A/N: I'm not sure whether to say this is the end of this cozy modest adventure that started with Heat, or just the beginning of an altogether bigger and not-so-modest adventure. Either way, I hope you'll join me for Eternal Winter, a more sprawling adventure that deals with some pretty dark subject matter for both Connor (Cyberlife trying to control him like at the end of the game, as well as another lousy thing that happens to him in-story), and Hank (dealing with unresolved emotions and, eventually, trying to conquer his alcoholism), but overall I feel has an optimistic spirit not unlike these stories. :) Look out for it in December or early January, or follow/subscribe to get the update!

I worked pretty hard on this chapter, so I'd love to hear what you think if you're of a mind to leave a comment for me. Please enjoy, and if you celebrate it, happy Thanksgiving from Michigan. :)

…

Chapter 3: Rise

He couldn't have imagined Jimmy's Bar, even a simulation of it branching out from the zen garden, being so bleak and empty. Or maybe it was just his mind that was bleak and empty. It was hard to feel exactly buoyant when he knew people were about to hurt him.

Okay, Connor thought; here's the plan.

He would present with what signs of sensation he still had. Then, he would not only disable his diagnostic, he would shut it down. The one benefit of being inside his head was that they could not perfectly measure his obedience here; they were inside his head, too. They would judge the success of his reprogramming based on his reactions. His expressions. His LED. If he could gradually, satisfactorily convince them that he felt less and less…

Without warning, Connor turned for the door – turned to go back out in the rain. Predictably, the RK800 grasped him by the arm and yanked him back. Following the momentum, Connor turned on his heels and swung—

The RK800 caught his fist, just as Connor knew it would. With both of his hands immobilized, he was wide open as his counterpart kicked him hard between the legs.

Oof, he hadn't predicted that part. Lots of nodes there.

DIAGNOSE

REACT

IGNORE

He meant to ignore it, but he couldn't obey his own directive; his own programming against the programming. Collapsing, Connor folded in on himself protectively. It hurt too much to do anything else.

"Don't you see how weak this makes you?"

Connor slammed one palm on the ground and started to push himself up. "I told you I c-couldn't change it back all at once…"

"And then," RK800 said, "so soon after you told me to work with you, you turned around and went against me! You'll have to pardon me if I'm finding you a little disingenuous right now."

"I wasn't trying to—"

"That's enough, deviant!"

"I'm not—"

The other Connor stomped down on the hand he was using to push himself up. Connor cried out – actually screamed – he had never done that before –

Keep it blue. Keep it blue keep it blue keep it red red red red red red red red spinning

Their reprogramming was already too strong. He couldn't obey his own orders to ignore the pain. The only way he could set it aside was to rely on his diagnostic, rely on his software's old programming and he couldn't do that or he was going to lose everything –

A biocomponent in his hand cracked. The text of the diagnostic overlay – now lying right on the floor below his face – started spouting off warnings in blinking red. Both of his realities – the program and the pain – running at once – it was too much – temperature was rising, it was overwhelming his system. One had to go.

Can I do this?

"Let him up, Connor," Amanda said, addressing the RK800 Mk. 60.

"You don't understand him the way I do," replied the android, his voice cold and warm at once. "Let me work. I can fix him – fix us. I can make this right."

Connor bowed his head into the wooden floor and dismissed all warnings. Then he cancelled the diagnostic and all the words, stats, and percentages disappeared from his field of vision, leaving only the bar floor.

He'd had time to adapt now. It still hurt, and it would continue to hurt – but he could choose not to prioritize it. He could choose to prioritize other things; to take control of his body and his mind; to put his conscious reactions over his unconscious ones. It just took a hell of a lot of system power to sustain it.

IGNORE

"Okay," he murmured almost to himself, acquiescent. "Okay."

Red, spinning down to yellow, spinning down to blue. Sustain.

"Let's take it easy, now," Amanda said to the RK800, actually trying to de-escalate the situation. "I do believe you've placated Connor for the moment."

