(A/N): This fic presupposes a peaceful android victory in which everyone lived, Connor turned deviant, and he and Hank remained friends. Set in the same continuity as The Morning After The Revolution, though I don't believe it's necessary to read that fic to understand this one.

Disclaimer: Disclaimed.

NOV 13TH, 2038

AM 06:00:01

"Lieutenant."

Hank let out a low, rumbling snore from where he lay sprawled across his bed, but gave no other response.

"Lieutenant, you need to wake up now."

The detective rolled onto his side and muttered something indecipherable into the pillow. Connor tilted his head, mildly stymied at how to proceed. His current situation was certainly not one CyberLife had felt a need to program a response for, and given Hank's reaction the last time he'd tried to rouse him out of a stupor, he doubted the man would appreciate if he employed a similar tactic now.

The click of Sumo's nails against the floor in the living room caught his attention. He stepped back over to the door he'd closed to prevent the Saint Bernard following him into the room and pulled it open, sticking his head out into the hall. "Sumo! Here, boy!"

There was an enthusiastic bark from around the corner, and then one hundred and seventy pounds of excited dog was barreling toward him down the hall. Connor stepped back to avoid being knocked over as Sumo swept into the room, the big dog's tail battering his leg before it gathered itself and made a flying leap for the bed.

"Gah!"

Hank's limbs – those not pinned beneath Sumo's weight, anyway – flailed wildly as the man was dragged unceremoniously into consciousness. "What the hell…? Sumo? How the fuck did you get in here?" he said, blinking up at the animal. His only response was an enthusiastic face-licking. "Oh, God, your breath stinks," Hank groaned, scratching the dog affectionately behind the ear before he gently pushed it off of him. Sumo huffed, but allowed himself to be pushed back. Hank groaned again and pulled himself into a sitting position, scrubbing his hands down his face.

"Good morning, Lieutenant."

Hank turned his head far enough to glare blearily in the android's direction. "Connor. What the fuck are you doing in my bedroom?"

"I'm here to wake you," Connor stated, hands clasped behind his back. "It's currently 6:03 AM – if we want to be at the station by eight, you need to –"

"Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no." Hank shuffled to the edge of the bed, swinging his feet to the floor. "No fuckin' way."

"You told me you expected me to report to the station this morning, Lieutenant. If you're the only other officer currently in the city, it follows that –"

"Connor. Shut the hell up and listen to me." Connor did, gaze trained on Hank's face. "If this living arrangement is gonna work out, we need to establish some ground rules, right now." He held up a finger. "Rule number one: you never do this to me again."

Connor opened his mouth to protest. "Hank, you –"

"Shut it," Hank ordered. "I know what I said. I also know I had my alarm set for 6:15."

"But –" Connor initiated a quick scan, a small sense of relief pulsing through his circuits when it confirmed his earlier findings. "There's no alarm clock in the room."

Hank grunted, scratching at his stomach. "Huh. Guess you can't see everything, after all. Kind of reassuring, actually." He rolled his eyes when Connor only blinked at him. "It's in the closet."

"The...closet," Connor repeated, the LED circle at his temple whirling.

"Yeah, the closet. This might surprise you, Connor, but I'm not much of a morning person." Hank braced his hands against his thighs before pushing himself to his feet. "If I leave the alarm clock somewhere I can reach it I'll just keep hitting the damn snooze button until it's tomorrow."

"Oh."

Hank eyed his shuttered expression before he sighed noisily. "Don't worry about it," he muttered, clapping the android on the shoulder as he moved past him. "Just don't do it again, okay?"

"Okay." Connor remained in place, head bowed, for another second before he turned sharply on his heel. "What about the rest of the rules?" he queried, catching Hank in the act of shutting the bathroom door.

Hank shrugged. "Guess we'll have to expand on them the next time you tick me off."

"That's –"

The bathroom door shut with a soft, definitive click.

Sumo yawned widely and stepped up beside Connor, nudging his hand with his nose and tilting his head to give the android better access to scratch behind his jowls. Connor obliged, a small smile gracing his features when Sumo's tail began to thump against the back of his legs. "Okay," he said, giving the dog one last pat. "Let's go, boy."

He ushered the animal out of the room, following it into the hall and closing the door behind them. Sumo immediately shook himself and trotted toward the front of the house. Connor trailed him down the hall, opening the front door and allowing the Saint Bernard out to make his morning toilet.

