Snow crunched softly beneath Connor's feet as he passed through rows and rows of etched stone markers. The cemetery was blanketed in white. Sleet pattered lightly on the memorials, dusting the names of the deceased in fine powder. There were so many of them, Connor noted—silent human generations now forever consigned to the ground. No wonder many of them felt a kind of dysphoria in a place so conscious of time.

The layout of the graves wasn't exact, and it took a bit of maneuvering before a figure and a puff of steam indicated that he was heading in the right direction. There, beyond a small grove of bare trees and clustered behind a row of small stones, Hank stood. He seemed contemplative—and in such an atmosphere of loss and privacy, Connor wasn't surprised. But they had agreed to meet for a reason. A solemn one. And the android had respectfully complied.

It had been an honor.

"Good to see you," Hank greeted with a quiet smile. "Thanks for coming."

"Of course," Connor replied somberly.

Hank patted Connor's arm, dismissing some of the gravity from the moment.

"Relax, Connor. I just wanted to show you."

Connor glanced at the stone at Hank's feet. Snow had recently been rubbed from the epitaph. The inscription hadn't been chiseled long enough to begin to show signs of wear. Emotion tugged at Connor's steady features.

COLE ANDERSON

SEPTEMBER 23, 2029 – OCTOBER 11, 2035

So small, so sweet, so soon.

"His mother picked that one," Hank explained. "At the time, I couldn't think straight enough for a line on a tombstone. I don't think either of us could. It was all we could do to put one foot in front of the other."

At the foot of the stone, a small toy tiger had been nestled into a colorful, fresh bouquet of flowers. Unlike the rest of the memorial, its paint had long since faded and the sticker eyes had nearly washed away.

"He took that thing everywhere," Hank chuckled softly, his breath turning into a plume of mist in the frosty air. "Couldn't get him to sleep without it. Truth be told, I thought at the time he was starting to outgrow it, but I found it stuffed into his backpack. Guess not."

To be told about a loss, Connor realized, was one thing. But to see the evidence, to see it existed, was another matter entirely. His features softened. Fell.

"Hank, I…" Connor processed. He met the lieutenant's gaze. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say."

"You don't have say anything," Hank replied genuinely. "Like I said, I just wanted you to know where it was."

Heavy-hearted, Connor nodded. His attention drifted to the stone once more and he knelt to examine it. Dusted a cluster of snow from the top.

"Tell me about him," he said quietly.

"He was a goofball," Hank began, hands in his jacket pockets. "Always found ways to make me laugh. He liked to make this face when I told him to do something…I couldn't do it for you, you had to be there. But it cracked me up so much I'd forget what I was getting him to do."

Connor smiled kindly at the stone's name.

"He like to talk a lot. Ask questions. I took him to the zoo once and had to stop at every sign and read it until he got bored. He just wanted to know what it said. Inquisitive's probably a better word for it. And he loved animals. Couldn't get enough of Sumo."

"You had him then?" Connor asked over his shoulder.

"He was a puppy, but yeah," Hank answered. Thought to himself. Sighed. "He was a good kid. Smart. Funny. Full of life. Wish you could've met him."

Knowingly, Connor nodded. "So do I."

In a moment of reflection, he realized he hadn't brought anything to pay his respects. He'd seen many of the other graves adorned with mementos, flowers, and other trinkets. It wasn't expected of him, Connor knew. But Hank had seen fit to let him in on an extremely private visit. And Cole deserved to be remembered.

Connor felt the pockets of his coat and stopped. It wasn't much, but it meant something to Connor. It would have to do for now. It was a token of his friendship with Cole's father…the object that he had used on so many occasions to calibrate his cognitive functions. It had given him his life back.

Connor slipped the quarter on the plate beneath the flower's vibrant petals and stood. Hank, idly taking in the sunlight warming the snow-topped stones, hadn't noticed. Smiling to himself, Connor winked warmly down at the name once more.

It's our secret, he whispered mentally.

"Thank you for sharing this with me," Connor said, bringing Hank out of his thoughts. "It means a lot."

"I'm glad I did," Hank assured him. He took a final look at the grave and, with a bittersweet smile, ran a hand along the top of the tombstone as he passed. "Come on. Work's in two hours and I'm not going in without coffee."