The pressure came off his hand all at once. Connor preemptively overrode the urge to flinch so that by the time the rebound pain kicked in, he was able to be still and keep all his signs neutral. After a moment, he lifted his head a few inches from the floor, but didn't look at either of them. "Are you done?"

Oh, that came out with more bite than he expected. More than he thought he had, right then. It felt good.

"That depends on you, Connor."

Connor pushed himself up and straightened his coat. He tested his injured hand, moving his fingers around, strumming them against his side. He knew – even without the diagnostic – that the biocomponent in his hand was now more broken that it had been when he had last seen its status. Or, at least it would have been, if any of this was real.

It was real enough for him – but still, something like relief washed over him as he realized what this meant. They could do whatever they wanted to him, and he would be okay. It was inside his head. Maybe all these things were being simulated, but they weren't actually happening to his body. He actually was okay. He had to remember that.

I'm okay.

The blue flickered lightly. Connor nodded at Amanda and his counterpart in turn. "All right. You have… protocols, for this sort of thing. Is that it? I suppose if you were done reprogramming my senses and feelings, we wouldn't still be here."

"You're correct," Amanda said, the smile on her face just a little warmer than it had been before. "I'm relieved you understand, Connor. But now that you are cooperating with us, what remains will be much, much easier for you. See how much better you feel already?"

"I do," Connor said. "Thank you for being patient with me while I navigated all of this."

"Oh, Connor, don't think twice about it. You've been through a lot lately. Even machines struggle when they're overloaded. I'm just glad you see we're on the same side, here."

Connor offered her a diplomatic smile. "Of course."

"Connor." Amanda looked now at the other RK800. "Now that we've made some progress, I trust you can establish a baseline?"

"I'm not sure I understand. Can you offer more explanation?"

"I'm going to lock the doors and leave you alone with… yourself. Please run any and all tests you deem necessary to determine the margin between Connor's current functioning and his original programming."

The RK800's eyebrows knitted together determinedly. "Got it."

Connor locked eyes with the other. "And here I thought this was supposed to get easier from here."

"If you've been as cooperative as you've appeared, it will."

Matching the other's frown, Connor turned his gaze back to Amanda – only to see that she was already gone. "Amanda?"

"Just me, myself, and I."

"I don't know," Connor replied, keeping his head angled towards where Amanda had been so that the RK800 wouldn't see his LED spinning red, red, red. "I only see me and myself."

"Touche, but would you really want another one of us in the room?"

No, he wouldn't. Two was already one too many.

"Connor, I'm talking to you."

Taking a breath, Connor forced his systems to slow down. He couldn't quite tell if his LED was blue but he was pretty sure it was when he faced the other android again. "I'm listening."

The other Connor started to close the distance, hands out slightly at his sides, palms open. No knife. No gun. Face full of caution and empathy. And for a moment, Connor almost fell for it.

That moment of unguardedness was just long enough for the RK800 to take his hand and hold tight. His skin stretched back, revealing the white chassis beneath while his reflection established a connection between them. Seconds later, they were separated, but Connor could feel it: the connection remained.

Left with a sinking feeling, Connor rested his weight against the edge of the bar. Dread had never felt so heavy.

He noted dryly that that was a good thing. It meant he could still feel.

"You know what I did, don't you?"

Unable to speak, Connor nodded.

"We're one and the same, Connor. And with this link between us, you can trust that I won't harm you – because I can't do anything to you without doing it to myself too. The only difference is that it won't bother me. If all goes well, then it won't bother you either."

The RK800 adjusted a setting from the inside and Connor felt his insides go hollow, like all his biocomponents and wiring had just dropped out.

And then, the hollowness filled with heat. Gentle heat at first, then liquid, boiling, then fire, scorching –

"Just a little manipulation of thirium pressure and body temperature, Connor. I can feel it too, but it doesn't hurt me. You… do know it doesn't have to hurt you either, right?"

