Yeah, well... I'd rather that money not go towards a big corporation. But the job is fine.
[The job might actually be his last chance to be a cop.]
[After the perp is turned in, they've reported the guy as taken in for when the office opens up tomorrow, Hank takes Connor to a truck-stop diner. Not many food carts like he'd like, definitely none open at night.]
[So the video starts with harsh midnight lighting, near sterile inside of a diner with tiles that look at least twenty years old on the walls. There's a long bar to take orders and booths and stools and the general tacky interior one would expect. Hank's tearing into a club sandwich with a cold can of fucking Canada Dry at his side. They're sitting at a booth because it's easier for their reacquired cameraman to film from here.]
[Between bites Hank informs everyone.] We turned them in. I'm worried about his ex. Thought about calling someone to check in on her but I don't really want anyone to file charges. Seemed like she wasn't all that willing.
[Connor sits beside Hank and watches blandly as he tucks into his sandwich. The camera pans from Hank, to Connor, to the empty space in front of him. Connor notes this, and looks uncomfortable.]
I don't eat on camera. Sorry.
[There are plenty of people with that kind of fear, so it seems to go down as a legitimate excuse.]
You should slow down with that sandwich though, Hank. You'll make yourself feel ill.
Mmmhmmmmhmm [He muffles into his drink, mid-swallow so he can't actually talk. But almost as soon as it's pulled away from his mouth, he's being groomed. And the cameraman catches everything, from the fond look to the self-aware shock of 'now I must groom my beard'.]
[He scratches at the freshly cleaned spot, and although he knows logically Connor wouldn't leave anything he checks his fingers as if to make sure. Force of habit rather than pressure of doubt.]
Huh.
[He wipes his hands on his napkin then, admitting some sort of defeat and taking a sandwich break.] So we've got a list that the guy in charge of this thing gave us, and since that one worked out I'm guessing when we get back to the hotel or wherever the fuck we end up staying at, then we'll have to do some research.
[He is definitely not going to say that Connor can compile this all in his head pretty easily.]
[He rests his arms on the table, drumming his fingers on the surface. Then he gets his coin back out from his shirt pocket and starts to flick it between his hands.]
Have you looked it over yet?
[Connor has, and already knows everyone by name and possible location. He can't exactly say that, though.]
Yeah, I did. [Hank pulls out his wallet, starts flipping through the pictures in it (which shows how fucking old-fashioned he is, he keeps pictures in his wallet).]
Some of these guys remind me of cases years ago. Meth was a thing once. Was way too close to a lab that blew during a raid. Have a few scars from that. Most of them faded.
[He finds a picture of himself with a scarred up rescue dog, both of them on the beach and happy, feet caked with water and sand and smiling brighter than the sun shining on them. The dog with a squint and a shark face, and Hank with his gap-toothed grin, so much more obvious on a younger face, considerably more fit without the weight of depression and proud to be in swim trunks. A lot different than a formal ID photo.]
That would have been me around this time. [He hands it to Connor.]
[The cameraman can't see it, so he actually gets up to go behind them to get the shot. Hank tries not to be annoyed.]
[Connor raises his eyebrows at the picture, then glances at Hank. Secretly, he files that picture away. He's not sure what for, but he needs it. He hands the photo back, smiling slightly.]
You looked happy.
[He hopes he can see Hank smile like that here.]
I don't have any photos of myself. Sorry. I can take some while I'm here, I suppose.
We could take some fuckin' screenshots from this asshole. [He points over his shoulder with his thumb at the cameraman, ignoring the slight, 'Hey!' But the video stops then, and the guy crouches with his phone in hand beside of the table.]
Alright guys. Smile.
[They'll probably have to be in some idiotic photoshoot anyway. Hank, who was about to bite into his sandwich again, puts it down and looks questioningly at Connor.]
Do you think you're pretty enough right now to take a picture with me? [He teases, grin not as beaming, but lop-sided and present.]
[He winks then, before leaning closer and giving the camera a smile. Have fun with that blatant flirt towards Hank, cameraman. He moves back once the picture is taken, and goes back to playing with his coin.]
[The cameraman gets two pictures. One, normal, of them both smiling. Connor with his winning smile, and Hank with his off-kilter learning-to-smile-again expression. The other? The wink. And Hank's patented 'I don't know what to do with this he's flirting with me, right?' face. There might be some color on those pale cheeks, too.]
