses his lips.]
You are looking like a wet dog right now, Connor. [If he had a towel, he’d offer it. There’s just... garbage. He should clean out his car eventually, but today is not that day.]
And you wouldn’t happen to have that oh-so secret location filed away, would you?
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[Connor files away the information as ‘Notes on Appearance.]
I do, but the information is encrypted.
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Not telling you to hurry up and dry off, just...
[Do androids even feel the cold? It’s not like Connor will get sick, not in the human sense. But what if he got some water in that neck port of his?]
Okay, and how do we get past that encryption? Don’t you dare say we need Kamski’s help for that bullshit.
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Elijah Kamski or Amanda, the head of CyberLife.
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Of course we need to talk to Kamski to find out where the fucker is.
[Hank groans. Squeezes the steering wheel. He would start driving, but where?]
This Amanda — she more accessible?
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[More rain drips down from Connors hair, easing down his cheek before falling from his jaw.]
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[UGH. Of course.]
So I figure me just strolling on up to CyberLife HQ and being all, “hey, how the fuck do I decrypt my Connor?” isn’t going to cut it with her.
Swear to god, Connor. [Hank shrugs out of his coat. Hands it over.] Wipe yourself off. You’re getting my car all wet.
[Not that he actually cares about that.]
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Malfunctioning androids are meant to be serviced at CyberLife or a CyberLife store.
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I’m not taking you to CyberLife if they’re just gonna kill you, Connor. You’re gonna have to walk your ass there if that’s what you want.
[And Hank isn’t going to let that happen. It’s needless. If they can just get at his memories, it’ll be fine — or so Hank tells himself.]
If we take you to a store, would they alert HQ?
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[Connor isn't sure what that means in his current state.]
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Under the table. All right.
[Hank can work with that.]
And how do we find these establishments? Figure they aren’t putting this shit on blast. Some kinda code word?
[It’s a lead, at least. Hank starts driving, heading toward the nearest CyberLife store — or the nearest one he can think of, anyway.]
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[Thinking. Thinking.]
Would make all this a lot easier if we did have informants, huh?
[But someone has to know something. And Hank just needs to not fuck up figuring that out, because who wouldn’t tell him to just drop Connor off at CyberLife and be done with him?]
I can make some calls. [Although he’s dreading it. But maybe he can bullshit his way through this long enough till they’ve got Connor’s memories back.] If all else fails, “ra9” seems to mean something, yeah?
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Not at this point in time, no.
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[Hank tosses Connor a concerned look. It makes sense that he forgot all that, but... fuck if it isn’t inconvenient.]
We’ve seen some deviants fixated on “ra9.“ Don’t know what it means — it’s just something that connects them. Maybe not all of them, but it’s been at least a few now.
Figured if someone at CyberLife is playing for the other side, they might soften up if we said that.
[Or maybe they’ll call HQ and have Connor carted off, anyway.]
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Nothing. There's nothing.
It's disheartening, but Connor will have to make do until they find Elijah Kamski.]
That may be the key to finding those who would assist.
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Yeah. Maybe.
[Hank hopes it’ll help. Because if not — what then?]
Can you... [He’s about to pull his phone out of his coat pocket when he remembers he gave it to Connor.] Can you get the GPS on my phone going? To that CyberLife store on Fairmont?
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Take the next right.
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Oh. Well, shit. Okay.
[Hank almost tells Connor that he doesn’t have to do all that — his phone works fine, mostly — but it is convenient.
After taking the next right, things are starting to look a little more familiar.]
What were you thinking about — [he glances at Connor in the rearview mirror] — just a second ago? Looked kinda deep in thought.
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[Connor is an excellent GPS and he doesn't need no phone!
When asked about his thoughts, Connor pauses before answering.]
I was wondering what would happen if we can't find Mr. Kamski.
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[Hank nods in thanks, keeping his eyes on the road.]
We’re gonna find that fucker. Don’t you worry about that.
[Even though Hank is worrying. Everyone back at the station would call him stupid — he knows that. But it just seems so pointlessly cruel.
And it’s selfish on Hank’s part. He knows that, too.]
What d’you... what do you want? And spare me the whole “androids don’t want” shit and just answer the question.
