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[Text]

This is Hank Anderson, and I recently got my promotion so it's now Det. Hank Anderson. Which is why I wanted to make this announcement.

[Hank still wants to research into the missing people and initiate his vague plan to devalue the iterations. Right now the public see them as a protective force for good. Hank wants the people to see other fucking people as their reliable protective force. That in the many variations of temperaments and personalities and creative resolutions to conflict, they can find their safety.]

I have a case that could use some assistance from some specialized outsiders. If you could come to me and lay out your experience and training, I would like to offer you temporary deputy work in helping solve this case.

Necessary qualifications include:
-Combat against armed opponents
-Negotiation and Interrogation
-Ability to secure an area until CSI arrives (cursory crime scene analysis a bonus)

Due to Dualis's policy on providing payment through credit, if you would want rewards we would have to attach a name to your activities. However if you'd want to work off-record [which is as close to anonymously as he can get] we could come to some sort of arrangement such as donated payment.

I'll be at the cat cafe to conduct interviews 4:00 to 6:00 in the afternoon for the next week. You can show up when it's convenient to talk. Sounds like a fucking weird place for it, yes, it'll make more sense when you're there.

I've also arranged for donated goods to be offered when people come in and might find themselves in a state of disrepair or any nicer version of saying fucked the hell up. New clothes, medical things like crutches for people with chronic conditions, sanitary supplies like soap and toothbrushes, things of that nature. So if you want to donate something to the people coming in there's a donation box in the dormitory's lower entryway and they'll be taken to the temple.

[Action]

Like he promises, Hank's waiting around at the cat cafe whenever someone shows up. Usually reading a book, sometimes bored, sometimes deeply into it. Right by his side though? A mammoth green cat, purring and resting her head against his arm. She's twitching her tail to and fro.

Hank is pretty sure he'll be able to tell if someone is bullshitting their credentials and whether they'll do intentional harm with their new role. It's hard to do background checks when different universes are involved, but he thinks he's figured out a way to beat the system without having to use any of the department's lie detectors.

Note: Plotting post here.

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"I didn't hear anything from anybody. I can't blame them, they've never seen me do anything like that and it's a delicate situation. They've only got our word for it that I've got the programming."

He actually likes that. He's being treated exactly like any other person would be in a new city, with no qualifications and just a willingness to prove themselves.

"I know nobody's listening." He takes another drink, slowly. "It used to be that knowing something like that would make me put it out of my mind, but I'm nervous anyway." Little irrationalities are just part of being a thinking, feeling being. He's used to a lot of the little quirks of his emotions by now, but some of them keep getting to him at the strangest times, and in the strangest ways.

"I'll go into standby tonight and see what I can do, OK?" And with that, he leans back, still petting the cat kneading his legs insistently - he's used to that by now, she does it every time - and sips his drink.

"So, Detective." He manages to keep his face perfectly straight. "I heard you were conducting interviews for deputies, and I think I might have some of the skills you need."

"Ah, come on. A grocery store uprising where the primary weapons of threat were the items you perform maintenance duties on? You would have been fuckin' perfect." Hank teases, but appreciates Connor's desire to earn the position rather than be given it. It's very honorable of him; something Hank's always deeply admired about him, from the moment he first saw signs of it.

He also gets being nervous.

Since the Heart invited them to their little show and tell, he's been a little worried not just for them, but for all the people there. He's always taken those measures to have background noise on whenever he talked about the Head. He's turned on music, discussed his information in low tones, tried to keep his back to place where he'd hide cameras.

But knowing that they're downloading memories too? Maybe it's just a matter of time. Maybe it'll never be enough.

That's beside the point. The cases are something he can do something with now. "Luckily I know your resume, too." Hank straightens himself up. "Alright. So you wanna hear about how there's some crazy bitch who's selling drugs and fucking up people who upset her?"

He snorts at the memory. They looked ridiculous and cleaning all the guacamole and tomato sauce (he assumes, though he had to admit he didn't check) off and detaching the various "add-ons" wasn't fun, but it's such a stupid thing to have happened that he can't help finding it a little funny. Just a little.

Androids fought to be equal, and now that Connor knows what that means, he wants it, more than anything. Even if he never gets to do anything more fitting his skills than direct traffic and fix Roombas, what he has, he earned. He would like to be trusted with more. But if he isn't, he'll accept that gladly.