Yeah, I can send it.
[He dials the number. Connor's phone announces its arrival a good full four seconds later. Apparently, the fucker had to search for a satellite system.]
Ah. Internet speeds. [Hank mulls thoughtfully as he chews his sandwich again, trying to will off that bashfulness.]
[Connor gets the photos and smiles slightly at the look on Hank's face.]
They're good photos.
[He nudges Hank playfully, walking his coin over his fingers with one hand while showing Hank the photos on his phone with the other. His very first photos taken, and he's flirting in one of them.]
[Hank is mid-chew and nods a faint agreement. But he goes through a wringer in his head. He's obviously flirting with me. Is he a casual flirt good at finding my weak points? Or is he actually flirting with me in particular? Do I flirt back? I mean... I'm sure I can flirt. Everyone can fuckin' flirt. It's not that hard.]
[Oh, the cameraman is looking at me and I've been fuckin' staring at the sandwich. Right. Shit, knocked off my water.] Hold on. [He grabs napkins and rescues the restaurant sturdy cup, apologizing to the late-night tired looking waitress who comes over for a refill and a new glass. At least she seems kind about it. Either she's putting up a hell of an act or she appreciates actual apologies for shit like that. She goes to get the mop and clear up the moat Hank's made for them in the floor.]
[Cameraman caught all of that.]
I did read it. [Hank reaffirms.] And I'd brought up the meth thing, because of the guy out on drug charges that skipped bail. And someone into meth is usually pretty visually identifiable. Unfortunately also very dangerous, but I think we could take it.
[Connor can't help but feel mildly accomplished at making a mess of Hank like that, though maybe doing it on camera was a little mean. He keeps his face neutral for now, though.]
Of course we could. I have full confidence in us.
[He pats Hank's arm, and puts his coin away.]
When you've finished your food we should get back to the hotel. We can decide what we're going to do next.
Right. Yeah. You. [He points at the cameraman.] Let's catch up tomorrow. It's fuckin' late and I'm gonna be losing my damn mind tired soon.
Yeah, sure. [The cameraman says.] I'll get this footage back to the studio and they'll start editing.
[Hank nods.] God we need a car that's our car and not a rental car. [He ponders out loud, rubbing his eyes as he considers payment advances and shit he's not had to worry about in years. He hates it.]
[Then he lowers his hands, watches as the camera guy leaves, And he almost, almost calls Connor out on his flirting. He looks at him with his mouth open, about to speak, when the waitress brings the check by.]
[Right.]
[Hank still has his soda, luckily in the can so he can take it with him, but drinks some of his water first before pulling out some cash.] You're gonna be killing it online after everyone sees you running that guy down.
Oh, yeah. When you go after a guy? It's like, 'Holy shit'. He didn't fuckin' stand a chance.
[Which, he's sure Connor knows. Especially with those fuckin' eyes he's casting now. Can he even do anything? Is he like those service droids and built like a ken doll down there?]
[God, what a fuckin' question to ask.]
[Instead he says.]
I wouldn't have caught him if I didn't realize where you were running him to... Did you know I'd figure it out? Or did we get lucky?
There were only so many places he could run, but it was a bit of a gamble as to which way he would go. I think you figured it out before he did, though.
[He gets up from his seat and brushes gently against Hank as he walks past, resting a hand on his back briefly.]
[This son of a bitch is flirting with them. And... well, it's pretty needless to say, he kind of likes it. He has a bunch of weird fuckin' hang-ups holding him back on it. He's full of too much trash to be someone's first kiss. Someone's first kiss usually indicates a level of impermanence. He's too damn hold to be learning how to properly fuck an android. God, what if he's just playing? Wouldn't that be rich. Hank just assuming that he gets a free pass 'cause he just felt his partner's thigh rub against his leg.]
[He shouldn't have taken note of it being soft and lean but god, that's exactly how his fuckin' brain has decided to write that memory. Connor: RK800. GOOD COP. NICE GUY. CARING. SOFT AND LEAN THIGHS.]
[Hank tips the waitress because that's what you did back then, before there was worker reform and then android servers to replace worker reform. Then he heads back out to their car. Still a decent drive from the hotel.]
