On the Subject of Connor and Deviancy

Chapter 1: On the Subject of Coins and Quarters

It started with one and quickly multiplied from there.

At first it had been innocuous, hardly of any note. Lieutenant Anderson himself barely noticed, and it was more of a side note in his mind. It was nothing to be concerned with, what with all of Connor's new and very concerning habits, thank you very much you self-sacrificial asshole, of course I needed some more heart attacks in my life.

But then Connor began to fucking jingle. They had gone to arrest a suspect in a high profile murder case involving New Jericho's chief technician after weeks of investigating, and by this point, Hank was quite ready for this whole debacle to end. So, naturally, the perp had sprinted off with all of the gusto of a labrador as soon as he saw Connor's LED and Hank's police badge, and without a second of hesitation, his partner sprinted after him in a similar fashion. But as the gray jacket flew behind him, disappearing as the way too energetic duo rounded a corner before Hank could so much as blink, a strange noise, like coins clinking, reached his ears. Lieutenant Anderson was no expert in android biology, but as far as he knew, they didn't fucking jingle like a goddamn piggy bank.

So Hank had huffed and puffed his way after them with only one thought reaching past the burning in his lungs and legs; what the hell was that?

By the time Hank had reached them a whole third of a mile away (Hank was almost impressed, that was the farthest a human suspect has gotten away from the detective android), Connor already had him in cuffs and was reciting his rights. He ignored the suspect's claims of innocence and clasped a hand onto Connor's shoulder with a murmured well done. Connor offered him his tentative half smile, and hauled the suspect to his feet, the noise reaching Hank's ears yet again. It was softer this time, barely there. Barely noticeable. But it was still there and the question still remained.

What in the actual hell was that?

Hank decided to bench the thought until his stomach no longer complained and radioed for back-up to pick up their guy. Let Nines and Detective Dickwad handle the interrogation this time; if they didn't, Hank was liable to deck this asshole in the nose for murdering the best technician New Jericho had. "Come on, Con. Let's go get some lunch, I'm starving."

"Very well, Lieutenant. I've just compiled a list of restaurants nearby that offer a healthy alternative to your usual preferences," Connor said, having the audacity to widen his smile.

"Hey Connor?"

As Hank expected, Connor simply tilted his head slightly to the right, his grin becoming more polite than shit-eating.

"Eat shit."

What Hank did not expect was Connor's deadpan response. "Coprophagy is highly unsanitary, Hank."

"Coro-what now," Hank almost hated to ask.

Although Connor's face was perfectly neutral, he swore he saw a glimmer of amusement shining in brown irises. "Eating shit."

For making Hank laugh, Connor was allowed to choose where they went for their lunch break.

So that was what brought Hank to this uppity, highly pretentious piece of shit food truck that offered things such as the god-awful, dry as hell veggie burger Hank found himself glaring at. Rather than subject himself to yet another bite, he decided to ask the question that had been at the forefront of his mind since the morning's chase. "Since when do you fucking jingle, Connor? Got some new update you want to tell me about?"

Since deviating, Connor had become increasingly easier for Hank to read. He was no open book, of course, and was rather skilled in hiding his emotions from other people. However, Hank was made the youngest Lieutenant in Detroit history for good reason and he just knew that Connor's expression of innocent confusion was fake as hell. "I'm sorry?"

"When you chased our guy earlier, you jingled," Hank draws out his last word, speaking like he would to a child.

Connor reaches into his pocket to pull out his coin as his LED turns yellow, absentmindedly spinning the penny on his fingertips as he no doubt tries to come up with a less than honest answer. Hank waits patiently for his response, watching as the copper metal glints and catches the glare of the sun...wait. Connor's coin, as Hank recalled, was a quarter. Although Connor wasn't one for sentiment, failing to see the logic behind it, he always had the damn quarter on his person at all times. Even before he deviated. He called it his calibration coin, but Hank knew it was more like a comfort or grounding item. He absolutely refused to let anyone else but Hank hold on to it. When Hank had asked for it to avoid searching for another dollar at the coffee shop, the RK800 had adamantly refused.

"I'll get you a new one when we get home, Connor!'

"I've only ever had one possession in the four months I have been alive, Lieutenant. I'm keeping it."

After all, he only had the one. And to Connor, it was worth far more than the 25 cents everyone else saw it as.

That didn't seem to be the case anymore.

Lately, Hank had noticed Connor picking up coins he found on the ground or around Hank's house. He had even commented on it once, while at the pet store for Connor's aquarium. As Connor picked up a penny off the ground, Hank had called it a lucky penny. But it was so ordinary, Hank hadn't thought about it since. But now that he did, he realized it has been happening for a while now.

"How many coins do ya got in your pocket, Connor," Hank was met with a blank look, to which Hank sighed, "Show me."

With a flickering LED, Connor reached into his pocket and deposited a surprisingly impressive amount of coins onto the table. Unable to contain it, Hank guffawed and whistled, "Damn, kid! You gotta have like fifty bucks here!"

"Actually, I have $26.49," Connor's voice was subdued, borderline embarrassed, "I've been 'collecting' them recently."

"Nothing wrong with that, son."

Connor frowned, refusing to meet his eyes, "It's illogical. I don't have any need for them."

"I don't need a fucking taxidermy fish on my wall, but I still got one," Hank sighed again, "Nothing wrong with 'being illogical' from time to time, Connor. It's part of being alive."

Connor didn't respond, but his eyes did rise up to meet Hank's, his LED flicking back to blue before returning to yellow.

"Hell, I used to collect quarters when I was a kid. Had all fifty states at one point, put 'em all in a big scrapbook. Maybe we can get you one of those things, so ya don't fuck up a stakeout one day with all your jingling."

"I would like that very much, Hank," Connor's smile is soft, his LED making the full transition to a calm blue, "I didn't know you previously collected coins."

"Don't mention it, Con," Hank eyes his veggie burger and takes another bite, talking through a full mouth, "Maybe I could finally borrow a quarter from you now that you got a million of them."

"As you're so fond of saying, Lieutenant, it'll be a cold day in hell before I do that."

That cheeky bastard.

"Fucking punk."