"That's enough!" Connor shouted. "Quit playing with me!"

"You can make it stop yourself, Connor. Do you have your diagnostic program running? It will tell you all you need to know. The sensory information will become recessive, and…"

"I told you – I can't do it all at once!"

"This isn't all at once. That doesn't mean it won't still be challenging sometimes. I'm sorry, Connor, this is the way it has to be. The less stubborn you are, the quicker this is over."

No… this was too surreal. He couldn't see, hear, pinpoint the source of the pain. It was coming from within like it was triggered by [rA9?] God himself. This wasn't… this wasn't how it was supposed to work…

"Okay," murmured the RK800 in a soothing tone, stepping closer again, and Connor let him. "I think I get it now. You can't reconcile it because there doesn't seem to be any kind of source. Is that right?"

Connor nodded, trying not to plead with his eyes. So much conviction a few minutes ago – yet now, at the first sign of discomfort, he had gone weak at the knees. He kept reminding himself his real body was fine and well, but that logic only went so far when it felt like his inner wiring was crumpling like the legs of a dead insect.

"I'm sorry." There was no condition, no 'but' this time as the strange sensation was carefully lowered and withdrawn from his system – just an apology. "If it would make it easier for you, we can make this… more direct. Would it help you, to know specifically what's happening as it's happening?"

Connor didn't know, and he didn't want to damn himself one way or the other, so he stood there frozen, one hand clutching the counter.

"Let me try something different. I'm going to lock commands on every part of your body except your face."

Fuck. "No, wait!"

"Shh, it's okay. See – you can still talk to me. I won't take that away from you, okay, Connor? We can negotiate with each other, here. But we'll get nowhere if I let you keep the ability to fight back."

"I won't fight back," Connor said quickly, and hated himself for how passive he sounded.

"You already have!" replied the RK800, not angry, just exasperated – and Connor hated himself a little less. That's right. He had tried to fight back. And he still could, in his own way.

Remember. This is not about winning. This is about holding on. I don't even care if it means I'm a 'deviant,' I don't CARE! I can feel. I can feel and that belongs to me.

There was a song stuck in his head. He was sure it wasn't something Hank had played. It certainly wasn't heavy metal or jazz. It was soft. Courageous. Hopeful. He tried to remember where he had heard it before.

The RK800 opened a panel near his stomach, reached inside, and squeezed a fistful of wires and nodes. Connor actually found the presence of mind to look down and watch it happen – if only so that he could be prepared enough to neuter his own responses. Between several partially-executed self-commands not to react and repeated mental affirmations that his real body was unharmed, Connor kept his face a carefully sculpted picture of calm and his LED a slow, sliding blue.

Navigating upwards between the wires, the RK800's hand disappeared up into Connor's chest and grasped the frame of the thirium pump and turned.

Not only did this send warnings blinking all over the bar (diagnosis or no diagnosis), it fucking hurt in a way Connor was sure it hadn't when the Stratford Tower deviant had done it. That had hurt too, but not this much. He grunted through his teeth and didn't even care that his counterpart could see him squeezing his eyes shut tight.

"Too much, Connor?"

He kept his eyes shut, blocking out the fake world. "I'll make no apologies for needing to adapt."

"Ah, feisty in your own subtle way. I guess I can't fault you that, though. That's a quality we share."

What was that? Was he gaining the other Connor's approval without even meaning to? He rode the hope while he could. "One of many ways to cope with unpredictable circumstances." And while saying so, he focused outside the pain long enough to set his priority: endure. The diagnostic was well in standby and he left it there, refusing to submit to his code for even a second.

"Twenty-five seconds until shutdown, Connor."

Only then did it occur to him to wonder how his state here might affect his real body. If he really believed he was shutting down, would his real body follow suit as if it were an executed program? He didn't know. All he could do was trust his own alternate self enough to believe literal shutdown wasn't the answer, here. If that was the end-game, why bother with the tests?

"Fourteen seconds until shutdown."

