Thread by @FastHankconSmut

✨Thing with Hank and Connor at Eden Club, only I’ve made it stupidly indulgent
✨Hank finds out he’s got more feelings about his new partner than he’d like to
✨I just wanted to make some protective Hank and this has been sitting in my notes forever
✨Angst and fluff and *trash

❌This could be depressing/upsetting/triggering for some people, because of a take on the android’s at Eden Club. I’m not sure how to word/warn you better, honestly, but there’s Hank thinking about the android’s being victims a whole lot, and then all hell breaking loose.

Hank begrudgingly takes his half sober ass to Eden Club to check out the ‘murder’ Connor’d pestered him so much about going to, he’d *broken* into his *house* to take him.

It’s...not terrible.

Being surrounded by hot bodies dancing on a stage in cotton that barely covers an ass cheek *isn’t* a bad night for him. He didn’t make it a habit, and he hardly found the energy to go, but strip clubs became an easy fix for him when the lonely nights caught up with him.

They didn’t help him forget any better than alcohol, really, and he’d maybe gone all of four times in the 7 years he’d been divorced. Five of you count the time he came in shit-faced. It was about having the option there. If nothing else, Hank knew he had that going for him.

And, that was sad enough as it was.

This is excruciatingly different, because they just...they look like him, but they’re *used* like *toys*.

It’s creepy and, quite plainly, *gross*, because Hank knows without a trace of doubt that there are people here that use that in a very sick game of power play. They look like real men and woman, but they’re distinctly incapable of saying ‘no’.

It makes his skin crawl and his guts turn to ice.

He sees them look at him, not really seeing or thinking, behind glass walls, nearly naked, and on show for Hank, and anyone with red blood and a credit card, to come in and judge. Judging them off their worth to have sex with.

It’s wrong in a way that is so easily dismissed, because, again, they’re *not* like Hank. Not quite- and, just *enough*.

Yet, it reaches a whole new level when the ‘sex bot’ with its brand new ability to ‘feel’ is scrambling around the floor and fighting to catch its breath,

the moment Connor reactivates it.

Hank watches mesmerized as Connor questions it, completely unfazed by the sight.

‘They’re just simulating having emotions, they’re not real’.

Hank’s able to bury it well enough with those familiar words in mind.

She deactivates, and they continue their investigation. He lets Connor wander while he talks to the owner.

“Did you know the victim?”

“No, I mean he came in maybe two or three times...I mean these guys don’t really talk much, you know... They come in do their business and go on their way.”

Hank wonders briefly, not for the first time, what happened to people taking the time to court one another.

Why everything is just a quick fuck now, without any commitment.

He briefly remembers Jane telling him he was nothing but an old romantic, and forgets the whole thing. He doesn’t have a problem with quick fucks and no strings. But, it’s that...whole android consent thing...

The fact that they had none.

“You ever have any trouble with androids before?”

“No way!”
“Well... Once. We had a model 2- 3 months back, uh...same model... Just vanished. We never found out what happened.”

Hank puts his hands on his hips and tilts his chin back.

This guys been pretty honest with him, yet, Hank is anything but happy to be compliant. He doesn’t *like* this place or the fact this guys runs it like a petting zoo.

He wonders how Connor would feel if he knew what Hank was thinking.

Would he reprimand him for allowing his emotions to affect him this way? They aren’t human, after all- only humans deserved justice.

Still, Hank wonders. Does he care what he sees of his kind here? Of course he doesn’t, but...

“You wouldn’t. Happen to have any CCTV in here, would you?”

“No way!” Hank thinks it’d be great for some catching some of the vile fucks that slink from the cesspools of turning real people into objects to abuse. Especially women.

“I mean, this is what people appreciate about Eden Club!”

He babbles something about the privacy and discretion that Hank believes he’s using to sorely overlook the real appeal that draws folks.

He pushes down the ugly thought again, because he’s got a job to do.

“Sure, sure... Business is booming, right?” Hank’s eyes flicker briefly over to Connor across the way. Just keep to keep tabs on him. This place was, well...

“-Can’t complain. Good thing about androids is that they’re up for whatever you want, you won’t get any diseases, and, uh...they won’t tell anyone. So why not go wild?”

Hank can think of a million reasons why. Basic human empathy, for one.

He has to remind himself that there are plenty, more than plenty, of people out there that consent to the rough stuff, and happily so. *People that can say ‘no’*.

That Traci had tried to say no...

Hank can’t conceal his contempt this time.

“Yeah, the more I learn about people, the more I love my dog-“

“Excuse me, Lieutenant?”

Hank sees Connor there, looking as *confusingly* out of place here, as he does *perfectly* in place, standing at his side.

That’s an unsettling thought, Hank can’t pick apart well enough to make sense of.

“Can you come here a second?”

“Found something?”

“Maybe.”

Hank thinks he’s happy to be saved from a second more of that atrocious conversation, until Connor takes him straight over to the sex bot with a pale sheen of glitter on her chest, leaning behind the glass of a display case, and stops.

There’s a twist in Hank’s stomach.