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>>WANTS: …
>>ACCESS MEMORY: …
There is a flash of a dog, a rather large dog, but its name escapes him. Looking over at the lieutenant, he sees the dog hair on his clothes.
The lieutenant must have a dog, though Connor can’t remember the name.]
You have a dog, don’t you, lieutenant? I like dogs.
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[Hank cuts the engine once they roll into the parking lot closest to the CyberLife store.]
I do have a dog.
[He sighs. Isn’t sure how to feel hearing Connor almost parrot himself. But it’s promising, isn’t it? The fact that he can express this preference at all?]
How d’you know you like dogs, anyway?
[Maybe the memory is there, deep down. Or maybe Connor’s just trying to suck up to him again.]
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[Connor shifts in his seat.] Should we go in?
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[He turns to Connor. Gives him a long look.
Where one memory lay...]
Yeah. Let’s see what we can see.
[Not long ago, Hank would’ve been throwing a fit about having to check out a CyberLife store. Now, it’s necessary.
Inside the store is unsettling. Some androids on display stand with a blank expression, while others are forced to smile.]
Place gives me the creeps.
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As they move through the store, a man comes out from behind the counter. He's scruffy, a touch run down, but he looks from Hank to Connor and back to Hank.
Issue with your android?
@bootyshortsforoldmen (trucker au)
Requesting a shower from the front desk allows him some time to look around, grab some snacks, and the like.
It's when Connor is carrying his towels to his shower that his whole life changes. Across the hall from him is an older gentleman, perhaps a touch past his prime, but delightfully attractive all the same.
Connor risks his door closing as he takes the couple steps to approach the other man.] Hello, I'm Connor.
this is so cute help
[Hank is on the way to his own shower when a random guy comes up to him and introduces himself.
He really wants to sleep. Has been driving for hours, and Sumo got his wet dog hair everywhere after Hank tried to give him a bath here. Just a torrential storm of water and hair. Did Sumo have to go tromping through those goddamn puddles by the sidewalk? No, but he sure as hell felt the need to.
Hank can’t blame him. They were both happy to finally have a goddamn break.
Now, he gives this guy — Connor — a once over. Real slow. Eyes dragging lazily from his feet back to his face.]
Hank.
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He is the definition of a twink.His slender body tapers to his waist and everything about him screams babygirl.]Have you been to Portland before? This is my first time.
[Connor leans in the door of his room, watching Hank.]
cn: COLE 😭
First time, huh. [Hank crosses his arms, an attempt to be all sauve. Bag hanging from his arm with his towel and everything.] Yeah, I’ve been to Portland before. Not here, but... around.
[Years ago. The intent had been to spend most of their trip at the coast — him and Cole — but Cole wanted to spend more time in Portland on their way back, so they did.
Rainy. Gray.
Hank still has all the shells Cole got on that trip.
His gaze is a little faraway, distant, as he thinks about his son. But then his eyes snap back to Connor.
Connor and his everything. There’s something about his face that almost makes Hank want to touch him: his jaw, his lips.
Almost.]
Do you make a habit of chatting up old men at truck stops, or is it just me? [Asked gruffly. Better to nip this interaction — whatever this is — in the bud.]
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At the mention of chatting Hank up, Connor's smile dims. It sounds like a rejection and Connor tries to take it in stride.]
Just you. [And then Connor retreats back through his door and allows it to close.]
me being slow at tags makes me rambly -does a little dance-
[And that, Hank thinks as he heads in for his shower, is that.
Which doesn’t make him feel any less shitty about it. Standing beneath the showerhead now, Hank’s thoughts go back to the way Connor’s smile wilted. It was harmless chatting, and yet he had to go and be an asshole.
But that’s what he wanted, after all. To get in, shower, and get out. Back on the road, with Sumo snoring on the bed behind him. The monotony of his everyday.
Connor, he thinks as he washes his hair.
Connor, with the soft smile. The dark eyes. The thoughts aren’t really going anywhere, but that’s the problem: he should be thinking about anything else. Like grabbing dinner before he hits the road, or...]
Fucking hell. [Hank sighs in annoyance once he realizes he’s rubbed the truck stop provided conditioner in his hair. Even though he brought his own because he knows other shampoos usually get his hair all fried and wiry. Looking like Sumo after he’s been blow-dried.