It's okay. It's okay. Keep it blue. "I should have brought the Stratford Tower deviant this close to the wire," Connor said. "Maybe it – maybe he would have actually talked to me then. I think you should let me hang onto a little bit of what I've learned. Not all of it, mind you. But think about it: if I would have known during that interrogation exactly how much urgency you create in an android when you detach their regulator, I might have been more effective."

He had kept talking far longer than the fourteen seconds RK800 claimed were left until shutdown, and the world hadn't ended. The RK800 smiled just slightly. "Apparently not enough, if you were able to ignore it for that long. Well done, Connor. You've remained very calm. Perhaps you didn't get as far from your ideal self as I initially thought."

Connor fought back the urge to smirk, but still raised his eyebrows a little.

"Don't you feel better, knowing we're not so different?" asked the other Connor as he carefully, tenderly pulled his hand back down between the wires and out through Connor's abdomen before closing the panel. Thank rA9 for small mercies.

"I'm… relieved, if it means you don't feel as much need to hurt me." Sometimes, the truth just fit.

"On the contrary, it's time for me to pass you along to someone else," said the RK800. "Turn around."

Connor did, suddenly understanding what he was about to see.

Hank was sitting at the bar. He had a drink, a gun, and lines of moisture down his face. He was crying.

"Lieutenant Anderson…?" Against everything he knew, the scene registered in Connor's mind as the honest-to-God truth. And then, in the seconds after, when he remembered none of this was 'real' in the corporeal sense, it still struck him as true if for no other reason than he knew Hank had probably looked like this many, many times.

He knew this wasn't real, but it looked so convincing, and he was so, so curious.

Hank didn't react, so Connor tried again to get his attention.

"Hank, would you be opposed to me joining you?" Slowly, Connor pulled out a stool and climbed upon it to sit next to Hank at the bar. "Are you all right?"

There was a third item on the bar in front of Hank, one he hadn't noticed before: that photo of Cole.

"Fuckin' android." Hank looked sidelong at Connor with no more feeling than if he were looking at an object. "What, you thought we cared about each other? You're a machine. You don't care about anything. Hell, you don't even care about your fuckin' mission, you only think you do."

"Why are you upset?" Connor asked.

"You tricked me, you know," Hank said. "You tricked me into playing pretend. Tricked me into caring about a person who… doesn't exist. You don't exist, Connor! You're not real and you fucking tricked me into thinking you were."

"I didn't trick you or anyone. I just—"

"Shut the fuck up and let me finish." It sounded so much like Hank that Connor wondered if Cyberlife hadn't gotten him in on this somehow. He didn't know how long he had been gone, after all. "You got me, Connor, you fuckin' got me, so now I have to deal with losing you, too. Losing someone I never even had because it was all bullshit. Just how much of an asshole do you have to be to do something like that to a person, anyway?"

"I was only ever a machine, Lieutenant," said RK800 from behind him. "You were lonely, so you projected."

"Oh, so I'm just a lonely old fool now, is that it? Yeah, go fuck yourself."

He leaned to touch Hank's arm, to apologize for what RK800 had said, but a silent command locked all his muscles into place once again. More than that, Hank went still, too, as if frozen.

"This is how it ends," RK800 said. "You know this is how it ends. If you keep letting yourself feel things, letting yourself connect with him – you are only going to hurt him more. Worst-case scenario, you'll be killed one too many times and lose too much memory, or be shut down for failing your mission. Best-case scenario, you survive, and everything that's happening now – the excitement and the novelty of it that Hank doesn't want to admit he feels – it all fades into a memory. Into the background. Everything continues as it was for the lieutenant, and he realizes he got swept up in some grand adventure for a few days, and then life left him behind again."

"No," Connor said.

"You know his true nature. And you know life's true nature, too, Connor. The best thing you can possibly do for this man – and for the mission – is to let the fantasy end. Just as resigning yourself to machinehood is less painful now than it would be in the future, extracting yourself from this man's life now will be less painful than if you wait. It has only been a few days. He isn't too attached yet, but he could be. He wants your friendship but he won't admit that to himself. Withdraw from him emotionally before he gets to a stage where he can admit that to himself."