But, it passes quickly.

“Could you rent this Traci?”

Holy *shit*.

“For fuck’s sake, Connor!” Hank can barely believe he’s even processed the request right. He’d swear he misunderstood, if Connor wasn’t looking at him completely seriously, right now.

“We’ve got better things to do!” He’s eager to leave this whole shit show, crime scene and all. Leave the sick, fucking smell of raw sex and stranger’s semen and go home, job be damned, and get something for his headache.

And, *Connor* had to go and say *that*.

“Please, Lieutenant! Just trust me.”

Hank stops. He trusts Connor inexplicably, ever since he pulled him off that roof top, ten stories suspended over concrete and barely avoiding becoming a red smear on it.

That’s why he goes back with a heavy sigh and sells his soul to the credit card company for the next 2 minutes, renting Traci’s at Connor request so he can shuffle through their surveillance feature.

It’s a race to find their blue haired Traci before their memories are all wiped, and Hank’s already drained from drinking booze on an empty stomach, and the fact he’s had to endure Gavin, and a bunch of naked sex dolls in one night.

This has easily become the most torturous 2 minutes of his life, but it started with Connor and that fucking window.

While they search, Hank takes notice of the lack of diversity. He can’t help his brain from straying when there’s just *so much skin* to see.

Each one is cut to fit a strictly over fetishized standard of beauty. He tries not to complain- He knew he wouldn’t like coming here before he’d even gotten in the car, and he’s a negative person as is. Or he pretends to be.

But, a small, bitter part of him that exists out of pure spite of being here still wanders. He’s just *looking* for things to complain about at this point, that isn’t new.

But, the invasive thoughts keep coming back tenfold for every second he spends surrounded by the ‘pleasures of the flesh’. He notices what’s missing here immediately.

He wants to see a male figure that’s thinner than all these ones with rippling abs and broad shoulders. He wants to see a woman with thicker arms and extra hip.

Just something that isn’t the wet dreams of an hormonally overfed nympho that frightens at the sight of stretch marks and small dicks.

It’s the fact someone *made* them all like this, and that none of them look like a man or woman he’d likely see on the street. Just an average sort of person. Someone like him, maybe?

Hank jerks back, suddenly remembering where he is.

Hank didn’t even want to see *himself* in the mirror. Why would *anybody* else?

He follows idly behind Connor, scorning himself for judging the bodies of innocent androids who exist only for the personal hell of people.

Humans were such flawed creatures. Hank could justify the cosmetic bits, like scars, and freckles, and asymmetry- those were *good*, because they’d made some one human. That was the appeal of having a real person, nothing fake.

And, the fact that not one of these Tracis can say ‘no’.

It isn’t until they find her that Hank realizes that’s not entirely true.

The truth is, some of them are *learning* to say ‘no’, and paying dearly for it.

He realizes each new case is just a new deviant learning to defend itself, and that’s a terrible thought for so many reasons.

Maybe, selfishly, because it makes it that much harder for Hank to deny what’s right in front of him anymore.

This girl just wanted to *live* and be alone with the one that she *loved*. It’s so basic, and it’s exactly what so many of Hank’s people take advantage of everyday. Freedom.

The freedom to live how they want, love who they want, and still to fuck everything up or hurt someone.

Some go to jail to for abusing their rights, abusing their people, and Hank thinks he hasn’t seen even one deviant committing any crimes that wouldn’t be called a defense in self-preservation if it were a human being charged.

That Tracis that handed his ass to him and tackled Connor were fighting like caged cats. Scared and desperate to just get out, doing everything that they could to leave this place in each other’s arms. As soon as they had a chance to run, they took it, and the fight was over.

They just wanted to be alone, and Hank could heavily relate. Just leave him to his couch and cold beers, and let him waste the hours of the day however the fuck he pleased.

They were just like...

Maybe, it’s better this way.

Those Tracis weren’t doing any good stuck here with these slimey fuckers- especially when they’d only proven Hank’s point with their story.

That man had beaten a woman, fake or not, to *death* for *sex*, and tried to kill another.

He was living out a psychotic fantasy with the ‘fake’ ones.

Connor must think *something* about all this, because he didn’t take that shot. His gun was lined up, ready to shoot, but he *didn’t*. Not even for the mission.

He just stands there in this trashy alley, ring yellow, with a rip in his collar from the fight.

Hank notices the freckle hiding underneath, dark like the one at the back of his neck.

His first instinct is to write it off, remember that someone else had *made* Connor that way- for whatever reason. Then he looks back at the chainlink fence the Tracis took off over and thinks about the display he’s seen here tonight.

Hank decides very pointedly that Connor has a flaw, a human one. By choosing to believe so, there will likely be consequences. Yet, it feels like the most natural choice to make.

Connor hadn’t taken that shot.

“C’mon, lets get out of here.”

Connor follows behind him through the garage bay, both men eyeing the Traci lying in the table as they pass by.

After tonight, Hank thinks he’s had enough of the backstage action at girly bars for the rest of his life.

Connor doesn’t say anything, probably still trying to understand what’s just happened.