Falling in step beside the lieutenant, Connor followed. The cemetery sprawled in every direction. It would take some time to reach the Oldsmobile outside. Enough time to talk, Connor noted. To catch up.

"Is Fowler still upset with me?" Connor asked, smirking.

"About missing the public announcement? Yeah." Hank grinned.

"To be fair, I didn't realize they had decided to move my trial date up by a week. There was no way I could miss it."

"Sure," Hank agreed. "But announcing the creation of an Android Crimes Unit is a pretty boring stunt if the guy who's heading the thing doesn't show."

"I gave him notice," Connor argued, amused.

"Yup. The day before," Hank smirked.

"I'll have to apologize," Connor decided. "I'm lucky he gave me the job at all."

"You'd better," Hank quipped. "Or he'll make someone else sergeant."

Connor smiled. Hesitated.

"Are you sure you're alright stepping back into homicide?" he asked honestly. "Because if that's not what you want—."

"It is," Hank interrupted. "I thought we'd been over this. I said it up front: I'm the least qualified cop in the country to handle android cases and just because you showed up and forced me to like you doesn't mean that's changed."

"Alright," Connor replied, holding up a hand in surrender. "If you're sure."

"I am," Hank insisted. "Humans killing humans. That's where I do my best work."

The two fell into a comfortable silence.

"Are you holding up alright? After everything?" Hank asked.

Connor took in a slow, steady breath…going over what exactly 'everything' entailed. Deactivation. Memory loss. Memory restoration—after a grueling amount of work and an even greater amount of patient assistance on Hank's part. Clive Tomlin's guilty verdict. Rich Sullivan's guilty verdict. Washington's insistence on a trial regarding the human lives taken at CyberLife Tower.

He'd had a busy six months.

"It took some doing," Connor admitted. "But I am. My memories are where they should be. I'm starting a new job. I have my own apartment. And we'll get to work together daily. It's more than I thought I'd get."

"Good attitude," Hank remarked. "But I'm not talking about that."

Connor fell silent.

"I still get death threats," he explained after a moment. "There are a lot of people who disagreed with the verdict. It's what some of the politicians argued—that just because laws regarding androids didn't exist at the time of the CyberLife infiltration doesn't mean that I can't be held to similar laws regarding human crime. But the judge saw things differently."

"Good on him," Hank nodded. "You were acting in self-defense. They were going to kill you whether you obeyed them or not. Fuck 'um."

"I hate that it happened," Connor explained. "Killing them wasn't part of the plan. And some of these disappointed people are part of the community I'm now sworn to protect and serve."

"It's the same everywhere, Connor," Hank mused. "Police aren't always the good guys, you know? They're people just like everyone else. They can biased. Make mistakes. Hell, they can be out-and-out corrupt. It's understandable."

"I want to be different," Connor replied, determined. "I started off on the wrong foot for that, I'm well aware. But I want to do whatever I can to create a safer Detroit for everyone. –What?"

Hank chuckled to himself.

"You're a good kid, that's all," he smirked.

Connor took the compliment with a private smile of his own.

"You look like yourself now, by the way," Hank said, motioning towards the empty spot where his LED had once cycled. "I'm glad you got rid of it."

"I was holding onto to the past," Connor replied. "I didn't realize it until I didn't have one. It was nice to be someone special. The most advanced. A unique prototype…even though it was a lie. A part of me didn't want to let that go."

"It seems right," Hank insisted. "I think you made a good call."

"Thanks," Connor smiled.

"That guy was a pain in the ass anyway," Hank retorted, back at his old bravado. "Always in my business, taking naps on elevators so he could report to CyberLife…"

"Forcing you to like me, apparently," Connor added, shrugging.

"What?" Hank griped.

"Your words, not mine!" Connor insisted. "You said I showed up and forced you to like me…so, it stands to reason that you weren't as annoyed as you like to let on."

Hank leveled a pointed finger in his friend's direction.

"—Shut it. Fuckin' android."

Connor laughed, clearly the victor.

Through the trees, Connor spotted the entrance gates opened. The Oldsmobile was parked out front. Venturing a sideways glance at his human counterpart, Connor spotted the redness of his windswept nose. Coffee was definitely in order.

"We can stop by the old diner on Montclair Street," Connor suggested. "It's within walking distance of the police department. What do you say? My treat."

Hank smiled, nodded. Rested a warm, familiar hand on Connor's shoulder.

"Sounds like a plan."