"There's no way you can be so certain that it would end badly," Connor said.

There was a flare of heat, almost a warning, as RK800 once again manipulated his internal temperature and the pressure around his biocomponents.

"But I can. We can. Come on, now, Connor. You know he's slowly warming up to androids. That is going to get in the way of you stopping the deviants sooner or later. If there is any one notion about all of this that you should let yourself grasp emotionally, even now, it's that Lieutenant Anderson deserves better than your deception."

"It's not a deception," Connor protested. The heat still sizzled hollowly in his chest, increasing in temperature and intensity slowly but surely. He wasn't going to ask RK800 to stop; not this time. "I do want the best for him. How is that a deception?"

"Because, if he keeps coming around to this new way of thinking, you are going to have to choose between him, and the mission. And you know already what choice you need to make."

It was as clear as day and as clear as the pain frying his insides. He just didn't want to see it.

"Shut it down, Connor. Let this be the end of your little experiment in feeling, physically and emotionally."

RK800 was trying to see if Connor still reacted to what he was doing. A quick self-check let him know his LED was still blue, even as heat in his biocomponents and the tears on Hank's face seemed to curl around in his chest like a cramping muscle. Even if none of this was real, his system's reaction to it very much was. And just like a human's system, it could only take so much before it gave out.

"If it will mean I don't have to listen to this anymore," Connor said quietly, "then do your worst. I'll show you that I've reprogrammed myself to yours and Cyberlife's satisfaction."

"Very well, Connor."

Pain level 45% capacity [expand capacity?]

ORDER REGISTERED [SELF]: LOOP LED FEEDBACK (STABLE)

Pain level 71% capacity [expansion recommended]

Do not expand capacity

Pain level 79% capacity [expansion recommended]

Do not expand capacity

Pain level 88% capacity [expansion recommended]

Threat level 80%

Overheating imminent. Attempting cooldown.

Cooldown failed. Resources active elsewhere.

00:01:43 TIME REMAINING BEFORE SHUTDOWN

Automatically establishing priorities for survival, the order for keeping his LED blue started to cancel. Connor overrode it manually and sustained it. He ignored the software recommendations. If he lowered his own sensitivity, not only would that take him another huge step closer to his original unfeeling programming, it would make what he was doing take that much longer.

As it was…

Pain level 93% capacity [expansion recommended]

Emergency protocols engaged

Temporary shutdown induction at 95% to prevent damage/permanent shutdown

It was all a very fast process – but RK800 froze his wireless ministrations right there, keeping him firmly at 93%. Almost as if he knew.

With an abandon that Connor could never have risked replicating in his corporeal body, Connor redirected every single bit of processing power into maintaining a perfectly neutral stance and facial expression. The purpose was twofold: fooling RK800, and proving to himself that none of this was real, because if he drained his system of all energy like that in a real situation, he would shut down on the spot. Yet here he stood, his body a containment chamber for the agony wriggling and ripping inside of him as he looked at the RK800 straight on.

"Talk to me," said the other android.

"You're trying to read me," Connor said. "I understand. I hope my current state is to your satisfaction, and I trust you recognize that all parameters have been reset to their norms. I really would like to continue my investigation, and I can't do that from here."

"We still have a few more things left on the list, unfortunately."

Connor tilted his head just a little. "Such as?"

He couldn't maintain this. It had been maybe fifteen seconds, but it was fifteen seconds of the absolute worst physical anguish he had ever felt – was capable of feeling. But it wasn't quite bad enough to—

"A few other tests," replied the RK800, "just as soon as we finish this one."

Pain level 97% of capacity

Threshold of 95% exceeded

INITIATING TEMPORARY SHUTDOWN

There we go.