Not that Dualis is the best place to discover equality. Connor tries to act normal whenever he can, not to attract attention, and he's already trying to figure out how to download his own memories so it doesn't attract any attention.

"Right." For now, though, he concentrates on Hank. "The Red Ice I found. That's related to this case?"

It was a week or two ago. He'd been doing a routine check on an impounded car and had been pretty damn surprised to detect the drug in trace quantities in the trunk. He's never seen another android, never seen thirium. But right there in front of him was a drug made of the stuff. He reported it, but Connor's a traffic cop, and despite offering to explain what the drug actually was he was dismissed. After that, he assumed vice would contact him if they needed him. They didn't.

Until this, that is.

"Yeah. I think so." Hank says with a tired nod. Damned Red Ice. A little bit of it everywhere, peddled to every lonely human from the blood of androids.

"We had a guy that was trafficking stolen goods, being followed by someone in the property department. The property department guy had an important meeting to go to, and the fuckin' perp ends up one of the killings. People thought he was a part of the North family, that's what they were looking into. His entire stock was stolen. And in that stock? A couple of gallons of thirium."

People don't often go missing or stay dead in this place. And these people are.

Which is a danger in itself. He doesn't know if she knows how to keep the Head from bringing people back, or if this was supposed to be a case where they did come back fearing her, or if she knew that people weren't coming back and was taking advantage of it. There are a lot of questions that could be also be answered by finding her.

But it's a thought that he shares by putting his hand over Connor's and tapping it. An unspoken request to share the idea.

His eyebrows go up at the words 'couple of gallons'. He's been casually trying to find out if thirium even exists here and he's never come up with anything - but he doesn't have that many connections here yet. More accurately, he has close to none. Maybe he should have been looking at the local drug dealers and not just the chemistry labs. If he ever loses a large amount of thirium, he'd need more - rather like a blood transfusion - but he's been trying not to think too much about it, given that there's nothing at all he can do about it.

But now here's a couple of gallons of it, being used for Red Ice.

He shakes off the irritation and, as Hank's hand taps his, he lets the skin slip away over his hand so their connection can open.

He gently wraps his fingers around Connor's, rubbing his hand with his thumb, on the outside they're just a couple having a private moment. Something sweet to be smiled at.

He gingerly gives him the thought. He has a suspicion, because most of the people at the department didn't remember the incident, he thinks they might have shut down during the black-out. The ones that don't remember at all are the ones that have already been replaced. Then he recalls Loki's theory, that the black-out released the things before they were done. He'd like the sound of it. That led him to the idea the Heart might have caused the black-out.

And that doesn't make him feel warm. It makes him feel cold and angry, that they treated them like idiots to manipulate loyalty. To present themselves as a safe place when people probably would have listened if they'd said the truth and not spent their time on masks and performance. But that's beside the point.

People aren't supposed to be dying and staying dead. They are. And these are definitely humans. So there's a lot more to find out than a drug bust. Maybe the Head is breaking down in its old age. Who knows.

He's going to look into it, but he wants Connor to be careful. Be very careful, because he can't stand the idea of losing him right now.

Connor's gaze goes a little distant, although to anybody watching, he's just completely taken by Hank. And maybe that's a little true. Mostly, though, he's processing, taking thoughts from Hank and passing them back almost as quickly.

It's true, the guys in the department, none of the ones he's talked to, remember a thing about that night. They all swear nothing happened, they recount normal nights at home or on patrol or whatever they were supposed to be doing. Normal. Connor hadn't been able to make any sense of it, but... The whole police department? All of them? Doubles?

His gaze narrows in on Hank's properly now, frowning. It's not inconceivable that they started with the police - authority figures - but if they have the whole department, they must have more. There's no way of telling just how many. The only people they know for absolutely certain aren't doubles are the ones whose doubles they've already killed.

...Or simply all the people whose clones aren't completed yet. The ones in the dormitories, the ones only staying for one year.

Do you think one year is about the time it would take them to finish one of those clones?

He's not sure if he's asking too much, but, realising they might stick out a little if they aren't seen to be talking to each other at all, he says out loud at the same time, "I could talk to some of the team on the case about Red Ice - the chemical side." Hank knows everything else probably better than Connor.

"And maybe I could get permission to take the thirium once the case is done. Just in case."

