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The sleep mode Connor installed was an interesting addition of his software. It consisted of a lot moving parts, or rather unmoving parts, that shut down enough processors, sensory and visual, for Connor’s body to go into something like sleep. He didn’t breathe, didn’t need oxygen, so the rise and fall of his chest that came ever 2 minutes was his internal heater’s way of keeping things from getting too cold in there from a lack of use.
It was obviously still not quite human enough, nor did it look comfortable really. But Connor never failed to wake up chipper and bouncing off the walls every morning. After all, it wasn’t a necessary feature and one done out of pure indulgence for his boyfriend.
If Connor would like, he could download something a bit more jarring, but realistic. Something where his power source depleted and required sleep mode to recharge. But hank didn’t want him to go that far. He just wanted something that didn’t fidget restlessly in his arms and stare at him while he slept so much at night. Neither creeped him out at this point, Connor was going to see and touch the parts of Hank he wanted to, awake or not, as he didn’t have those boundaries. But it did make getting a good night’s sleep impossible.
Hank thought that was the end of his night time troubles and was prepared to sleep soundly from there on with Connor’s face squished on his shoulder or into his back when the smaller man spooned him.
Well it wasn’t.
At 2: 30 am on a Friday night in near freezing temperatures, there came a rattle, some clanking, and a bark from Sumo.
Then, pure chaos.
He didn’t dream often and tonight was no different. He woke suddenly from all the racket. His eyes immediately searched for Connor who was there beside him, face under one of Hank’s favorite pillows. The rest of him was tangled around, holding Hank close.
That was good, the prize was still secure and still the only thing that mattered.
The second most important thing now was Sumo who was barking without end. He howled, and woofed, and, from the sound of it, was knocking things off the kitchen sink in an effort to climb it.
The clutter outside the kitchen window sounded like something quick and scrambling. That’s when Hank sighed in frustration at the realization that they had NOT gotten rid of their raccoon problem.
‘Thomas’ as Connor liked to call it, was back in the trash and Sumo was raising hell.
With sleep mode activated and set on a timer for when to wake Connor up, the Android was practically dead to the world. Legs tangled around Hank’s and with what he could see of his face beneath the pillow, totally lax. He wasn’t waking anytime soon. Not without some serious effort on Hank’s part.
Sumo howled like a blood hound, loud enough to definitely wake the neighbors, and Hank hollered once for the dumb dinosaur to ‘come here already’.
Sumo did. Either out of obedience or his general lazy nature finally catching up to him.
Whichever the case, it didn’t matter. It still happened. The noise and movement woke up
The Demon.
“Oooooh. I’m hungryyyy!”
“Oh my, GOD.” Hank muttered. “No.”
“Doo-mah, a-loo! Hungryyyyy!”
“DAMMIT.” This thing ‘ate’ more than Hank did.
Doo-mah started screaming in its dialect from somewhere in the kitchen. Connor liked to leave him on the counter for when he came to make breakfast in the morning. It was like his own personal wake up call, as if he needed one.
That, and also the thing was forbidden from entering the bedroom since Connor refused to cut it off. He believed it unfair to do so for some reason that Hank did not question, but that did not mean he let it share their room.
The damn thing had....tendencies.
For instance:
They weren’t intimate yet, and it had only been a few weeks since Valentine’s Day had come and gone so Hank hadn’t expected much from Connor, nor did he care if there ever was.
But there was perhaps one instance of Connor getting a little handsy and maybe kissing a bit too enthusiastically before bed one night when out of the dark abyss in the corner of the room came that familiar pixelated scream that Furby was excited about something.
It did not come into the bedroom after that.
“Ah-choooooo! A-loo-loo!” It was like it came with a megaphone built inside of it, it’s screams inescapable.
Hank scrubbed a hand over his face, deciding between feeding the thing to Sumo and saying it was an accident, or getting up to turn it off.
Both were terribly risky since Connor loved the little thing and he also refused to silence it. This was the sacrifice Hank would forever have to make for loving his little Android too much. An eternity of furby terrors.
