"So tell me again. What happened?" Hank asked from over his shoulder. Dishes clanged together, as he stuffed another into the strainer.

"Elijah Kamski helped me," Connor said, across the kitchen. He scrubbed the floor. It was times like this that made him glad he was an android because if he wasn't, he would have surely given up on this particular stain long ago.

"What do you think he wants?" Hank started on the kitchen windows; windexing and wiping in a sort of rhythm.

"I have no clue. How are you doing, Hank?"

"Well, the windows are smudged to hell-"

"-No I mean you. How are you doing?" Connor tossed his dirty rag into a corner.

"I'm fine, now, I guess. How're you? You're the one that had a fuckin' near-death experience."

"Fine, I guess," Connor mocked. He glared at Hank's back.

The rag stopped mid-stroke. "What's your fuckin' problem?" He started scrubbing at the windows with a renewed energy.

"My fuckin' problem is just…..just look at this place. We've been cleaning for the last two hours. We haven't even started on the living room," Connor tried to keep his voice steady. "I was only gone for what? Three, four days tops."

The noise that came from Hank could hardly be described as human. He whirled around to face Connor. The rag fell from the older man's fist and landed unceremoniously on the floor.

"I thought you died," Hank said, in a surprisingly calm voice.

"But I didn't die. I was just in a temporary shut-down mode."

"I didn't fuckin' know that." Hank gritted his teeth.

"I don't understand."

Hank's shoulders slumped. A chair scraped the floor, as it was pulled out. Hank sat down. He put his head in his arms.

A sudden thought struck him.

Cole.

He had reminded Hank of his son's death.

In all the time Connor's been 'alive' he's never had to comfort someone. At least, he's never had to comfort someone without a social protocol telling him what to do.

Did Hank even want comfort? Connor gingerly touched Hank's upper back. He swallowed thickly, taking a chair next to Hank.

"Listen, I'm sorry. It was dumb of me to even ask. I didn't think-"

Hank picked his head up.

"-I know," Hank interrupted, voice gloomy. "That social program or whatever it needs some work. But, the truth is I'm not fine. After you died-shut down, I…..I didn't know what to do. There was no one there to keep me grounded. I couldn't get the image of you laying there, covered in blue blood out of my fuckin' mind. It reminded me…..it reminded me." Hank took a deep breath. He ran a trembling hand through his hair.

"It reminded you of Cole," Connor finished.

"No. I-I just…...I just……" Hank trailed off. He stared at the tabletop.

Connor took a nice long look at his friend. Hank's untidy hair hung in unwashed strands in front of his face. The slight termor present in his hand, and Hank's shaky breaths told the android all it needed to.

"I'm sorry," Connor said. Sumo's loud panting filled the quiet of the room. He opened his mouth to explain, but shut it just as quickly.

Hank sighed, "Don't be." Running his trembling hand through his hair, he continued. "It's not your fuckin' fault. You don't have to apologize. You didn't fuckin' kill 'im. But you're right. You do remind me of…...of…….of him." Hank took a few deep breaths to calm himself. "But that's not a bad thing." Hank met Connor's eyes. "When you died-shutdown-whatever, I didn't know what to do. You just kept bleeding, and when your LED went out I felt like the accident was happening again. I felt helpless." Hank rubbed at his eyes. "Jesus Christ, look at me. I'm crying like a fuckin' bitch."

Connor fiddled with the cuff of his jacket. Hanging onto every word that left Hank's mouth. He felt, like he should say something. He tried to construct an a-halfway decent response. One that would improve Hank's mood, and get his thoughts across.

'I understand you're upset.' sounded way to robotic, even for Connor's tastes. Desperately, he searched through his databases in hopes of finding the right words.

Hank's shoulders slumped even further. "I need a fuckin' drink." The chair creaked, as Hank leaned forward. Grabbing the table for support, he started up.

"No!" Connor seized Hank's arm. Hank's eyes narrowed at the android.

"Jesus Connor, what's wrong?!"

"Don't drink. It's bad for your health."

Hank snorted, "no shit, Sherlock." Yanking his arm free, he made his way to the fridge.