I need to get an auxiliary cord for this thing. So I can fuckin' hook my phone up. Not the greatest period for music. But fuckin' Disturbed did a bunch of covers of old songs this past decade. [Ignoring that now even the covers were old. Before he starts up the car he digs through his phone, finds Land of Confusion and some fucking random person's playlist following it, and lets it play on that inferior speaker as they drive.]
[He’s flirting hard, and the entire drive home he’s resisting the urge to lay a hand on Hank’s thigh. Wouldn’t want to cause an accident. As soon as they’re back at the hotel though he excuses himself for a shower, so he has time to smirk to himself as he enjoys getting clean. He manages to forget to take clean clothes in with him, but Hank left a clean shirt in the bathroom and he eyes it.
So there’s Connor, emerging in nothing but underwear and one of Hank’s shirts, so he can get changed into something more comfortable. And he gives Hank a little smile, wet hair slightly more wavy than usual and falling in his eyes a little.]
Sorry. I forgot to take in clean clothes.
[Nevermind the fact that his clothes don’t get dirty, because he doesn’t sweat. He pulls on some jeans, but Hank’s shirt is pretty comfortable.]
[Hank sits down at a laptop blessed to them by their investors, and while it's not the best laptop it's just good enough to be both functional and irritatingly slow. It takes half of Connor's shower to even finish half the boot up process (god he doesn't miss this) and it loads pages with the pain of ads (because ad blockers block him from pages with helpful info).]
[So here he is, busy with looking up the name 'Rufus Champ' and thinking there could be no more of a white trash name, when the bathroom door opens and out comes Connor in one of his shirts.]
[Hank's brows raise. Yup. That is like, twenty-seven miles of leg right there. That's what that is.]
[His eyes roam up and he tries to figure out whether Connor is otherwise equipped before he gets his jeans on. Which means through the whole process he's stone silent. And forgetting that the fuckin' supercop android can probably track his eyepath. He gets a little confirmation just before those jeans are done up, as the shirt as gathered on his wrist and he can tell there's enough of an indention to- You know what? You know what? He shouldn't be doing- nah. Nah. Don't consider why they might have given their prototype functioning parts.]
Right. So, uh. Luckily there aren't a lot of guys named 'Rufus' nowadays. Lots of results for pet Mastiffs under the image search. It's more a dog name than a people name anymore.
[He notes the silence, and he noted where Hank’s eyes are, too. Of course he’d be curious, he supposes. He’s an android built to assist the police, not a sexbot. But Cyberlife apparently figured that their most advanced prototype also needed a dick, so here he is in all his penis-having glory. He wanders over to look at the laptop, leaning in maybe a touch too close. Still wearing that oversized shirt.]
So it shouldn’t be too hard to find him. Should I take this off?
[Hank seems fine with Connor just chilling out in his shirt, but he should probably make sure.]
It's not like you're getting dirty and if it's comfortable, you might as well. I wear 'em 'cause they're comfortable.
[He scrolls through a page, using the irritating touchpad and only marginally sensitive laptop touchscreen.]
Things can make you feel good, like that can be comfortable, right? I know you can't feel pain. But it'd be good to know that you could at least be comfortable.
[He wonders, briefly, if his beard would feel good against his skin. Then he tells his brain to shut up because it's not being sensitive to a fucking serious topic. Shut the fuck up, head.]
Well, I guess the compromise is that you can't feel some types of satisfaction. A full stomach. That feeling after you've used the bathroom in the morning. How clean you smell after a shower and you've been feeling gross.
I mean, I'm sure you experience some types of satisfaction, and the bad pain is hell, but sometimes it's not so bad. [He tugs lightly on the edge of the shirt Connor is wearing. God he looks thin and lanky in it. Moreso than in his fitted clothes, somehow.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
plasticasshole) wrote2015-03-01 06:47 am
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[The job might actually be his last chance to be a cop.]
[After the perp is turned in, they've reported the guy as taken in for when the office opens up tomorrow, Hank takes Connor to a truck-stop diner. Not many food carts like he'd like, definitely none open at night.]
[So the video starts with harsh midnight lighting, near sterile inside of a diner with tiles that look at least twenty years old on the walls. There's a long bar to take orders and booths and stools and the general tacky interior one would expect. Hank's tearing into a club sandwich with a cold can of fucking Canada Dry at his side. They're sitting at a booth because it's easier for their reacquired cameraman to film from here.]