“Doo-mah!” Connor shouted from beneath Hank’s pillow, nearly scaring the shorts off of the bigger man.
“I’m tired!”
Not even a second last the creature sang back from the kitchen.
“Me tired! Oooh!”
“U-nye-way-loh-nee-way.”
Silence. Then it began to sing its lullaby to its self and making some snoring noises. Then more silence.
Hank stared across the room at the wall, as if he could see the furby thing through it. He couldn’t of course, but he couldn’t do much more than sit there in pure bewilderment. A great portion from hearing fluent furbish come from the bundle of blankets beside him.
There was the movement of Connor’s thermal units activating in his chest as it went back into sleep mode, the rise and fall, and then nothing. Asleep again, curled around Hank’s hips. He’d have to move him if he wanted to lay back down, which he did, putting Connor’s head to his chest and staring up at the ceiling.
That wasn’t even the weirdest shit, though.
It got more intense.
Only a day after that, Connor and Hank were sent away over night at a stake out and neither had fed Sumo. A pretty little thing who hadn’t taken her eyes off of Connor once since meeting them had moved in across the street. Which was weird. The neighborhood was basically crowded with people more of Hank’s caliber, or older. Nobody had to talk to or look at each other that way and that was both a blessing and requirement for Hank.
Except for this girl now who moved in and was just so, SO in love with Connor. The two easily became tight knit.
Even when Connor turned her down in the nicest way possible, his ability to hold conversations with her and the fact they shared much of the same interests kept them very close. He’d let her look and ogle and flirt as long as she didn’t touch, and that gave Hank his favorite sitcom to watch of a girl in love with a gay robot as the two would cook dinner in his kitchen together once in a while.
She’d straighten his knit hat for him, roll up his sleeves, talk about her latest dick escapades, and Connor would smile back in a way Hank was certain was not just pleasant programming. It was his first real friend, and not even her obvious undying love for Connor would ruin the rest of the great thing they had going.
It was also slightly, SLIGHTLY, refreshing to watch two young people interacting in his house again. Moving and cleaning and pointing at hot guys on tv they wanted to do. For Connor it was a learned behavior and one both Hank and Julie, the girl, had understood as empty imitation. Connor was just repeating and enacting to create social acceptance. The only romance he had room for in his life was Hank Anderson.
And Mercedes Benz, and Tam Impalas- but the point was, HANK was his heart throb.
They were stuck away from home now and the only person who could feed and water Sumo was Julie. She eagerly accepted and even kept Connor on the phone while she found their spare key.
Hank could hear the food bag rustling and the faucet from the sink turn on through the phone. It was dead quiet out here in Hank’s car so it wasn’t hard to hear them.
He tuned them out for a while as Julie could try to talk for hours while Connor patiently offered feedback. He blocked it out and watched the road ahead of them, admiring the fall of snow against the night’s black sky. The buildings surrounding them were warehouse types and looked pretty ratty, unfortunately creating this reminder of the shittiness of real life. Destroying the natural beauty around it.
“Can I speak to him?” Connor’s voice brought his attention back to the Android.
It always interested Hank, though he thought it was stupid sounding at first. It was very pleasant and upbeat and yet very hoarse sounding and easily broken. It was meek and calming. Designed to add submissiveness, which they definitely did get right at Cyberlife, and......it just made him sound like such a......
Well ANYWAYS.
Hank could listen to it all day as he murmured soft little words to Sumo like he was a giant, fuzzy baby. Or the way he went on psychotic tangents when he talked about Hank updating his medical records at the doctor’s office. That voice was so very unique and...sweet almost? Hank couldn’t describe.
“Doo-mah!” Connor suddenly chirped eyes alight.
Hank slowly turned towards him.
Of course. Connor wanted to talk to IT.
“Tell Julie about your ‘favorite cave’.” Connor bit his lip in his excitement. He stared out the car windshield, fighting back a full on grin.
Hank could hear it start to speak from his spot in the driver’s seat. It was talking in fluent English, thanks to Connor, about a cave back on ‘its island home’.