He was turning toward the kitchen when thunderously loud heavy metal began blaring from behind the lieutenant's bedroom door. He could hear Hank swearing above the cacophony.

"God fucking dammit – Connor! Shut that fucking thing off!"

"On it, Lieutenant!"

Connor altered course, striding back to the bedroom and zeroing in on the closet door from behind which the music was blasting. The alarm clock was sitting atop a haphazardly stacked pile of clothes; Connor shut it off and set it back where he found it, pausing when he spied the corner of a slim metal case sticking out from the bottom of the clothing pile. He had no further need to learn about the man in an attempt to gain his trust, so he categorized the impulse as "curiosity" and drew the case out far enough to read Hank's name and the date etched across the top. A quick cross-check of the Lieutenant's name and December 20th 2031 confirmed it contained one of Hank's three Meritorious Service medals.

Connor glanced in the direction of the bathroom, then gently returned the case to its original position and exited the room.

He was setting a steaming cup of coffee on the kitchen table when he heard the bathroom door swing open. A second later Hank stood at the head of the hall, shrugging into his customary jacket. "What's that?"

"It's coffee," Connor said, eyeing the man's damp hair. "You should consider drying your hair before going outside. The temperature is only –"

"Ah, Christ," Hank muttered. "Listen, Connor, I hate to break it to you, but I managed to keep myself alive for a real long time before I met you. So you can just cut that crap out right now."

"What is it you want to me to cut out?"

"Quit worryin' about my goddamn hair, or when I get up! I'm a grown man – I can take care of myself, for fuck's sake."

"...Sorry, Lieutenant."

Hank's jaw flexed. "Goddammit, did those assholes at CyberLife program you to look like a kicked puppy when you don't get your way?"

Connor's brows knitted together. "What do you mean?" he said, cocking his head. Hank glared at him another second before he glanced away, grumbling something under his breath. "I'm sorry – I didn't catch that."

"Oh, Jesus," Hank groaned. He took the few steps necessary to swipe the coffee mug off the table. "Thank you for the coffee. Can we go now?"

"Of course," Connor said, brow creased in confusion.

"Good."

Connor stepped around the table and fell into step behind the detective. "Is rule number two that I never talk about your hair again?"

Hank barked a startled laugh. "Something like that," he said, pulling the front door open. "Sumo! Time to come inside, boy." The Saint Bernard woofed and loped back toward the house, abandoning the fence he'd been sniffing. Man and android squeezed against the wall to make room for the big dog to enter, Hank reaching down to give the animal one final scratch behind the ear. "Be a good dog, Sumo." Sumo licked his wrist before wandering toward the kitchen in search of breakfast.

Connor's thermal sensors registered the plunge in temperature as they stepped outside, and he noted Hank's shiver from the corner of his eye. He hunched his shoulders, wrapping his arms around himself. "I did try to warn you," he said.

Aside from a quick eye-roll, Hank ignored him. "Why do you do that?" he asked instead as they headed toward the car.

"Do what?"

"That," Hank said, gesturing at Connor's posture. "You don't actually feel the cold, do you?"

"Oh." Connor blinked down at himself before he shrugged. "No, I don't feel the cold – at least, not in the same way you do. But when my sensors register temperatures below certain thresholds, it activates protocols in my social programming."

"They, uh – what?"

"I was designed to be able to integrate anywhere, Lieutenant. Reacting to and commenting on the weather is a relatively small sub-routine in my original programming."

"Sorry I asked," Hank muttered as he unlocked the car. Connor opened the passenger-side door and lowered himself into the seat as the detective started the vehicle. "Would having an actual coat help?" Hank asked suddenly. "That uniform they set you up with sure as shit ain't all-weather."

Connor studied the uniform in question, one hand rising to smooth the thin jacket. "I would assume so. But CyberLife never –"

"Fuck CyberLife," Hank interrupted. He sighed when Connor fell silent. "Okay, kid – don't worry about it, we'll figure something out."

Connor's LED whirled for a second before he glanced over at the man, wondering if his auditory sensors had malfunctioned. "'Kid'?"

He registered the minute flinch in Hank's expression, but the detective pretended not to hear him, seemingly wholly absorbed in the act of buckling his seat belt. Connor turned his face to the window, catching the reflection of his LED pulsing yellow in the glass. Hank cranked the heat, trying to discreetly angle the vents toward Connor, before he threw the car in gear and headed for the police station.