It wouldn't surprise me. It gets easier to read what Connor's thinking or feeling as time goes on. He's getting used to it. I thought a year was a pretty short period of time for a plague experiment lasting possibly centuries.

But what the hell do they even know about what the head actually wants? Not too much. He doesn't know how they'll get home without it, or if it's even worked out how to do that. Why would it need to if it's just replacing people? There are people that have went to different universes though. Some more than once.

But then, out loud. "I think we could get away with just checking it out of the evidence room. There's no need for it after. I get the feeling it won't have to be there for a lengthy trial."

I can probably stop trying to explain away why they might have brought me for a DNA sampling exercise. Because he'd tried that, in good faith. Wanting to believe this was just a year out from his life, almost painless, maybe even a good thing. Both for him and Hank.

And he still thinks that in some ways, so far, it has been. And it's enraging to realise it was all built on lies, on a plan to create copies of them and discard them as soon as they weren't needed anymore. And they've both survived too much to let this take them down.

Hank can feel all of this, knows everything he's thinking right now - it's been an unexpected source of pride to see Hank improve at this steadily since they started using the implant, even if the circumstances were the worse they could be.

"I'd appreciate it. I don't need thirium unless I lose too much of it, but you never know."

Especially now.

"Whatever you need me to do with this case, though, I'm available. Just let me know."

The people who died without coming back, he thinks - has Hank seen any bodies personally? Is there any way to know if they're real people or duplicates?

Hank doesn't respond to that with a thought or spoken words, just a sad smile. Yeah, it makes a lot more sense now. And while it's nice to have a chance to breathe, to fall in love, to start growing instead of miring himself in all the bad habits that he'd condemned himself to.

They're here because someone wanted to copy them. That's it. But they've had a few good moments, and he wants to hang onto those.

What happened with your double? he thinks, putting his other hand over Connor's, holding it warmly with both.

"I did see the bodies." That part he can say out loud. They didn't seem like robots. "They just weren't coming back. But I'll try to get you in to the coroner to take a look."

Edited 2019-11-17 23:14 (UTC)

He's glad to sense that Hank feels the same way he does - that ultimately, there are things to have enjoyed about being here, even if they can't forget the reasons or just dismiss them. He doesn't want to taint this, Hank's hands both curling around his on the table as Connor brings up his other hand to cover Hank's in turn.

Hank's question automatically conjures the memory. It was quick and clean. Knowing exactly what he was looking at and expecting it, he'd shot it through the head as soon as he'd seen it. Its blood was thirium, and though it had a lot of the same metal components as Hank's double, there had been a genuine attempt going on around that to reverse engineer Connor. So it looked like.

"I don't know how much I'll see that the coroner didn't, but I'll have a look." What he doesn't say aloud is that if the bodies are completed doubles, Connor might not realise with just a visual check. He didn't even realise Hank's double was artificial until they both got a closer look, let alone the entire completed police department.

What do we do about them? The police officers, their colleagues. Act normal? Like we don't know what they are?

He wonders, with a sick jolt, if they know what they are.

He doesn't know what to do. He's seen them get jittery without caffeine. He's seen them show off pictures of their kids. He wants to at least try to still treat them like people, even if it means at some point they might have to run.

He just nods at the spoken words, though. It's so damn hard to tell. He doesn't think all the people in the department are even doubles. It's a complicated situation. He doesn't even know for sure yet.

Maybe we should start stashing some things somewhere, just in case. I'll look around for places when I'm investigating the case. There's gotta be a time when our memories catch up with us, though.

He licks his lips, and looks down at their warmly clasped hands. The emotion he feels from the sight, the love there, the urge to protect? That's all very real.

If I'm right, this means the Heart probably caused the black-out to prove a point. And that's going to have the full force of the department after them because the Head will want that. And if they catch them, they're all going to eventually find out about that meeting.
And all those fucking kids they invited.

Those are the images flashing through Connor's head as well - interacting with and watching a department of people who he had no reason to ever believe weren't human. And if they don't know what they are - even if they do - what makes them less than real people? Who is Connor to say that they're not real?

Good idea. Not that the idea of being a fugitive...again, sort of...appeals to him any, but this time - he won't be alone. And things feel more hopeful for that. (The very fact that things feel at all like anything helps) He strokes Hank's hand with a thumb, watching both their conjoined hands like he can see the data transfer going on if he watches closely enough.