Now, once Hank is out of the shower, he tries not to meet his reflection in the mirror as he pulls his hair back into a low ponytail. Letting himself idly think of Connor as he does so, one last time.
The guy who got Hank so distracted he’s ended up in a ponytail. The guy he’ll probably never see again.
And that, he thinks again as he slips out of the room, is that. Heading toward the bar-lounge now; he might as well treat himself. It’s happy hour...!]
<3
Still, there's something that calls Connor back and so he dresses in a pair of dark jeans, a deep navy shirt, and a gray vest. He makes his way to the bar and loses his confidence. There Hank is, already drinking. Connor pretends he didn't see him and sits several seats away.]
Vodka tonic, please.
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[Hank has his beer at the bar, barely touched, when he hears that voice. Turning his head to see... Connor from the showers. Okay, this will be the last time he sees him.
There are a few different programs playing on the TVs. Some sort of competition — Hank tries to focus on that. Going in one ear and out the other, but at least his eyes are occupied.
Listening, maybe, in case Connor says something else. The front of the bar here is mostly empty: once people order their drinks, they leave. Keeping those seats between Hank and Connor conspicuously vacant.]
Sorry. [Hank clears his throat. Sips his beer.] About before. Wasn’t trying to be an asshole.
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It's fine. [Sip sip.] I've been told I'm too friendly before.
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I believe it.
[Hank gives him another long look, lingering on his face. Turning back to his beer.]
I imagine most people respond better to all that. [Unlike Hank.] Just — didn’t want to fuck up your shower. Or mine.
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Another, please. [Connor nudges his glass back toward the bartender.]
My shower was not 'fucked up' by meeting you.
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Huh. Well, that’s good. [Hank lets himself smile against his glass.] If I had fucked up your shower, I would’ve offered to buy you a drink.
[And he still might throw cash down before Connor can pay for himself, anyway. Who knows?]
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When's the next movie start in the cinema? [Is that Connor brushing over Hank's reply? Why yes it is.]
In fifteen minutes. You may take your drink with you.
[His drink is slid back over to him and Connor nods.]
It was nice to meet you, Hank.
[And then he's sliding out of his seat to head off.]
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[Real smooth, Hank! Real damn smooth. Not that he knows what he was trying to get out of that. A smile, maybe?
But no, Hank fucked that up.]
See ya around, Connor.
[He sighs. Goes back to drinking his beer. Turning on his stool to watch Connor start to head out.
Hank’s eyes flick over to meet the bartender's, and god, the little curl of a mocking smile on the guy’s lips.]
Yeah, yeah. I know. [Mumbled quietly against his glass:] Outta my league, anyway, even if I weren’t an asshole.
[And he’s not going to be weird about the movie thing. He’s not. But Hank shoots the bartendar another glance — brow raised at him as if to say “well? Go on” — before he’s heading after Connor.
Jesus Christ, if this isn’t the weirdest decision he’s made all day.]
What, uh, movie are you going to see?
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Sharknado. A classic.
[Connor pauses, fidgets with his glass before looking up again.] Are you... coming to see it with me?
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Heard of that. Haven’t seen it myself.
[Hank assumes it’s like Jaws. Also a classic!
But he notices the way Connor fidgets, so he says:]
Can leave you alone, if you’d prefer.
[Which is what he assumes Connor will want. Because who would want to hang out with an old asshole at a truck stop?
Hank lets himself play back Connor’s little “just you” in his head, though.]
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[Connor looks hopeful, quietly filled with desire in his cute little vest.]
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Sure. Yeah. [A small smile creeps onto his face. Why not let himself pretend for an hour or so that he’s...? Someone anyone would want to watch a movie with.
He glances at that cute little vest once Connor’s stepped in front of him. Mentally swatting himself for looking at all.]
There any snacks you want?
[Hank has one hand tucked in his pocket, ready to beat Connor to pay this time...!]
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Some popcorn?
[Connor's hand also drops into his pocket ! ! !]
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[Hank doesn’t quite understand that smile, but its allure is what keeps him here. He thought it might feel like a win if he could see it again.
