Hank wasn't Connor's father, and Connor wasn't Hank's son.

That was just how it was, and how it would always be; it didn't matter how much they knew about each other, or how many things they did together, or how many conversations they had.

Hank already had a son, and had already been a father.

But Hank's son had been Cole, not Connor. And it didn't matter how long they knew each other, or how many jokes they made, or how many fights they had.

Hank would never be Connor's father, and Connor would never be Hank's son.

Hank had put up Cole's picture after the revolution, and it stayed up ever since. Maybe it was because Hank had finally come to terms with his death, but Connor also recognized it as a reminder.

Don't push it.

You're not his son.

He already has one, and you can't replace him.

Cole was always visible now, and Hank had begun to talk about him more (not terribly frequently, but more than before). Connor didn't dislike it; Cole had seemed like a wonderful kid, and Hank lit up whenever he mentioned him.

That was good in itself – early in their partnership, Hank had only mentioned Cole briefly, and for a long time, all Connor had known about him (outside of government records and files) was his death. But it had been a few months since the revolution, and Hank was coming out of his shell.

He'd talked about how Cole enjoyed going to the park, and how he tried to make breakfast in bed for Hank on the weekends, and how he loved to swim and play in the rain. Hank talked about how Cole cried the first day of kindergarten, but since then couldn't wait to get in and get a sticker just to show his dad how smart or well-behaved he was. Cole got upset when he was too small to ride a rollercoaster, but completely forgot about it when Hank won him a stuffed toy at a rigged carnival game. Cole loved animals, and sports, and knew all the words to Hank's 'unconventional' heavy metal songs (even if he didn't understand them).

Cole was a good kid, and Connor liked hearing about him.

Still… Cole was a warning. A boundary. An unspoken agreement. Cole was Hank's son, and Connor wasn't. That was just how it was, and how it would always be.

Connor wasn't related to Hank – he wasn't related to anyone. He had never had a childhood – much less one that Hank would have been present for. He'd never been walked to school, or needed help with homework, or skinned his knee. He'd never had to learn to walk or talk, and he'd never been taught to say 'please' or 'thank you.' He'd never played with toys until they were ragged, or refused to eat his vegetables, or drawn a picture to put on the fridge.

He'd never been anyone's son, and he never would be.

And sometimes Connor was jealous. (If Amanda was still lurking somewhere in his program, she was probably furious.) Why couldn't he be someone's son?

Why couldn't he be Hank's son?

But that was stupid. He shouldn't have been jealous of a six-year-old boy who'd passed away before he was even in development. He shouldn't have wanted to be anyone's son – he was Hank's partner, and friend, and 'son' was only a title. He shouldn't even think about things like that, because all it was going to do was make things awkward and potentially ruin his friendship with Hank.

Which he was pretty sure he just had.

They had been at a crime scene. He didn't even remember what Hank had asked him, and he didn't remember what he replied with. All he remembered was Hank turning to look at him, with an undiscernible expression, and the words "What the hell did you just say?"

Connor remembered freezing and rolling back his memory, only to hear himself call Hank 'The Word' in passing. He remembered his stress levels spiking to 91% and mumbling something about investigating the next room, and he remembered leaving the building altogether, ignoring Hank's voice behind him.

He remembered vaguely registering Gavin Reed trying to block the way and saying something in a challenging tone; he remembered shoving past without a word or thought, and Gavin angrily shouting something after him.

After that, he didn't remember much of anything. He must have started running at some point, because he had just slowed to a walk and then a stop in front of a large bridge – the Ambassador Bridge, his scan told him – and he must have been running for two hours at least, because now it was getting dark. He didn't know where he had been or who had seen him or if anyone was looking for him, but at the moment he couldn't bring himself to care.

What an idiot.

Why did you say that?

You've just ruined everything.

He didn't remember moving to the railing of the bridge and peering down at the water, but he must have done that too, because here he was. He was too high up and it was too dark to even dream of seeing his reflection, but he was glad because he didn't want to look at himself anyway.

This was all so… stupid. Why was he making such a big deal out of it? It was just a word, a title, a slip-up. It didn't mean anything. But he couldn't help it – he was embarrassed, and ashamed, and anxious, because of one small word.

But it wasn't just the word that turned his metaphorical stomach. It was the assumption.

Hank had never returned the sentiment that he considered Connor like a son, as Connor had considered Hank like a father. Hank had only talked about being a father to Cole – his real son. And for Connor to impose upon that sacred relationship had been taboo.

Connor wasn't Cole, and so he wasn't Hank's son. So why had he just assumed that he could fill that relational role, when Hank hadn't given him permission to do so? What if Hank hadn't wanted anyone to ever fill that role again?

"Connor?"

