Hips Don't Lie

 It was a warm Saturday night in Detroit, and Lieutenant Hank Anderson, along with a few coworkers, had decided to go out to one of the large local bars for a few drinks. Wilson, McGee, and Stacey had all joined in, along with Connor, who was there mostly for the social interaction, seeing as how he did not drink. The group was two hours in, and everyone had downed a fair number of beers in that amount of time. The conversation had mostly revolved around work and coworkers, but for the past few minutes the subject had been gradually slipping from current homicide cases to a masculinity contest. While Connor enjoyed the subject of work, when it came to matters of the male ego, he couldn't help but experience a new sensation which had recently been described to him as boredom. He watched absentmindedly as Wilson and Hank locked themselves into an arm wrestling contest and proceeded to spill beer all over the table. The winner was statistically entirely predictable, he thought to himself, and he couldn't understand why they would bother with such a trivial contest when there were so many other activities to do. There was a pool table in the lobby, a dart board in the corner, and of course, music blaring from the speakers above.

A few moments ago, the music was heavy and slow, but now the beat had changed to something much more enticing, and Connor found it to be much to his liking. He thought about the heavy metal that Hank liked to blast in the patrol car, and decided that he greatly preferred the tune in the bar instead. In fact, the more he listened to it, the more restless he got. The next song was an equally upbeat tune, a bit of Latino pop, and this time, the android detective began to feel a strong desire to get up and move. He noticed that his shoulders had been bouncing to the rhythm as he pondered, and he continued to be filled with energy as the music carried on. Glancing over to the dance floor, Connor noticed a group of human women staring in his direction and giggling at his movements, and he decided that it might be fun to move like them. He rose to his feet and began an attempt to sway his body in time with the drum beat. Suddenly, every bloodshot eye at the table was on him, and he heard Hank slurring sarcastically from behind him.

"You gonna go out there and dance, huh Connor? Did they program you to be a disco queen too?"

"No, it is not in my programming," Connor replied, not fully aware that he was being made fun of. "I just think it would be fun."

"What're you gonna do, the Robot?" McGee chuckled, prompting the others to join in. Connor was rather insulted by this remark, and his LED light flickered red for a brief moment before he made up his mind. He was going to dance. Strolling over to the middle of the dance floor, the group of women he had noticed earlier began to cluster even tighter together, trying not to look conspicuous as they shot flirtatious glances his way. He studied them for a moment, analyzing the way their hips moved to the song, and slowly began to decipher a pattern of his own. Another voice from back at the table mockingly cheered him on, and the android closed his eyes for a moment to sense the beat.

Back at the table, Hank watched with glazed over eyes as his partner shuffled up to the dance floor. He was channeling all his sarcasm, waiting for the inevitable fiasco to occur when, to his surprise, the android began gyrating his hips in a fashion that one could only describe as suave, manipulating the mechanical muscles of his torso to pop each part of his body in perfect sync with the beat. While this was enough to get every head at the bar turning, Connor also began sliding and spinning himself around with feet that didn't even appear to ground themselves to the floor. Some might describe his movements as fluid. Every woman at the bar would undoubtedly later describe it as provocative, seductive even. Hank had to admit, he was having an uncomfortable time admitting to himself that his partner was actually dancing close to expertly. The spectacle in and of itself had almost sobered him up, and he glanced at his friends across the table, who were each equally shocked in their own right. He couldn't help but smirk in amusement.

After what proved to be quite a long performance, Connor sauntered back over to the table to rejoin his companions. His face was glowing with confidence, and he took a moment to gaze at each of his coworkers before taking his seat.

"So how did I do?" he asked with a high degree of his typical enthusiasm.

"Yeah, McGee, how did he do?" Stacey echoed to her coworker, and he reluctantly slid twenty dollars in her direction.

"What does that mean?" Connor persisted, brows furrowing and light flashing yellow. His question remained unanswered as Wilson, Hank, and Stacey just proceeded to laugh. "I don't understand! What did you bet on? McGee? Hank? What is so funny?"

Connor never received an answer, but judging by the flustered women in the bar, he ran with the assumption that he must have done something right.