They didn't listen to anything either of us told them, he thinks, and he can't help the contempt slipping into his thoughts about the Heart now. All their lives at risk, and the Head all the more on the lookout - possibly for everybody who showed up for that meeting as well.

At this stage, Connor doesn't see that they have much choice. If they turn the Heart in to save the people in the dormitory, all it does is extend their own lives a few more months before the Head gets rid of them anyway. Work with the Heart and what chance do they have before the reckless behaviour of almost everybody involved kills them all?

What do you think? The thought almost tentatively passes between them.

I'm not gonna pledge any loyalties, that's for damn sure. I'll work with people I know I can count on and that's it. He exhales. There are woods around. There's mines. There's secret spaces to stash away. If these drug dealers can stay out of iteration vision, if the Heart can, then they can, too. If they have to run, they'll run.

It's a desperate sort of situation.

"Is this what it was like before?" Hank asks out loud, finally. Meaning that ship, the attack of the federal agents, the subversive planning. It was just days of action, an aggravated, overquick situation.

Connor's only told him so much about how it was.

He can live with that. No allegiances. The only loyalty he needs to have here is to Hank - and ow long has that been the case, anyway? That Hank is the only person he can really rely on? Living rough doesn't put him off either - he'll do it if he has to, even if what he's seen of it hasn't always been…

"Jericho?" he says softly, even though he knows that's what Hank means. "I didn't stay there long, but it was rough. They had to steal parts and thirium they needed - and so many of the androids there were injured they still never had enough.

"I'm surprised as many of them survived the invasion as they did. A group of us fought some off and jumped overboard, and we helped who we could, but most of them weren't equipped for fighting or surviving anything."

And this was just androids - androids don't need any of the basic things humans need for survival, most of which were missing on Jericho. Even the simple things a human might take for granted like being warm and dry just weren't available there. A place like Jericho is only good for a being who can't feel cold, or discomfort.

A group of androids could hide anywhere they wanted. Here, hiding organics, it's going to be a lot more difficult.

He tilts his head back, mouth pursed in thought. "Maybe that's how Markus drew people to him at first. He thought for himself, he came up with ideas to let them make their own lives better."

They'll find out more as they delve into this drug ring, he's sure of it. They can get by. He's just dreading reencountering that feeling of needing to run. In Detroit they had hope, they could get to Canada. He could plan. Here he'll just have to run, and that's all he can think ahead to.

"We'll make sure we get you that thirium."

The hand that's on their joined ones lifts to rest at the back of Connor's neck, rubbing his thumb there fondly and soothingly. Though it's as much for himself as it is for Connor.

He closes his eyes at the touch to the back of his neck, tilting his head forward a little to give Hank's thumb easier access. He's grinning fondly as he squeezes Hank's other hand in both his own, letting the pleasant warmth of that feeling flow through their connection.

"Thanks," he murmurs. "I'm sure there's somewhere we can keep a couple gallons of thirium."

At his part-time job, if it comes to it. It's not urgent - they've already established there's a lot more they need to take care of first.

"Did anybody else say they were coming down here?" he asks presently, taking one hand away from Hank's only to momentarily pet the cat who's realised it's not the centre of attention and is craning up to nose at his face.

"Only a couple of people. If anyone else shows up, it'll be with their names off the network." And he can't blame them. Right now he's using the excuse of people not wanting to reveal their secret identities as vigilantes to allow them to avoid naming themselves. But he can also see, now, how careful he'll have to be about showing what they can do.

"You know, despite everything? It feels good to be doing this again. Even if it's only a hot fuckin' minute... at least it's a good-bye to something I really loved doing, you know?"

Connor might have hated it. His context was horrible, as they'd just discussed. The goals nightmarish, and his own kind was terrified of him. But to Hank? He'd made the world a little better with it. He doesn't know how much it matters here, but he's glad to try.

"You don't have to say good-bye to it," he says, and means it. Even if Connor doesn't want to be in the same field, Hank needs his own life. He needs something that makes him feel like he's doing something, here and home, wherever home ends up being. No functioning police department will ever let them work together anyway. "You're good at it. You're a good cop - a good person. We need good people."

He's still referring to cops as 'we', somehow. Maybe he's not totally divorced from this just yet.