The android twitched, startled, though the only outward indication would have been the flashing yellow LED on his right temple. He realized his scanners had picked up on an approaching form, but he'd been so lost in thought that he hadn't let it sink in.

Hank was standing a few yards away, eerily still, yet clearly irritated.

Connor said nothing.

"Jesus, where the hell have you been?" Hank barked, eyebrows furrowed. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Connor forced a reply, realizing how much darker it had gotten. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant," he said stiffly, and Hank sighed, stepping closer.

"Sumo's gonna be pissed," he muttered. "We were supposed to be home hours ago." He stood next to Connor and rested his arms on the railing, stealing a glance at the still-mostly-unresponsive android.

Connor still didn't say anything. What was he supposed to do? Act like nothing had happened?

"What the hell are you doing out here, anyway?" Hank asked.

Connor instinctively turned his head to the voice, but quickly turned away again. He hesitated, then finally managed a shrug.

Hank sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, then gazed out across the water.

They stood in silence for a while; Connor uncomfortably wrestled with what to say, while Hank seemed to grow more and more impatient.

"…Well," the man sighed finally, pulling away from the railing and stretching his arms above his head. He took a few steps before turning back to look at Connor, but the android still didn't move. "…You coming, or what?"

Connor fidgeted minutely, and saw Hank's eyes dart to his LED, which meant it must have been flashing yellow again. Why couldn't he say anything?

Hank waited a few more seconds, then sighed. "What, am I gonna have to carry you? Because I have a feeling you pricks are a lot heavier than you look."

Connor's fingers twitched, but he still didn't react.

After a few more moments, Hank huffed in annoyance, then waved a hand dismissively. "…Alright, you know what? Fine. Stay out here if you want. I'm cold, I'm tired, and I'm done chasing down plastic jerks who won't even fuckin' look at me."

Connor immediately turned and looked at Hank, who rolled his eyes.

"Oh, well, thank you," he said sarcastically. "You know, I only spent… what, eight hours trying to find you? I called you 'bout fifty times, too. But, what, you were too busy standing on a fucking bridge, so you couldn't even bother to pick up?" He threw his hands in the air, then pointed accusingly. "You know what? Fuck you. I wasted my whole fucking night for this." With that, the man turned and walked away, shaking his head, muttering something about why he didn't do nice things.

Connor blinked stupidly after him, then shook himself. "…I'm sorry," he called awkwardly, but Hank just waved his hand again.

"Yeah, whatever."

"I…" Connor stepped towards the now-retreating detective, and hesitated. "I'm sorry," he mumbled again, not knowing what else to say.

Hank stopped and sighed, placing his hands on his hips and alternating between looking up at the stars and looking down at his tapping foot.

"I shouldn't have…" Connor trailed off softly. "I-I know I'm not–"

Hank raised his hand, and Connor stopped. The man turned slowly to face him, and rested his hands on his hips again. Lips pursed, he stared down at the ground, and the android felt something relative to anxiety or dread.

"You know," the man said finally, after a long pause. "I really do not want to talk about this when I'm sober, alright?"

Connor said nothing.

"So let's just… get in the car and go home so that I can drink until I puke. Sound good?"

Normally, Connor would have said something about the hazards pertaining to ethyl alcohol poisoning, but now didn't seem the time, so he just nodded uncomfortably and followed Hank to the car, getting into the passenger side as the man got into the driver's. They sat there awkwardly for what seemed like forever, before Hank finally sighed again and turned the ignition.

After a few more moments, they were on the road.

Hank didn't say anything the whole ride home, and so neither did Connor. The radio was off, too, leaving the thick tension in silence. Streetlights passed over them every few seconds like small waves, and the dashboard clock read 1:49am.

…Had he really been off the grid that long?

No wonder Hank was angry (original predicament aside). He'd been AWOL for the length of an entire work shift without a word, and hadn't really said anything upon being found – other than a few awkward apologies and a shrug.

Connor didn't notice the car had stopped until he heard the driver side door slam shut. Hank was already opening the house door by the time the android got out of the car; Connor could hear Hank halfheartedly apologizing to Sumo for the wait, as well as the dog barking lowly in excitement.

Somehow Connor was on the step, just outside the threshold, hesitating. Just as he had made up his mind to go in, he caught sight of Cole's picture on the wall.

You shouldn't be here.

It's too late.

Everything is already messed up.

"Seriously, Connor, what the hell are you doing?" Hank's voice broke the train of thought immediately, and Connor blinked dumbly. "Get in here so I can close the door already."

Connor still didn't move for a moment, until Hank roughly grabbed his arm and pulled him in, muttering something under his breath about androids being 'fucking ridiculous.' After that, the man wandered out of view into the kitchen – probably to get a drink, like he'd said before.