And it does. But now he wants to keep winning.]
You got it. [Hank slaps cash up on the counter!!] Can get anything else too, if you want.
[He really hadn’t expected this distraction, but it’s nice. Different. He’s sure — hopes — that Sumo won’t mind. Probably still napping after his bath.]
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And a soda.
[He continues to beam at Hank.]
I’ll get us seats?
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[Why is Connor looking at Hank like that!! He’s weak. Weak! The closest anyone’s got to smiling at Hank in the past week has been Sumo when he gives him his favorite jerky.]
Soda. Got it. [Root beer?! Root beer is good! Hank grabs some peanut butter M&M’s, too. Might as well be self-indulgent.] I’ll be in after the popcorn’s done, yeah? Don’t, uh — go too far.
[As if Hank might lose Connor in the theater that probably isn’t very big.]
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I’ll hold you to that.
[Maybe Connor will be gone once Hank gets into the viewing area. He wouldn’t blame him, exactly — weird old guy giving mixed signals! — but...
Hank hopes he keeps that promise. With popcorn, soda, and chocolate in hand, he heads into the theater. It’s not so dark yet with the stupid little pre-movie ads playing on the screen, and Hank’s vision isn’t that bad.
He’s a little surprised to see Connor. A little happy, too: Hank avoids most people, spends long hours driving, but for now he can just pretend that he’s anything else. A man who hangs out with strangers at truck stops on the regular.]
Here’s your soda. [Hope you like root beer, Connor!! Hank hands him the cup before awkwardly shuffling past to sit beside him. Tub of popcorn in hand.]
Do you wanna hold the popcorn, or should I...?
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He does indeed like root beer and accepts it with an even wider smile. He sets the cup into the cup holder and then looks over at the popcorn. What Connor wants most is to hold Hank’s hand through the movie, but how best to handle the popcorn so they can both eat it.I can hold it.
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All right. I’m trusting you, then. [Handing the tub of popcorn to Connor, now.] Don’t go and eat it all.
[This is a stupid joke, and Hank doesn’t know why he says it. Eat the popcorn, Connor! Eat it all!! Hank will just go get more; will make him feel useful.
The lights of the theater dim as the last of the weird ads roll, and Hank sneaks a peek over at Connor. It was going to be weird, regardless of whoever ended up with the popcorn. But now it’s Hank who has to feel all awkward as he dives his hand in for some popcorn.
He doesn’t particularly like popcorn, but it’s a movie food. And it gets him chewing on something, rather than letting him stew with his thoughts of: “what the fuck am I doing here?”]
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The opening credits roll and Connor peeks over at Hank, taking in his profile and quietly adoring it. He doesn't mind Hank's age at all. In fact, he finds Hank quite charming and is curious as to what will happen next.
And what's happening next is Connor setting his hand, face up, on the arm rest between them. Will Hank take it?]
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[Oh, Jesus. That little wink.
And his hand. The fuck is he doing with his hand? Hank is much more interested in that than the movie. Who just rests their hand like that?
He leans toward Connor to whisper in his ear, less because he cares about being rude and more just using the movie as an excuse:]
Connor.
[He should have just ignored Connor’s hand. Should have just watched the damn movie!!]
What’re you...?
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It's there for your hand, if you want.
[Y'know, just a little cute hand holding if Hank is up for it.]
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[It’s just there. For his hand.
Hank is squinting at the movie screen, trying to wrap his head around the logic of it all: Connor, not the movie. He understands what Connor is aiming for here — with the hand thing, at least — but what he doesn’t understand is why.
It’s hard to just let himself go and embrace the evening’s whimsy. Sure, a cute, much younger guy is... being flirty. It’s just that — not as if they’ll see each other again after this.
Hank sighs: because he’s tired of fighting with himself. It’s one night.]
I do want, yeah. [He says this in a whisper — something he didn’t have to bother vocalizing, seeing as how he reaches for Connor’s hand. Awkwardly laying his palm flat atop Connor’s, just feeling him — because, really, how is this real? — before he’s curling his fingers between his.]
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Is this alright?
[He does want to make sure that he's not making Hank uncomfortable.]
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It’s... fine.