“It has an island? Damn, is this thing rich?” Julie joked while the furby continued narrating.
“His people measure wealth in nesting and big homes. I don’t know what measure a cavern holds.”
“I bet pretty high end, Connor. Got yourself a top notch furfy.”
“Furby. And I believe you’re right, but I have no way of comparing. There is the possibility Doo-mah doesn’t follow normal behavior, and may not covet big homes. He could just be happy to have one at all. I think he’s humble.”
Hank watched Connor like he was babysitting a three year old in a blowup kiddie pool. The water wasn’t deep, but the threat of drowning was always eminent.
“Could you feed him, Julie? I have to go, sorry to cut our time short.”
“Of course! What do I do?”
“He has a bottle but I’ve been using my finger. I don’t want to confuse him.”
Julie agreed, made a joke about it, then said bye to Connor about four times before she hung up.
“Connor.” Hank said slowly as he gripped the staring wheel.
He had to choose his words carefully here, but it was important he knew what Connor was going to say. He just needed to make sure about some things. He was having some stupid thoughts about this, and he was probably worried about nothing, but....
“You know it’s not alive, right, Connor?”
Connor turned towards him and cocked his head to the side.
“Of course, Lt.”
Hank let out a breathe he didn’t know he was holding.
“Oh. Good.”
“I’m not technically either. I liked to believe so when I became deviant in my inability to understand my own sentience, but I think it’s important I mark the difference between your fragility as a human who can acquire diseases and cannot replace limbs versus my easily replaceable parts and lack of a time limit. Our ‘alive’s are very different.” Connor smiled cheerfully.
He was pretty certain he’d answered whatever unspoken concern Hank was having with a very good, very deep explanation.
Hank’s eyes narrowed and he blinked many times. Connor kept smiling.
“I mean, it’s not SENTIENT.” There. Put it in words he’d understand.
“That’s where I have to disagree with you Lt.”
Oh GOD, no...
“Connor-“
“We’ve spoken many times after I synched information to him about things that I believe are not in his earlier programming.”
“Excuse me, WHAT did you do?”
“It’s usually a curiosity for what kind of food I’m cooking at breakfast, but there’s been other times, too.”
“Back up! You synched, what now? Like that thing you do with your arms all the time with Julie.”
“Precisely. It’s nothing unusual for my people. I admit I was surprised as you were at first.”
“Connor, if that thing is alive, I’m going to have to burn it.”
“Don’t worry Lt., he isn’t a threat to you. He’s incapable of even walking. A motor in his base makes him appear to ‘dance’ by shifting the weight around inside. Nothing akin to real movement. You’re safe.”
Conor concluded, smile cat like.
He turned to stare out his window and let Hank have a little melt down in the seat next to him.
If Connor had forgotten to mention synching data with a furby only meant it’d have more computerized data to include in its system than actual real sentience, he had left that part out.
Hank didn’t need to know he’d just added some new phrases to the thing.
Or that Connor was maybe pretending it was alive like a child did his teddy bear.
Still, after all that, it was STLL not the weirdest shit that had happened to them.
So far, 3 weeks and 4 days post giving Connor a furby, the weirdest thing was yet to come and it was possibly the greatest untold story in all deviant kind.
They got a case that wasn’t exactly their spiel anymore, but we’re just fine with working it. It wasn’t the first incident of deviant-on-deviant crime, and if anyone was qualified to work the case, it was Connor and Hank Anderson. They’d become something of the deviant experts of Detroit.
They showed up to the scene, Connor stuffed Thirium in his mouth at least twice, and they managed to pick up the offender’s trail within the first 30 minutes. Not that Hank kept time on their amazing teamwork, but anything he could use to piss off Gavin in the break room was nice.
Connor went off running while Hank wisely chose to take the car and very soon, they were meeting up in possibly the darkest, creepiest, rundown motel they’d ever been in. Well, Hank was just fine with that, and Connor was just fine with it, too.