"Just because I don't want to do it anymore, doesn't mean you shouldn't."

"I do, though. I need to recognize when I've hit a hard limit about doing the right thing." He picks up Connor's hand and kisses it again. He doesn't know why he enjoys it. Maybe it's just that he likes scruffing his facial hair against his knuckles as he does.

"If the Detroit PD was asking me to send a man to his death for not being a good enough of an investigator, I had no place there."

And here, he knows he'll hit a hard line of being a decent person, too.

Connor frowns, but is immediatly distracted by Hank lifting his hand to kiss it, a gesture that never fails to feel like it's twisting his thirium pump and springing it back into place with a jolt.

But the frown deepens. "Hank, I never told anybody but you they were going to decommission me. That's not what they were doing."

But Fowler's not an idiot. There was probably only ever one end to Connor's time with the Detroit PD. If he didn't know, it's because he chose not to think about it. But Connor can't bring himself to hate Fowler for it, or anybody for the way they acted. It feels like a waste of his emotions.

"What about... When we get home, I mean - you going elsewhere? Or even doing private work?"

"I don't think it'd be as good alone. I'd end up lonely and pissed off."

Hank wraps his hands around Connor's fingers, holding them. It had been obvious, to him. "I'll look into it. But if possible, I'd like us to pick out somethin' we could both work towards. I uh... I know you want to choose your own course in life. I don't want to get in the way of that. But I'm hoping that we have enough in common that we could work out something to work towards together.

"I want to share my life with you. I don't want to just be a cop that comes home every night. I wanna do things to make the world better. Hopefully with you, if it's worth it to find some sorta middle ground."

This is an impossibly hopeful conversation about the future, but he wants to have it. They might not be cop partners now, but he wants to be some fashion of partner with him in the future.

Connor's fingers wrap around Hank's automatically, the most natural thing in the world, like he was programmed for it, as he listens to Hank so intently there might be nothing else in the room, let alone a cat busy kneading Connor's thighs and another one the size of a large dog disdainfully licking its paw by Hank's feet.

"It's worth it," he affirms, barely loudly enough for Hank to hear him. He always assumed Hank would remain a detective, one way or another, somehow. His mental association of Hank is that of a detective, it's hard to break that. But somehow Hank is more ready to change himself than Connor is to change a perception.

"Whatever I do, I always planned on it being compatible with my life with you," he says, then pauses, just to make sure he's got his feelings in order, that he can say them. He can. "Making a life with you instead of around you sounds perfect."

"Wanna know something funny? I kinda wanted to do the same thing with you." He would have supported Connor, probably even foolishly attempted to do something that he wasn't fond of just to help his love pave his own path. That might have made him become bitter, unhappy, regretful in the long run. This is a better idea.

"So if I did do the private thing, maybe I could do it on behalf of androids somehow. Make the world a little safer for us." Us. Not just Connor. So they can love each other freely, and won't get in trouble for sharing that. "Hunt down perps who assault androids where people like Gavin Reed might let 'em get off scott free. Social media can be a hell of a thing. Throw some info up and pressure could land them in jail."

And Hank is grinning now, happy at the prospect. They're gonna make it work. The idea of losing Connor for his own good, his own freedom, seems less likely. He can still find good and freedom with him. He's practically fucking beaming, actual real hope radiating from the seams in his battered face.

"So…" The smile spreading across Connor's face is like a force of nature, unstoppable. "You wanna go into business together?"

The smile becomes a delighted sort of laugh, a feeling so intense it can't stay inside him, he can't contain it. He recognises it - excitement, true, actual hope, anticipation for the future that he's never really had before. He hasn't known what it would be, hasn't been able to place himself in it with any more than vague impressions. Now, he sees that place forming, concrete and real.

And that place involves something that could really help people, really help not only androids, but the humans who want to spend their lives with them. Connor couldn't build a new society or negotiate rights - that's Markus's role. But he can find justice for those who have never been allowed it. He and Hank both.

"I think there'll be real demand for that when we go back," he says, voice a little strained with the emotion, the excitement, bit steady all the same. "Missing people, victims of hate crime, androids who don't feel like they have a place in society or don't know where to turn. We both know people with connections, there has to be a lot we can do with that."

Androids in Connor's place, humans in Hank's. Between them, they can be something of a bridge between two worlds as they come together a bit at a time.

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