Chapter Text
The android revolution had changed a lot of things. It had given a whole fucking people the right to, well, be people, for one thing. And really, put in that perspective, what it had changed for one Henry Anderson probably wasn’t all that big a deal.
But to the people around Hank, it had been monumental.
It wasn’t to do with the revolution itself, of course, not really. Rather, all of it hinged on one of its heroes, Hank’s best friend turned roommate. Knowing Connor had been the spark that had jumped Hank back into being, after he’d nearly given up on himself. After the loss of Cole had drained away every last drop of joy and motivation from his life.
It hadn’t all changed in an instant, of course. But the night after the Eden Club, when he’d tidied up his kitchen and put cardboard over the broken window, something had shifted. He’d sat down at the table afterward and poured himself a glass of whiskey, only to realize he didn’t particularly feel like drinking it. The smell of it, mingling with his own, made him nauseous. And even if it had gone down with the thoughtless ease of habit, most of his second had been left to sit. Instead, he’d taken an Ambien and gone to sleep. It hadn’t felt like much in the moment, and it didn’t feel great the next morning either. But after one mouthful, the rest of the glass went down the sink, and that… that felt pretty fucking good. In his spine, at least, withdrawal was still a bitch.
Resolve wasn’t enough to change everything, of course, but he’d started. After the experience in the CyberLife Tower, when his literal trigger-point decision could have derailed the whole damn revolution, he’d felt the need to take stock of his life in a more direct kind of way. Because if he had had more than the one drink that night, he might have shot the most important person in his life. He ignored the fact that if he had had none, he might have realized that the cyber-prick who’d come to his door and pleaded for his help wasn’t actually Connor. But, he told himself, baby steps were still steps.
So he’d tapered down the drinking. He’d cleaned up his house, because when he was actually sober enough to exist in it, the mess had gotten under his skin. He’d even set the coffee timer to 6:30, because the smell of fresh coffee was motivating, when the alarm for the same hour was just a pain. And when he met Connor, after everything had settled a little, Hank had asked the android to move in with him. They’d fixed up Cole’s old room, filled with boxes that had never been sorted or looked at, and made it a living space for Connor. And if that hadn’t been the biggest fucking setback in the whole process.
He had known tackling Cole’s room would be tough, so he tried not to kick himself too hard when he’d had to step away for a drink the first time. Opening the old boxes, seeing baby clothes and stuffed animals in one, drawings and chewed crayons in another… he knew that would be hard. He still hated himself when the third drink had been straight from the bottle.
That had been the first night since the Eden Club that Hank hadn’t remembered going to bed. He still woke up in it, wearing clean pajamas and with a glass of water and a couple of aspirin on his nightstand. That had to be Connor’s doing, and he’d been both touched and embarrassed as all hell that his friend had to see him like that.
Which was why Hank had insisted that they actually sit down and talk. Cards on the table and accountability, that’s what tended to work for people, right? He’d been white-knuckling his coffee the whole way through. Because admitting that he was trying technically made failing an option, and that was more frightening than anything. But Connor had listened, reassured him. Believed in him, in that unquestioning way Hank found both endearing and infuriating, depending on his mood. He had admitted to scanning Hank’s vitals on a daily basis, and had seen some very real improvements. Even if the scanning thing was creepy as shit, it was also reassuring, in a way.
“I need you to call me on my shit,” he’d said, glaring at his coffee mug and squeezing it so tight the ceramic might crack. “Don’t let me bullshit you, Con. But let me do it my way.”
He’d stumbled a few more times while they prepared the room for Connor, but not nearly as badly. And when it was all done, and Connor had looked around, touching the walls like it was the Mona Lisa, it felt Good. Giving Connor a space of his own had been a good reason to let go of the old pain, and having him around made the house feel much brighter, more alive, too.
It was Connor who spurred the change in his diet. Still nothing huge, fuck if he was about to give up his burger and Coke, but being mostly sober did leave the time to actually cook most nights, and he felt better for it. And the android had wanted to learn, in spite of not being able to eat the food himself. He was fascinated by the smell of everything, the way garlic clung to Hank’s skin differently than his, and the way little touches of it sparked on his oral sensors. It gave Hank back some of the fascination, too. A lot of things felt like rediscovery when he watched them through Connor’s experience.
It was Connor’s presence that made the little everyday things actually enjoyable. They’d cook together, or Connor would cook when work kept Hank late; walk Sumo while chatting about nothing in particular; sit together on the couch at night, watching TV or listening to music, while the enormous dog lounged across both their laps.
He’d started using the gym at work, too. Sweating and working himself to a clean ache helped dull some of the edges the drink had left exposed. And hell, even if he wasn’t a young man anymore, his body felt better than it had in years.
All of the little changes impacted his work, too, and having Connor beside him made it even better. They were one hell of a team; even Fowler had admitted that. Hank had dug in his heels and leveraged his own shaky career to get Connor officially hired onto the force.
Jeff had grumbled at him, citing a potential lawsuit from what was left of CyberLife, but he’d given in. There was still a friendship left there, or at least the scraps of one, another thing that hadn’t quite broken, and that Hank might go back to mend now.
With everything else in his life looking up the way it did, Hank couldn’t help but start taking a little more pride in his appearance, too. He was still past fifty, and he didn’t intend to fundamentally change himself or try to pretend he wasn’t. But a bit of a trim, a good shampoo, and a slight upgrade to his wardrobe did start to make things look… different.
He’d realized just how much so on one of the rare occasions he’d actually gone out with his colleagues. A waitress with a cute smile and beautiful eyes had written her number on his napkin. He hadn’t called, of course. But he’d left the napkin in his coat pocket for a few days, enjoying the idea that he might.
Hank had been a bit of a tomcat when he was younger. He’d always been large; tall, broad and heavy, and people had been drawn to the gravity of him. He’d enjoyed the attention, of course. Hadn’t really stopped looking for it, if he was honest. Not until he’d met Irene. Or, more accurately, until Irene had gotten pregnant. It wasn’t ever meant to be anything serious, and once Cole was two, they’d stopped trying to pretend that it could be. He’d still done his best to be a good father, of course, which did put the brakes on his exploits, and then… well, then everything had gone to shit.
But the waitress had liked what she saw. Enough that she’d given him her number, and it had piqued his curiosity. The next time he went out, he’d been on his own. A young man had bought him a drink and practically sat himself on Hank’s lap before the glass was empty. Then he’d invited Hank back to his apartment.
Hank felt bad that he didn’t remember the kid’s name. But he remembered exactly how he felt as he drove home at nearly three in the morning, with post-orgasmic contentment still pooling in his stomach, and the taste of another man’s tongue still lingering in his mouth. He wasn’t eighteen anymore, but that night he’d sure as shit felt alive.