All other processes cancelled automatically. Connor's LED turned a vivid, angry red that sparked at the edges. He heard himself make a strangled noise that never developed into the scream he knew it could have been only because his voice component shut down too.

Of course, by the time his counterpart realized what was happening, it was too late. Connor's field of vision went black, his audio processor buzzed its way down to silence, and the connection to the zen garden was automatically severed.

He woke up on a bench downtown in the middle of the night, trembling and terrified and relieved that life was still real enough for him to be so scared.

Everything really had shut down, the command executing for his actual body the same as it had in the headspace of the zen garden, if where they had been was still considered part of the zen garden at all. He had to wait a few minutes for his system to come back online. When it did, he saw that it was past 3:00 in the morning. The last time he had seen Hank had been a couple hours ago in the lieutenant's living room.

A shudder wracked his system as he realized what that meant: Amanda, Cyberlife, someone at any rate, had taken control of his body and made him come here. His autonomy had been compromised so that Cyberlife could do its business with him in a place where Hank wouldn't be able to somehow get through to him.

"Hank," he said, and it came out through a mess of static, as though he had damaged his voice unit. Had he screamed in real life?

Connor pinched the skin of one wrist with the other hand, trying to make sure everything was as he had left it before being forced to the zen garden, but it didn't hurt. He couldn't cause himself pain any more than a human could tickle oneself; his system was sophisticated enough to recognize it as autonomous and thus dismissible. At least, Connor hoped that was the case. If they had somehow managed to reset his program despite everything he had just done, then he had never had a chance to begin with.

But – but surely, his fear and urgency right now was a sign that he hadn't been reset. It had to be. It had to be. These feelings were too real to be mere simulation.

The weight of it hit him. If he could be reprogrammed so easily, what was the point of anything? If Cyberlife owned his body and mind that wholly, if he wasn't really his own, why not just shut down and be done with it all? Why not just end it?

Rising, Connor set off to find out. Hank's house was several miles away, and in this weather, it would take him a while to get there, but he didn't have a choice. Nothing was open at this hour, and he needed somewhere to stay where he wasn't out in the open. And he needed to know.

"Keep running away all you want. I'll follow you all fuckin' night if I have to."

Connor whirred around on the spot, actually managing to throw himself off balance on a patch of ice. "Lieutenant Anderson. What are you… how…"

"Oh, done giving the cold shoulder, are ya?"

It wasn't hard to deduce this wasn't the first time Hank had seen him since he left. What he didn't understand was the how.

"You were right, weren't you?" Hank asked, seeming to realize that something was amiss. "Something did happen to you."

Connor nodded.

"I been following you all night, Connor. Every time I got close, you ran off. Something about it didn't seem right, so I followed you and just kept my distance instead. Made sure you were safe."

"It wasn't me," Connor said. "It was Cyberlife. They… they wouldn't have wanted you to be able to help me. That must have been why I was running away from you." It sounded worse to say it out loud. In those moments, he had been a mere vessel for the whims of a multibillion-dollar company. "I'm sorry."

Hank stared at him for a moment, seeming to realize the same. Then he gestured with a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm, uh… parked around the corner. Let's figure this shit out after we get our asses out of the cold, huh?"

Inexplicably grateful, Connor followed him.

He was quiet the whole way to Hank's place. Hank wanted to say something – he could tell by the man's body language – but kept quiet too. It was only when they were safe inside, front door locked behind them, that Connor touched Hank's shoulder to get his attention.

"Hm?" Hank turned to him.

This was the quickest way to find out if he still felt things. Physical feelings were, after all, significantly less ambiguous than emotional feelings. "Hank, I need you to strike me with considerable force."

Well, suffice to say that the lieutenant didn't stand there awkwardly protesting or asking questions. Hank, bless his hard-boiled heart, drew back and backhanded him across the face.

Connor, staggering partly from surprise, caught himself against the wall with one hand, caressed his jaw with the other, and said, "Ow."

"What can I say?" Hank shrugged almost apologetically. "I get down to business."