Sumo was at Connor's feet, wagging his tail happily, though he didn't jump up or howl like he usually did. Maybe he sensed something was wrong, too. Connor bent down to a crouch and petted the dog gently, scratching behind the ears in his favorite spot. Sumo panted appreciatively and leaned into the touch, closing his eyes and tapping his back leg on the floor.

Connor didn't want to get up. He didn't want to leave this tranquil moment, and he definitely didn't want to talk about anything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Still, even though he hadn't had emotions for very long, he statistically knew that bottling and ignoring them was never helpful, so he stood up and moved into the kitchen, something akin to dread pooling somewhere in his chest cavity.

Hank was leaning over the sink, a half-empty bottle of whiskey beside him; Connor thought he felt his thirium pump malfunction momentarily when he saw the man staring at the framed picture of Cole on the counter, even though he hadn't received any error notifications.

After another few moments, Hank sighed. "…You know," he said finally, voice unusually gentle. "I haven't been called… 'dad'… since…" He trailed off, but Connor didn't need him to finish to know what he was trying to say. Hank sighed again, and trailed a thumb over the face in the picture slowly.

"When you said it, I thought…" He shook his head, chuckling bitterly as his thumb stopped over the picture's cheek. "…Fuck, I don't know what I thought."

A pause.

"And then you just… disappeared, and it was like…" His grip tightened on the counter's edge, and Connor saw his own LED flashing yellow in the reflection from the window. "…Fuck," the man spat through gritted teeth, entire body tensing.

"…I'm sorry," Connor said softly, for the fourth time in the last hour. "I didn't mean… I don't know why I—"

"You don't have to say anything," Hank interrupted, before taking a long swig right from the bottle. He sighed heavily after swallowing, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he turned to face the android, staring at him for a few moments before speaking again. "…You know, I lost him once."

Connor didn't say anything, only vaguely aware of Sumo padding into the kitchen and plopping onto the floor to rest.

"It was, uh… at the park. I looked away for a minute, and he was just… gone." He ran a hand through his beard. "Just fuckin'… poof. And nobody had seen him, or knew where he'd gone." He made a noise like a laugh, but Connor could tell from the tears glinting in his eyes that he was stifling a sob. "God, I was so fucking scared."

A pause.

"He was only missing for a few minutes, but shit, it felt like an hour. And… do you know what he was doing when I found him?"

Connor didn't respond.

"He was chasing some birds by the fountain. And when he saw me, he just grinned really big, like he hadn't scared the shit outta me." Hank laughed again, a tear coming threateningly close to spilling over. "I was so angry, and I started yelling at him. And he knew he was in trouble when we got in the car, but he didn't cry or anything. He just kept saying he was sorry, over and over."

Connor felt his metaphorical stomach twist, and his LED blinked red for a moment before spinning yellow again.

"Fuck," Hank muttered again, running his shaking fingers across his face. "It's just… sometimes I forget that he's not… that you're not…" He inhaled sharply through his teeth, and stayed silent for a long time.

Eventually, Connor decided he had to say something. He took a deep breath, then sighed, bracing himself. "I… I know I'm not your son. I just… I wanted to be." His throat felt like it had tightened, but he forced himself to keep going. "…B-but I know I can't, because I'm not… I'm not…"

His voice cracked – something Connor hadn't even known was possible – and then he realized his eyes were full of tears. He'd never cried before, but everything was becoming blurry, and all he could think was stopcryingstopcryingstopcrying—

"I-I'm sorry," he croaked out weakly, moving to wipe his face while his yellow LED spun furiously.

Hank said nothing for a while, then finally sighed. "…Shit," he murmured. "We are fucked up."

Connor said nothing.

"…Honestly," the man admitted, "I have… no idea… what to do now. Like, are we supposed to… hug, or something?" He scratched his beard. "…I mean, I'm not the best at dealing with all this… mushy shit, but…" He offered a half-hearted laugh. "…I'm sure we both knew that by now."

There was another pause, and then Hank let out a breath slowly, putting his hands on his hips. "…Alright. I guess I'll just lay it out. I know I'm not your dad, and you're not Cole."

You're not his son.

"You're my partner."

You're not his son.

"But shit, I still care about you, you idiot."

Connor met Hank's gaze again.

"So… yeah, I'm not gonna teach you to ride a bike, or read you a friggin' bedtime story. But I'm still gonna look out for you, and keep you from getting yourself killed, and hunt you down when you fuckin' run off in the middle of a case. Alright?"

Connor nodded stiffly.

"Just…" Hank sighed. He looked like he didn't want to continue, but he did. "…Please… don't call me 'dad' again, okay? I can't… I can't think about being that to someone again."

Connor nodded again, slower than before.

You're not his son.

"…I'm sorry," the android said again, absentmindedly. "…It was an accident; it won't happen again."

And it didn't.