It had been months since the uprising, long enough that a few new laws had been passed in favor of android rights and there were many more in the works. However, it had not been so long that the wounds of the revolution had entirely healed. Human cruelty would not be forgotten so quickly, and neither would prejudice against androids.

But life had settled into a tentative new rhythm, with androids and people existing in the city of Detroit. Not quite side by side, as androids had been moved to temporary settlements away from humans, partly out of fear, partly for their own safety. They were able to work, and did, and most people had returned to their own jobs as well.

Connor had requested to continue working for the DPD as soon as it had become an option. North had pestered him with questions about whether it was truly what he wanted, to continue doing the work he'd been designed for, and even Markus had suggested he give it some thought.

The truth was, Connor hadn't done enough to know if there was another option that would make him happier. Happiness was still so new to him, as were all of his newfound emotions. He was aware that there could be another occupation that might bring him more joy, but he had no way of knowing what that was. But he knew for sure that the thought of helping others, making up for past mistakes, and proving that he was just as capable without Cyberlife to support him, caused a kind of positive sensation, and that was enough.

Plus, as he explained to Markus, he hadn't been made to be a detective, he'd been made to hunt deviants. He'd done so through the DPD in the past, but now he was free to use that same position to help androids and humans.

"It may be the same job," he'd said "but my mission could not be more different."

Fowler had agreed to hire him, with a few conditions. The chief knew that Connor's presence might prompt others to leave, and what he needed was more people to pick up the slack, not less. So he informed Connor that he'd have to work harder and for longer, get the others to be grateful for him instead of resenting him.

Hank had been angry about it, but Connor was more than willing to put in the effort. He'd managed to get through to Hank, now he just had to do the same with a whole station full of humans. Easy.

Hank had brought Connor home with him, even though Connor was technically required to live with the other androids in New Jericho.

"The feds can kiss my ass, I'm not letting you out of my sight." Hank had grumbled, followed by some tired mumbling about what "those assholes at Cyberlife" might be planning.

"Plus, you owe me a new window." Hank had said once they got back to the house, gesturing to the gaping hole, now covered with plastic and duct tape, with a smug grimace.

Connor used his first pay check to repair it.

Living with Hank had its challenges and benefits. On the one hand, Connor had someone to turn to when faced with the difficulties of his deviancy. Hank didn't know a lot about androids, but he did know a lot about emotions, as much as he tried to hide it.

Hank was able to put a name to the anger Connor felt when he incapacitated an android murderer with just a little too much vehemence. Hank had also recognized when Connor threw himself into his work, to a point of self-detriment, after the bodies of the deviants from back before the revolution were disposed of. They were thrown away, like trash, and witnessing it had triggered something in Connor. Guilt, Hank had called it.

Hank had also taught him to smile and laugh, even helped him to muster up a little sarcasm from time to time. Connor didn't like using it, but he liked the reactions it got him. They were funny, something else Hank had helped him understand.

On the other hand, Hank was still struggling with his own emotions, and Connor's support was not always welcome. There were nights when his best attempts to look after his partner were met with anger, especially when Connor would try to prevent him from engaging in certain behaviors that were a detriment to his health.

Hank's refusal to be ruled by anyone other than himself was something he had in common with the deviants. Connor understood it, but also wanted to take care of Hank, he cared about the man. The fact that Hank had someone who actually cared already helped, his life had improved, but because Connor cared he would never stop to make it even better, and that filled the Lieutenant with an emotion he was trying his best to ignore.

So Hank reciprocated in his own way, and they grew close. Working and living together, supporting each other.

One of the bigger hurdles presented itself the first night Connor had to leave to meet with Markus.

He'd become friends with many of the leaders at Jericho, especially since they'd started getting more time to do things besides fight for their freedom. Markus preferred to spend time with his lovers, Simon and North, proving at every turn that monogamy was a human invention, but he occasionally made time for Connor and they'd talk.

Markus preferred to talk about other things than his role as a leader, it was a small reprieve from his overwhelming duties when he got to talk to Connor about painting or listen to one of Connor's many amusing stories about Hank. He'd even brought Sumo to New Jericho once, nearly everyone had been delighted, especially Sumo.

Connor returned from the first night spent with Markus, Simon, and North, discussing everything and nothing, to find Hank drunk and seated at the kitchen table, a gun clutched loosely in his hand.

Connor had immediately registered the sensation of fear, and approached his friend carefully.

"Hank?" He asked, expecting the older man to look up at him with a painfully familiar expression of sadness and exhaustion, Connor registered a moment too late that the picture of Cole was nowhere in sight. Instead, Hank sharply raised the gun to aim it at Connor.

