✨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
It’s...not terrible.
This is excruciatingly different, because they just...they look like him, but they’re *used* like *toys*.
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.
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,
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.
“Did you know the victim?”
Hank wonders briefly, not for the first time, what happened to people taking the time to court one another.
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...
“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.
He wonders how Connor would feel if he knew what Hank was thinking.
Still, Hank wonders. Does he care what he sees of his kind here? Of course he doesn’t, but...
“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.
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.
Hank can think of a million reasons why. Basic human empathy, for one.
That Traci had tried to say no...
Hank can’t conceal his contempt this time.
“Excuse me, Lieutenant?”
Hank sees Connor there, looking as *confusingly* out of place here, as he does *perfectly* in place, standing at his side.
“Can you come here a second?”
“Found something?”
“Maybe.”
There’s a twist in Hank’s stomach.
“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.
And, *Connor* had to go and say *that*.
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.
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.
Hank jerks back, suddenly remembering where he is.
He follows idly behind Connor, scorning himself for judging the bodies of innocent androids who exist only for the personal hell of people.
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.
Maybe, selfishly, because it makes it that much harder for Hank to deny what’s right in front of him anymore.
The freedom to live how they want, love who they want, and still to fuck everything up or hurt someone.
They were just like...
Maybe, it’s better this way.
That man had beaten a woman, fake or not, to *death* for *sex*, and tried to kill another.
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.
Hank notices the freckle hiding underneath, dark like the one at the back of his neck.
Connor hadn’t taken that shot.
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.
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.
With all these deviants popping up, they had to start somewhere.
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.
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.
“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.
“Thought we were on to something, but it was just a bunch of dead ends.”
“Well, can I open shop again?”
“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.
Nothing.
“No. He came in here with me.”
The stalky man puts his hands up, clearly sensing some tension between them.
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.
It becomes apparent when he takes a step forward, and Hank can see that’s its somewhere *lower*.
“Is he for sale?”
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.
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.
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’s not a *dog*.” He growls, showing out a bit more than he’d like to flaunt.
But, this anger couldn’t be whittled.
It was a horrible coping mechanism, but Hank was not willing to forgo it for the sake of professionalism right now.
“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.
Hank fights against his hand and takes another that Connor should have accounted for.
“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’.
First the Tracis, then this man...looking at him *like that*.
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.