[More than fine, really, once Hank let himself take the leap. Even if it’s just Connor doing his good deed for the day, being nice to the grumpy old man at the truck stop, and —
No. He’s gotta stop thinking like that. Doesn’t matter if it’s true. Hank just needs to stop thinking.
So he does, and instead, he brushes his thumb against Connor’s hand. Softly; back and forth. And Hank is watching the movie now, sort of — mostly gawking because what the fuck is with these sharks?? — but holding Connor’s hand is better. More enjoyable.]
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[Why is Connor being so...! Cute! Affectionate!!
Hank isn’t complaining. He is quiet. Still wondering what he’s gotten himself into when he again has to shut off that train of thought. Nope. Hand holding only in this head, now. And sharks, kind of. But mostly the warmth of Connor’s hand, the softness; the strangeness of feeling someone against Hank’s hand like this.
He thinks, too, about how Connor’s leaning on him now. And he tells himself that it doesn’t mean anything, again, but it feels... nice. Warm. Like something Hank has needed for years and years and yet hasn’t found again, after he lost Cole. Hasn’t let himself look for.
Comfort. From another person. It’s weird.
Hank turns ever so slightly toward Connor, lips brushing his hair before he turns back in a rush. He didn’t mean to do that — but what did he mean, then?
It’s Hank: the one making this excruciatingly weird. He sucks in a deep breath, letting it out slowly.]
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Is everything alright, Hank?
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[A muffled:] Fine.
[He’s almost surprised Connor hasn’t marched out of here by now. Hank hasn’t done anything like this in years, and part of him is still awaiting that dreadful “sike!”]
It’s good. [Being with Connor, he means. Touching another person.
He tries to maneuver his free hand over to the popcorn — neither wanting to let go of Connor’s hand nor get said hand all greasy — and as he does so, Hank knocks a bit of popcorn in Connor’s lap.
Oops.]
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Hungry?
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Uh. Yeah. [Not that popcorn is exactly filling, but Hank’ll take it.] Guess you could say that.
[He reaches for the popcorn. Shoving it into his mouth as he chews slowly.
It’s nice that no one has shushed them… yet. The theater is, understandably, mostly empty. Whether that’s because people aren’t in the mood for a movie, or they aren’t up for “Sharknado,” specifically — who knows.
Whispered incredulously:] The fuck is this movie, Connor?
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It's about sharks that end up in a tornado and then terrorize people.
[He can't help but find it a hilarious choice. There's only one film at a time in these cinemas, he assumes, but they of course got Sharknado.]
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Weird fuckin’ premise for a movie. [Not like Jaws, exactly.] This is a “classic?”
[It’ll pass the time, though — and with Connor. Hank hopes Sumo isn’t chewing up the seats in his truck again, but that’s just a risk he’s willing to take right now. Should still be all tuckered out from his bath.]
You seen this before?
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[Back before he came into trucking.]
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Well, damn. Then you must know all the twists. [Does “Sharknado” have a riveting plot?? Somehow Hank doubts it.] Not gonna spoil this classic for me, I hope.
[Hank’s just teasing. Doesn’t particularly care, seeing as how he’s not really here for the movie at all.
Reaching for another handful of popcorn now, this time not spilling it all over Connor. An improvement over the last awkward slip!]
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[Especially not as Hank is so close when he's reaching. There's a slight blush that picks up over Connor's cheeks as he watches Hank move.]
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Uh huh. Gonna make me suffer through however many hours of — [Hank shoots a cursory glance toward the large screen] — sharks in tornadoes.
[He hopes his sarcasm is coming across, although he knows it’s not exactly endearing — to most people, anyway. But Connor doesn’t really seem like most people.]
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[Connor corrects with a smile. Hank's torture will be over sooner than he thinks.]
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Ninety minutes of sharks in tornadoes, huh.
[Hank fakes a sigh. Squeezes Connor’s hand.]
Good thing I’ve got such excellent company, then.
[Which is, perhaps, a tragic attempt at a silly little flirt, because Hank doesn’t know much about Connor. Not beyond the fact that he’s sweet on Hank — for whatever reason.]
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The best company, really.
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[A small smile curls on Hank’s lips as he watches the movie.]
Oh, yeah? Thought the implication was there already.