"Don't move." Hank growled.

Connor froze, his stress levels rising even more. He'd had a few causes to fear for his own life in that time, but this was different. There was confusion, and pain mixed in with his fear.

"Hank, it's me, Connor." He reassured, considering that perhaps Hank's vision was impaired and he had failed to recognize him.

"Is it? Is it really you?" Hank demanded, his voice laced with skepticism.

Then Connor realized that this was the first time he had been away from Hank for any longer than a few minutes since the revolution and their subsequent reunion at the Chicken Feed food stand. It wasn't so long ago that an android that looked and sounded exactly like Connor had tricked Hank and nearly cost them both their lives.

Hank, even inebriated as he was, had cause for suspicion. It was within the realm of reason that the Connor he saw before him was not the "real" Connor. How to convince the Lieutenant that he really was him?

With the gun trained at his head, Connor considered his options. The only thing separating him from another RK800 model was his deviancy, even his memories weren't safe, but how to demonstrate that to Hank?

Connor made a quick decision, and he remotely turned on the music player in the living room, the one he had bought himself with what remained of his first paycheck (after repairing the window). He put on his favorite song by Knights of the Black Death, starting the volume low so as not to startle Hank.

He increased the volume, and began mouthing along to the near-indecipherable lyrics, while gradually beginning to dance.

He bobbed his head, then began tossing it up and down with more energy, bending his knees to the beat and pumping his fists up and down. He removed his tie and spun it around his head, his hair shaking and falling out of order, then he tossed the garment away.

"Connor…what the fuck are you doing?" Hank asked, his gun lowering in response to his confusion. His face was scrunched up in disbelief.

"I'm dancing." Connor replied bluntly, ripping his jacket off of his shoulders dramatically so it hung around his elbows. He placed his hands on his knees and began throwing his head in circles to the music, his shoes squeaking on the floor and his rear bobbing awkwardly. All the while his face remained completely blank.

Connor had experimented with dancing before, it had been mostly involuntary. The first time he'd heard this song, he'd found his body moving, unbidden, along with it. He'd been confused and a little startled, which had sent Hank into a laughing fit, seeing as Connor had scared himself by wanting to dance. This time, though, he completely let go. He had little reference, and attempted to just let himself go as opposed to imitating the movements he could research.

He raised his hands up next to his head, leaned back, and began a kind of side-to-side gyration between his open palms.

Hank stared at him, utterly perplexed.

He let out an alarmed chuckle, lowering the gun onto the table, away from himself, his eyes the size of appetizer plates. Connor found himself smiling in response and increased the energy of his dancing, jumping up and performing a few awkward kicks and knees in random directions along with the now roaring sound of the heavy metal.

"What the hell…" He muttered.

"Are you convinced it is really me Lieutenant?" Connor asked, having to shout a little over the music and the noise of his own dancing. Hank looked at him, still baffled for a moment, before the realization hit him and he lowered his head into his hands.

"Oh, my god." He said, his tone utterly defeated.

"Hank?" Connor asked, jumping in circles while trying to keep his eyes focused on the Lieutenant.

"Jesus Christ, I get it Connor, you can stop dancing now." Hank shook his head as Connor shut off the music player and came to rest, fixing his disheveled appearance.

"What the fuck." Hank stated, lifting his head to look blearily at Connor. The android approached slowly and took the gun from the table and moving it to the top of the refrigerator, a safe distance away. Then Connor walked up to Hank.

"Are you alright Hank?" He asked, gently crouching to look his friend in the eyes and tentatively placing a hand on the man's shoulder.

Hank's face broke into a grin at the same time his eyes crumbled. He began to laugh, low at first, but growing in volume, and simultaneously tears fell from his eyes.

"I'm sorry." He muttered between the shaky breaths he was taking to provide his guffaws and sobs with air.

Connor felt the kick of an emotion, pain from seeing someone he cared about so much in pain, but he also found himself smiling in the face of Hank's mirth. He pulled Hank in for a hug, feeling the tears against his jacket and the rumble of laughter in his chest. Connor felt the Lieutenant's hands digging into his sleeves, and held him closer.

"You're an awful fucking dancer." Hank mumbled into his shoulder, and Connor snorted in response. The android began laughing too, even with the lingering sensation of sadness. Eventually, the tears subsided and there was only laughter.

Connor helped Hank to bed, and settled down with Sumo in the living room to perform diagnostics for the night.

It wasn't until the next day that Hank realized that with was the first time Connor had ever laughed.