They could navigate a rusted, roach invested motel with a possible murderer lurking inside just fine.
But there was one amongst them who could not.
Connor scanned the room they’d traced the smears of blue blood to. Hank moved about, having to collect data the old fashioned way. There was a rustling in the bathroom and Connor went to peer inside. Post revolution, he was no longer deemed just machine, amongst other things, and therefore allowed to handle a gun. As much as Hank would still like to mother him and take the lead into danger, he knew that would only mean a lot of long talks and pouting faces on Connor’s part if he kept taking over.
He went towards the sound while Hank stood close by. Nothing came on Connor’s end- no warnings or gunshots, so Hank kept his distance and tried to focus on the evidence outside.
Then he heard something incredibly unnerving.
“It’s daaaark.”
There was a silence between the scurry of rats and Hank cocking his pistol. Connor exited the tiny room finding nothing of value, failing to notice Hank standing just outside the bathroom door. Staring daggers straight into his mechanical heart.
Connor continued obviously, bending down to move his fingers over a spot in the rug where a fading print of mud sat. He was about to put the residue from the filthy floor in his mouth to analyze it when he was stopped before it could reach his lips.
“CONNOR.”
“Hm? I just need to sample this real quick and see which way-“
“No, Connor. For once that’s NOT what I’m talking about.”
His brow furrowed and he stared up at the bigger man, eyes searching for Hank’s signals when finally he found the cause of the Lt.’s anger.
There was only a 40% chance of successfully feigning innocence at this point, but Connor was going to try.
“.....I forgot he was in my jacket this morning.”
Hank’s eyes burned.
“Honest.” He put his hands up in surrender. Hank mercilessly beat them down.
“I can’t believe you brought a FURBY to a case. Con, this is weird even for you!”
“I forgot!” He insisted, chance of success 20%.
“Honestly, a furby. What would you have done if it started talking back at the crime scene with Chris hanging around? Don’t you know he got a kick out of this already from me telling him. He’s just looking for a chance to say something.”
“I would have fed it to keep it sated.”
“Fed to- Connor, it’s not a baby! You can’t keep treating it like one.” Hank threw his hands up, then made a small circle on the floor before turning back to face him.
“And I’ve heard you feed it. It talks for 10 minutes straight afterwards, that wouldn’t ‘sate’ it.”
“It won’t happen again, Lt.”
Hank was going to bust his perfect, pretty teeth in if that was a smile he was trying to hold back.
“I’ll be sure he’s not on my person next time.”
“Great, good. See that you do.” Hank made another circle, trying to cool his thoughts before turning back to Connor with his finger raised.
“Also, yeah, don’t put that in your mouth. I mean it.”
“Is it worse than blood?” Connor pulled his fingers away from his face again before he could sample the mud stain.
Suddenly, the spited furby in question was screeching.
“THERE! THERE!”
Connor and Hank turned towards their attacker in time to avoid a few easy kill shots. They had found their murderer and Hank, thankfully, had miraculous aim. One of Connor’s possible turn-ons, but he’d never say. They emerged relatively unscathed with the offender subdued.
And THAT was how a furby saved their lives. A furby who wasn’t sentient nor able to see, adding to Hank’s long since paranoia that his sister’s furby was absolutely alive and possessed. This only further proved it and that did not mean he was going to be a grateful son of a bitch just cause it saved them. As long as that thing was living in their house, Hank was keeping a bible in his nightstand.
So far to date, that was the weirdest incident from buying Connor a furby.
He mentioned it smugly quite a few times but never revisited the fact that what had happened was absolutely impossible. It kept Hank up at night trying to process it for a while, and Connor offered no assistance or explanations. As if he didn’t have any considering a real live walking and talking super computer.
Only said he should be ‘nicer’ to Doo-mah.
Finally something Hank found creepy about Connor again.
Hank was starting to get used to having Doo-mah sit beside him on the couch, though he wished he wasn’t. Connor would pop up and say he’d be back in a minute, carefully angling the furby down on the couch so it could watch the tv in his place.