[Between bites Hank informs everyone.] We turned them in. I'm worried about his ex. Thought about calling someone to check in on her but I don't really want anyone to file charges. Seemed like she wasn't all that willing.
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I don't eat on camera. Sorry.
[There are plenty of people with that kind of fear, so it seems to go down as a legitimate excuse.]
You should slow down with that sandwich though, Hank. You'll make yourself feel ill.
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...With food, not with... You know.
[He opens up the can of soda though, finally, seeming to listen despite his protests.]
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Not with food, not yet. But I can see it happening.
[He picks up a napkin and dabs at Hank's cheek with it fussily, before laying it down again and giving the other man an inappropriately adoring look.]
That's better.
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[He scratches at the freshly cleaned spot, and although he knows logically Connor wouldn't leave anything he checks his fingers as if to make sure. Force of habit rather than pressure of doubt.]
Huh.
[He wipes his hands on his napkin then, admitting some sort of defeat and taking a sandwich break.] So we've got a list that the guy in charge of this thing gave us, and since that one worked out I'm guessing when we get back to the hotel or wherever the fuck we end up staying at, then we'll have to do some research.
[He is definitely not going to say that Connor can compile this all in his head pretty easily.]
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[He rests his arms on the table, drumming his fingers on the surface. Then he gets his coin back out from his shirt pocket and starts to flick it between his hands.]
Have you looked it over yet?
[Connor has, and already knows everyone by name and possible location. He can't exactly say that, though.]
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Some of these guys remind me of cases years ago. Meth was a thing once. Was way too close to a lab that blew during a raid. Have a few scars from that. Most of them faded.
[He finds a picture of himself with a scarred up rescue dog, both of them on the beach and happy, feet caked with water and sand and smiling brighter than the sun shining on them. The dog with a squint and a shark face, and Hank with his gap-toothed grin, so much more obvious on a younger face, considerably more fit without the weight of depression and proud to be in swim trunks. A lot different than a formal ID photo.]
That would have been me around this time. [He hands it to Connor.]
[The cameraman can't see it, so he actually gets up to go behind them to get the shot. Hank tries not to be annoyed.]
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You looked happy.
[He hopes he can see Hank smile like that here.]
I don't have any photos of myself. Sorry. I can take some while I'm here, I suppose.
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Alright guys. Smile.
[They'll probably have to be in some idiotic photoshoot anyway. Hank, who was about to bite into his sandwich again, puts it down and looks questioningly at Connor.]
Do you think you're pretty enough right now to take a picture with me? [He teases, grin not as beaming, but lop-sided and present.]
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Do you think I am?
[He winks then, before leaning closer and giving the camera a smile. Have fun with that blatant flirt towards Hank, cameraman. He moves back once the picture is taken, and goes back to playing with his coin.]
Can you send me that picture?
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Yeah, I can send it.
[He dials the number. Connor's phone announces its arrival a good full four seconds later. Apparently, the fucker had to search for a satellite system.]
Ah. Internet speeds. [Hank mulls thoughtfully as he chews his sandwich again, trying to will off that bashfulness.]
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They're good photos.
[He nudges Hank playfully, walking his coin over his fingers with one hand while showing Hank the photos on his phone with the other. His very first photos taken, and he's flirting in one of them.]
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[Oh, the cameraman is looking at me and I've been fuckin' staring at the sandwich. Right. Shit, knocked off my water.] Hold on. [He grabs napkins and rescues the restaurant sturdy cup, apologizing to the late-night tired looking waitress who comes over for a refill and a new glass. At least she seems kind about it. Either she's putting up a hell of an act or she appreciates actual apologies for shit like that. She goes to get the mop and clear up the moat Hank's made for them in the floor.]
[Cameraman caught all of that.]
I did read it. [Hank reaffirms.] And I'd brought up the meth thing, because of the guy out on drug charges that skipped bail. And someone into meth is usually pretty visually identifiable. Unfortunately also very dangerous, but I think we could take it.
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Of course we could. I have full confidence in us.
[He pats Hank's arm, and puts his coin away.]
When you've finished your food we should get back to the hotel. We can decide what we're going to do next.
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Yeah, sure. [The cameraman says.] I'll get this footage back to the studio and they'll start editing.