Connor swallowed thickly. Anxiously he chewed on his lower lip. The closer Hank got to pulling a beer out, the harder he bit down. With a grunt, Hank slammed the fridge shut. Beverage in hand, Hank returned to his seat. At the sound of the beer cracking open Connor bit down as hard as he could.

A look of alarm crossed Hank's face. "You're fucking bleeding!" The android became increasingly aware of the thirium dribbling freely from his bottom lip.

"It's okay. The wound should heal shortly." Connor swiped at the blood, smudging it across his chin and left cheek.

"You're just making it worse." Hank stood up. "Stay there. I'll be right back." Before Connor could respond, Hank had already left the kitchen.

A loud crash, followed by equally loud curses filled the house. Connor craned his neck towards the noise. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Hank called back. Connor relaxed in his seat. Not long after Hank came bounding in, first aid in hand.

Connor looked from the kit to Hank. He wondered if Hank knew that first aid kits were mostly useless for androids. He wanted to ask, but as Hank dabbed gently at his lip, eyes soft as they looked Connor over for any discomfort, he couldn't bring himself to tell him.

Hank hummed a vaguely familiar tune. If Connor focused hard enough, he could probably name the tune. Judging by Hank's music tastes it could be anything from rock 'n roll to jazz. The rhythm suggests a rock song, but the beat points to something softer, maybe something from the late-60s.

The first-aid kit snaps close, and the humming stops. "Connor?" Hank asked, voice quiet. "How do you feel?"

"I feel better, thank you."

"No problem."

"Do you, by any chance, own a board game?" Connor cocked his head to the side.

"That's fuckin' random, but yes I do."

"Can we play one?"

Hank snorted, "only if you change outta those obnoxious ass clothes."

Connor eyed his outfit. The CyberLife issued uniform, really the only thing Connor owns. And even he couldn't be certain of that. "What's wrong with my clothes?" He tries his best to not sound offend.

"You look like a fuckin' narc."

Well, when put like that how could Connor argue. "Yeah……"

"Go find some clothes in my room. I'll find a game for us to play, alright?"

"Alright." Connor rose to his feet.

"It's down the hall to the left."

--

Connor managed to find a pair of sweat pants that were only a little big and a blue oversized sweater. The sleeves had to be rolled up, but he had to admit it was pretty damn comfortable.

Satisfied with his haul. Connor padded back out into the hallway. The living room light was on.

"Connect Four," he read over Hank's shoulder.

Hank flinched, "Jesus Christ. Announce your presence every once and a while, why doncha?"

"Sorry," though Connor didn't feel the tiniest bit apologetic. Hank glanced over his shoulder at the android. "You found clothes."

"Nope, didn't find any clothes."

"Well, that sucks." Hank patted the spot next to him. "Sit."

Connor took his seat. "So…...Connect Four, how do we play?" It would take milliseconds to search his databases for all available information, but he wanted Hank to explain all the rules.

"Pick a color."

"Rainbow."

"Rainbow isn't a color," Hank quirks a smile.

"No, but it's a lot of colors." Connor cocks his head. "Fine, I choose yellow."

"Alright, then I'll be red. Since you're younger you'll go first. Put the yellow chip into an empty slot."

The chip fell to the bottom of the board with a clank. Connor looked up to Hank for his turn.

--

"This was a bad idea," Connor groaned. He had lost three times in a row. It had been half-an-hour since they had put the game away, and Hank was still gloating. Connor vowed to cheat at the next game night.

Hank had gone to clean himself up at Connor's insistence. Sumo took his place on the couch. The Saint Bernard had took it upon himself to take up any available space, including Connor's lap.

Mindlessly, Connor stroked Sumo's fur. Despite there being at least ten feet and a wall between them, Connor could still feel Hank's smugness at beating an android. Although his pride was wounded; it felt nice that he had made Hank happy.

Giving an exaggerated sigh, Connor slumped back against the couch. Sumo groaned at the sudden action. "Sorry, Sumo," Connor said.

The quietness of the room, intermixed with the distant sound of Hank's whistling, put the android at ease. For the first time in a long time, Connor was confident things would be okay.

……..And then the ticking started.