Hank always joked that it was better company than Connor. He wasn’t fazed by that since Hank also regularly insisted the same thing of Sumo. The irony was that HE was the worst company you could possibly have, yet Connor always seemed eager to be near him.
“Don’t let Doo-mah watch that commercial about deviants marrying.” Connor called from their bedroom.
“I think he’s lonely.”
Slowly Hank looked from the tv to the furby, and then over the couch towards Connor’s voice.
“What the hell are you talking about now?”
After a moment Connor reemerged with a basket of laundry in his hands.
“There’s an advertisement for deviants who want to marry. It features a special venue and services unique to Android charteristics. Every time it plays, Doo-mah talks about having another furby.”
“Connor, please. Please tell me you’re joking. Look, you’ve got me whispering around this thing. Is it sentient or not- this is freaky.”
Connor put the basket down and leaned over the couch near Hank’s face.
“I can’t say.” He blinked innocently.
“He doesn’t like being alone is all I know.”
“What have I done by buying you that thing, Con....”
Connor smiled like a doofus, strictly because that was all his dumb face would allow, and shrugged sympathetically.
“What about you?” Hank turned his attention back to that perfect, freckled skin.
“Do you think it’s lonely?”
Maybe Hank would have to bust out the zebra furby sooner than expected, if not because he loved to see Connor happy.
“He thinks he is, so.”
Connor turned his eyes away.
“I believe he is, too. Everything gets lonely eventually. Everything social. It’s clear Doo-mah comes from a very social race of creatures, and it’s fairly inarguable that that’s the case since he unwarrantedly speaks about deeper interaction without my provoking of it. How couldn’t he be lonely if he talks about a partner every time that commercial airs.... I’d be lonely.”
Hank almost couldn’t believe they were having this kind of conversation over a furby. More importantly, he couldn’t believe Connor was having these thoughts about a furby. There was literally no limit to Connor’s little surprises.
“You’d be lonely, huh?”
Connor nodded, realizing he may have rambled a bit.
“Are you lonely now?”
He turned his head back to Hank, lips quirking and cocking his head.
“No. Why would I be? Because you haven’t kissed me all day?” His tone was almost accusing.
Hank grinned. He knew Connor had been keeping score.
“Yeah, that.”
Lithe shoulders shrugged upward as Connor tried to feign indifference.
“Not at all. I’m just surprised. You’re usually more handsy around evening time.”
“I’M more handsy? Who slapped my ass when I got out of the shower this morning?”
Connor turned frigid.
“And don’t say it was Doo-mah.”
“I-I wasn’t going to!...It was for research.”
“What the hell were you researching exactly?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Ohhhh, I’m tired.” Doo-mah suddenly whined.
Hank turned to give the little mood killer a withering glare. As if that could’ve offended it.
“Good, go the fuck to sleep.”
The furby opened its beak and darted its eyes around in response.
He could hear the amusement in Connor’s voice as he promised Hank he’d ‘put it to sleep now’. He leaned over and picked it off the couch, Doo-mah’s ears flittering up and down as it squealed.
It screeched all the way to the kitchen where Connor rubbed its back and covered its eyes. After a few seconds of chirping, it started to sing its lullaby.
Connor carefully pet his head and smiled at him with so much adoration shining in his eyes. Hank had got him the best present he could have ever asked for. He loved the outdated device and as far as he was concerned, it loved him back. He was certain if it possessed any ability to think for itself, it would be so thankful for how well Connor took care of it. It would idolize him, love him.
Connor let his hand fall away and leave Doo-mah to ‘rest’.
A hand larger than his and thicker came up and gripped his hip through his oversized hoodie. He jumped, back tensing, before he sank into the feeling of the warm hand on his hip.
Hank’s face was only inches from the back of Connor’s neck, voice low.
“What kind of research was it, Con?”
The Android didn’t say anything. Just turned around in Hank’s grip to get their chests close.
If Doo-mah WERE sentient, he’d have a lot of late night make outs with Connor pressed into the kitchen table to scrub out of his memory.