[Hank nods.] God we need a car that's our car and not a rental car. [He ponders out loud, rubbing his eyes as he considers payment advances and shit he's not had to worry about in years. He hates it.]
[Then he lowers his hands, watches as the camera guy leaves, And he almost, almost calls Connor out on his flirting. He looks at him with his mouth open, about to speak, when the waitress brings the check by.]
[Right.]
[Hank still has his soda, luckily in the can so he can take it with him, but drinks some of his water first before pulling out some cash.] You're gonna be killing it online after everyone sees you running that guy down.
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[With the camera gone, Connor is working those brown eyes on Hank again. Smirking slightly, because he knows what he did.]
You were the one who caught him, you know. You deserve full credit for that.
[And Connor has to admit, he found it oddly... attractive? The way Hank had just overpowered the guy like that.]
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[Which, he's sure Connor knows. Especially with those fuckin' eyes he's casting now. Can he even do anything? Is he like those service droids and built like a ken doll down there?]
[God, what a fuckin' question to ask.]
[Instead he says.]
I wouldn't have caught him if I didn't realize where you were running him to... Did you know I'd figure it out? Or did we get lucky?
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[He gets up from his seat and brushes gently against Hank as he walks past, resting a hand on his back briefly.]
Let's get going. I'm sure you're very tired.
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[He shouldn't have taken note of it being soft and lean but god, that's exactly how his fuckin' brain has decided to write that memory. Connor: RK800. GOOD COP. NICE GUY. CARING. SOFT AND LEAN THIGHS.]
[Hank tips the waitress because that's what you did back then, before there was worker reform and then android servers to replace worker reform. Then he heads back out to their car. Still a decent drive from the hotel.]
I need to get an auxiliary cord for this thing. So I can fuckin' hook my phone up. Not the greatest period for music. But fuckin' Disturbed did a bunch of covers of old songs this past decade. [Ignoring that now even the covers were old. Before he starts up the car he digs through his phone, finds Land of Confusion and some fucking random person's playlist following it, and lets it play on that inferior speaker as they drive.]
no subject
So there’s Connor, emerging in nothing but underwear and one of Hank’s shirts, so he can get changed into something more comfortable. And he gives Hank a little smile, wet hair slightly more wavy than usual and falling in his eyes a little.]
Sorry. I forgot to take in clean clothes.
[Nevermind the fact that his clothes don’t get dirty, because he doesn’t sweat. He pulls on some jeans, but Hank’s shirt is pretty comfortable.]
no subject
[So here he is, busy with looking up the name 'Rufus Champ' and thinking there could be no more of a white trash name, when the bathroom door opens and out comes Connor in one of his shirts.]
[Hank's brows raise. Yup. That is like, twenty-seven miles of leg right there. That's what that is.]
[His eyes roam up and he tries to figure out whether Connor is otherwise equipped before he gets his jeans on. Which means through the whole process he's stone silent. And forgetting that the fuckin' supercop android can probably track his eyepath. He gets a little confirmation just before those jeans are done up, as the shirt as gathered on his wrist and he can tell there's enough of an indention to- You know what? You know what? He shouldn't be doing- nah. Nah. Don't consider why they might have given their prototype functioning parts.]
Right. So, uh. Luckily there aren't a lot of guys named 'Rufus' nowadays. Lots of results for pet Mastiffs under the image search. It's more a dog name than a people name anymore.
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So it shouldn’t be too hard to find him. Should I take this off?
[Hank seems fine with Connor just chilling out in his shirt, but he should probably make sure.]
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[He scrolls through a page, using the irritating touchpad and only marginally sensitive laptop touchscreen.]
Things can make you feel good, like that can be comfortable, right? I know you can't feel pain. But it'd be good to know that you could at least be comfortable.
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[And the loose fit of the shirt does feel nice.]
I should be grateful that I can feel pleasure and not pain, shouldn’t I?
[Though before he deviated, he wonders if he would have had the emotional capacity to experience pleasure.]
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Well, I guess the compromise is that you can't feel some types of satisfaction. A full stomach. That feeling after you've used the bathroom in the morning. How clean you smell after a shower and you've been feeling gross.
I mean, I'm sure you experience some types of satisfaction, and the bad pain is hell, but sometimes it's not so bad. [He tugs lightly on the edge of the shirt Connor is wearing. God he looks thin and lanky in it. Moreso than in his fitted clothes, somehow.]
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