Chapter Text
Connor sighed as he stood up from looking in the fridge and glanced over at Hank who was lounging on the sofa with Sumo. The big dog was actually half off the couch, his nose tucked into his owner’s side and his back end and tail hanging off the furniture. It was pretty cute.
But Connor had more important things to deal with right now than an adorable dog.
“Lieutenant, we—”
“Hank,” the man grunted without turning his head, but Connor could guess he was rolling his eyes or something.
“We, Hank, seem to have a lower stock of both food and thirium than I expected in my cursory check,” Connor said, consulting his internal calendar to ensure he was right in the days he had decided to check their stock of items.
Hank scratched Sumo behind the ears. “It’s called living, kid,” he replied simply.
Connor nodded patiently though he wasn’t being looked at. “I know that. I was just informing you so you would not proceed to ask the obvious question if we are out of items after I announce that I am going out.”
There was a pause, so Connor added, “I am going out, to the store, now.”
Hank said, “Are we out of items?” In a deliberately poor mockery of Connor’s neutral voice. The android didn’t even bother frowning.
Instead, he hid a smile as he walked towards the front door, passing the back of the sofa close enough to briefly reach out and pet the most available part of Sumo’s huge body before he got to the entrance.
“Goodbye, Hank, I will be back shortly,” he said smoothly, reaching for the door handle.
“Hang on a second.” Hank straightened up and gestured at the hooks on the wall near the door. Connor raised an eyebrow in question.
“Do you wish for me to pick something else up as well as our normal stock of items?” He asked, dropping a hand from the door handle and patiently waited for Hank to explain.
“No – as long as you stop callin’ it a fuckin’ stock.” Hank sighed. “We don’t live in a goddamn store.”
Connor nodded. He didn’t understand why such small differences in words mattered, but if Hank asked and it was reasonable, there was no reason not to amend his vocabulary slightly. The issue had been met with a pleasing look from the lieutenant before when Connor had changed some of his usual words for more… human or just normal-sounding ones.
Hank pointed more obviously to the hat hooks. “Take my jacket, it’s cold outside,” he said, as if it was the most normal thing to say.
“Androids can’t get cold—”
“Uh-uh. Deviants do,” Hank interrupted, in a better impression of Connor’s (old) voice.
Connor thought for a second. “It would take a critically low temperature or persistent exposure to fairly cold weather for the temperature to have an actual effect on any part of an android’s physiology,” he amended.
A glance showed him that Hank was giving him a look that suggested he shut up.
Mostly because he could talk about android physiology and biology and specific temperatures of Detroit in winter, and Hank would not listen to anything properly.
So he just waited with expectation, not bothering to try and exit again yet.
“Connor,” Hank said, “Take the fucking jacket and go get your juice.”
He just nodded, retrieved the lieutenant’s jacket from its peg, and opened the door. Sumo lifted his head at the sound in case a walk was on offer, but Connor shook his head regretfully at the dog before smiling and bidding goodbye again.
Hank patted the big dog’s head after the door closed. “What an idiot,” he huffed affectionately. Sumo yawned in agreement.
Outside, a cold wind blew around the warm house.