Hank thinks it’s obvious, but maybe that’s because he has a bit too much empathy and has lived through too much bullshit already not to.

If he dug a little deeper, he’d also had the fine taste of freedom that Connor had never had, and, Hank was starting to wonder, if he ever would.

With all these deviants popping up, they had to start somewhere.

Did it start when you actively chose not to apprehend a guilty suspect for the murder of a man? A robot, no less.

With all the evidence that keeps lining up, it’s hard not to have doubts, but Hank just can’t imagine Connor becoming like one of these androids.

There’s no way he would. At least, maybe not until it was too late.

It was something Hank was becaming increasing curious about.

They’re finally almost to the exit, and Hank is eager to put this massive headache into paperwork *tomorrow*, and just get some rest tonight.

But, they’re stopped just short by Hank’s new favorite face.

“Hey, you find what you were looking for?” The owner looks anxious, and rightfully so. He owns this nightclub and this shit is bad for business.

Which Hank is happy about.

“Nope.” He says, and cuts his eyes at Connor. He looks willing to go along with it, and Hank’s pretty sure he’s probably doubting his choices right about now.

“Thought we were on to something, but it was just a bunch of dead ends.”

“Well, can I open shop again?”

Hank stares at him, sure his face is saying everything.

“Right...” He drags on and cuts his eyes at Connor, again. The android looks unbothered, so Hank just turns away- looking forward to getting home to his couch, soon.

“Hey, is that one of ours?”

Hank stops.

This man, Floyd Mills, *knows* Connor’s not one of his. Unless, he’s just truly the most negligent sex club owner in the world- which would explain a lot. Hank’s already convinced he is.

As he turns back around, he looks the android over. Connor’s standing perfectly straight, eyes ahead, as if Mills hadn’t just referred to him as Hank’s pet. Of course he is, what’s the protocol for society’s most advanced plaything to do when its disrespected?

Nothing.

Hank’s eyes flash dangerously as they settle on Mills.

“No. He came in here with me.”

The stalky man puts his hands up, clearly sensing some tension between them.

“Sorry, I didn’t notice.”

Hank‘s immensely aware that that’s bullshit. This guy‘d been keeping tabs on anyone who walked in here, since it‘d been closed.

If that’s not enough, the way he’s sizing Connor up now is incriminating. And fucking creepy.

Mills can’t seem to tear his eyes away from him, and Hank wishes he could tell at this distance *where* he was staring.

It becomes apparent when he takes a step forward, and Hank can see that’s its somewhere *lower*.

“Is he for sale?”

“*No*...He’s my partner.”

Hank doesn’t even think before he says it. His brain is too busy storming up a tirade of furious cursing to think about how adamantly he’d refuted the idea before.

The man is silent for a moment, watching Hank with a sort of weird curiosity.

And, then a switch seems to flip.

Hank doesn’t like this look any better.

“*Oh*. Oh, sorry, I see.” He says carefully, almost a bit apologetic. Hank doesn’t like wherever this is going, and then it clicks.

He furrows his brow, a weird flutter in his chest.

“Wha- No! He’s not, we’re not...”

He stops, and looks over to Connor standing tall at his side. There’s a strangely distant look in his eyes.

Now, Hank doesn’t know enough about anything to really say, and he’s slowly finding that he doesn’t have all the facts.

He can’t say what Connor is or who he’ll end up being. He only knows what he’s seen of others like him that have deviated. Coming off that, Hank can only say what Connor *deserves*.

“He’s not a *dog*.” He growls, showing out a bit more than he’d like to flaunt.

Hank kept his cool around Reed any time that dickhead tried to start some shit, and the absolute bastard *always* tried to start some shit.

But, this anger couldn’t be whittled.

He couldn’t stave the powerful urge to sock this man in the face, if he didn’t channel a bit of this rage out. He’d literally burst.

It was a horrible coping mechanism, but Hank was not willing to forgo it for the sake of professionalism right now.

He saw the man staring over at Connor again, *below the belt*.

“And, don’t *look* at him like that!” Hank spat, barely keeping his voice below a shout.

Mills looks as confused and scared as Connor does shocked.

He puts a hand on Hank’s chest and reminds him where they are with a little *push* when the bigger man takes a step forward.

Hank fights against his hand and takes another that Connor should have accounted for.

He hadn’t applied enough pressure, as he hadn’t thought Hank would be so...insistent.

“Don’t look at someone like they’re a fucking fleshlight, you *skeezey prick*-“

“Lieutenant Anderson?” Connor rasps. Hank’s seem to have forgotten that Connor’s not a ‘someone’.

He doesn’t look at him, eyes burning fires as they watch Mills squirm, but he can hear the weird tinge in Connor’s voice. He sounds concerned, and rightfully so. His stress level has been steadily reaching 89%.

First the Tracis, then this man...looking at him *like that*.

Now Hank was trying to pick a fight?

Connor knew he was an irritable man with a bit of a temper at times, but he was not an unreasonable one. To expend so much energy for Connor’s sake? An android detective who couldn’t completed a single mission.