With Civil Hearts and Hands: A DHB Story

Chapter 9: Hook, Line, and Sinker

A host of sensations assaulted Connor as he entered the Menagerie. Bodies pressed around him, music pounding against his audio processors. The smell of sweat, alcohol, and too many people flooded his olfactory sensor, and as he caught sight of poorly masked faces, his scanners tripped, alerting him with information about the people around him.

Fionna Bard. Misdemeanor public indecency, two counts. DUI four counts. Charles Minton. Felonious assault with a dangerous weapon, one count. Domestic assault, three counts. Heather Johnson. Possession with intent to distribute, three counts, five arrests. More names, more faces. More often than not, patrons had a laundry list of crimes. Several had active warrants. The ones with clean records were few and far between. His system flooded with a slew of notifications, and it was all too much.

Connor's systems began working harder, struggling to keep up with the overload of information. He felt his body vibrate, assaulted by the powerful beat of the music as Clara led him deeper into the club, and it disrupted his thirium flow and respiratory system. An alarm went off in the back of his mind, alerting him to his rising stress levels. He held a hand to his head, closing his eyes as he tried to block out the information . Then he felt a hand tighten around his.

"Connor, what's wrong?" Clara tugged him close, holding his face between her hands. "Connor, listen to me. Look at me. Focus on me. Block everything else out."

Connor stared at her, struggling to understand her words over everything else, struggling to even see past the words crossing his vision.

She covered his ears. "Turn your audio processor off."

He tried to pull away, her touch adding to the confusing jumble of sensory information, but she held him in place as she peered into his face.

"Please, Connor. Just trust me." His processor barely caught the quiet words.

He hesitated, then as he caught sight of the look in her eyes, he nodded and complied. He switched the processors off, and everything went quiet. He could still feel the music, but it was manageable.

Can you still understand me? Clara's lips formed the words.

"Yes." Connor knew he spoke aloud despite not being able to hear, but he nodded for emphasis. "I can."

Good. She offered him a small smile. Follow me. She gestured with her head, motioning toward a door on the far wall.

She grabbed his hand then turned away, dragging him through the crowd to the door. She pushed it open, and they tumbled into a small, dimly lit room. Clara closed the door behind them, and Connor could barely feel the vibrations of the heavy music. He dropped down onto the couch that lined the room, closing his eyes as he did a manual reset of his internal systems to reestablish the proper rhythms. He felt a touched on his hand again, stealing his attention. Connor opened his eyes to see Clara standing in front of him, eyes soft with concern.

Clara tapped her ear. Turn the processors back on.

Connor complied, and his head filled with sound again, but it was manageable. In the small room, the loudest thing was the pounding of him thirium pump. Suddenly exhausted, his power having drained from his systems working in overdrive, he folded forward, leaning his head against her as he closed his eyes and allowed his systems to recoup.

"Thank you." He breathed the words, reaching up to hold her hand. Then a wave of shame washed over him. He shouldn't have gotten overwhelmed like that. He should have been able to handle it.

She tentatively dropped one hand onto his shoulder and the other onto his head, then stroked her fingers through his hair. The sensation sent sparks through Connor as it excited and soothed him all at once. He focused on that, clearing all else from his mind.