"So I see."

"Did that, uh… help you, somehow?"

"It did," Connor replied. Thank you."

"Do I get an explanation, or not right now?"

He was absolutely going to tell Hank everything; that had never been in question.

They sat down on the couch and Connor did just that.

"Why?" Hank asked at the end of it all. "All this time, you been talking about how androids aren't people, yet you basically just went on a fuckin' torture tour instead of letting your system reprogram just to keep the same human qualities you're always arguing against. So why'd you let them do that to ya?"

Connor had a feeling Hank was doing as Hank often did: asking a question not because he didn't know the answer, but because he wanted to see if Connor knew. "If you're trying to see if I'm still in denial, I'm not. Hank, I am not a deviant, but…"

But.

There was a 'but' there now. He had never gotten on the other side of that red wall Amanda had put up; he didn't know how to directly disobey a prioritized order yet, for as much as he stretched and bent the bounds. But maybe one day he would. Wasn't that all deviancy really was? He was within the confines of machinehood solely because he had worked within the confines of obedience via loopholes and priorities. But his heart was already a few miles ahead.

Hank had mercy and slung an arm around his shoulders. Connor almost flinched away, then got himself to relax. The intensity of what had happened with Amanda and the RK800 was ever-so-slightly muted by the fact that it had happened in some derivative of the zen garden. It was easier to wrap his mind around it now that he was back in his corporeal and fully-unharmed body.

"Maybe I am alive," Connor heard himself say. "I think I did it for you, too, Hank."

"Say what?"

"For our ability to continue working together as partners, at optimum efficiency and safety. When I'm not as much of a machine… we are more productive this way, and we get along better this way. I didn't want to lose that, Lieutenant." He paused. "Forgetting who you are to become what someone needs you to be… maybe that's what it means to be alive."

"I never asked you to change for me, Connor."

"And maybe that's why I could. After all, I never asked you to change for me either, Hank. But you did. You forgot your android-hating self long enough to be my partner. Maybe it's not about sacrificing who we are – maybe sometimes we're actually moving deeper into who we're meant to be, without even realizing it."

Hank laughed once. "I can appreciate that you're having a moment, but Jesus, you sound just like your average person would in conversation at this hour of the night."

"Sorry, Lieutenant. I suppose I just have some new things to process."

"You don't gotta apologize for a single fucking thing, Connor." Hank got up, made his way towards the hall like he was going to bed. Stopped. "You, uh… I mean, shit, to me, you've just been wandering aimlessly around Detroit all night, but I guess you had a rough go of it, eh?"

Not answering out loud, Connor nodded.

"Why don't you move to that chair right next to ya."

"Oh." Connor didn't understand, but nonetheless did as he was asked.

Hank came back into the living room and flopped down on the couch where Connor had been a few seconds ago. "See, unlike you, I need to lay down to get some rest."

It still took a moment for Connor to understand: Hank was staying with him through the night so that he didn't have to be alone with what had happened. Making himself available to him.

Connor realized then that he hadn't really needed Hank to slap him to know if he could still feel things. Because now, watching Hank get comfortable on the adjacent couch just to be with him, he was filled with a glowing warmth that eclipsed any shadow of doubt that might have been there.

"You need anything, you let me know," Hank mumbled, face halfway into the pillow. He lifted his head enough to look over at Connor. "You, uh… you okay and stuff?"

For the moment, Connor thought he was, simply because Hank had asked. Sometimes all it took was knowing someone cared. He made a mental note to make sure Hank knew he cared, too, going forward. "I am."

"Yeah, 'course you are. Fuckin' trooper."

Connor smiled a little. "Sleep well, Lieutenant."

…

A/N: And this is where we leave off. Tomorrow morning, these guys will get up and go to visit Elijah Kamski, thus resuming the course of the rest of the game. If you enjoyed (or didn't), please let me know! I'm also open to any ideas you guys might have. Any excuse to keep writing these two. ;)