# Fanworks

## Waiting for Hank

Originally published on 2018-07-01 | 2073 words | read on AO3

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human

Characters: Hank, Connor, Sumo, original characters

Warnings: Major character death, animal death

Other tags: Reincarnation

Summary: Connor promises Hank to wait for him.

DATE: OCT 21ST, 2042

TIME: PM 06:17:57

The slanting rays of the sun were passing through the half-open blinds of the hospital room. It was fairly quiet; the commotion of the day had died out, and only the rare car outside or the sound of footsteps from the corridor could be heard.

Connor turned away from the window to look at the person in the bed. He was dressed in a white hospital gown, but his face looked even whiter in contrast, bearing the many marks of disease and scarred with one too many wrinkles. His hair was put away in an untidy bun - he never let the nurse anywhere near it.

Hank wasn't asleep, but he was keeping silence. The two of them have been keeping silence for quite a while now.

Connor turned back to the window and stared at the setting sun for some more time. Was there, in fact, anything to be said?

TIME: PM 06:32:11

"So, Connor..."

Hank spoke in a half-whisper, but Connor was still startled by his voice breaking the silence. He turned his head abruptly.

"Do you think there's anything out there for me?"

Hank slowly sat up in his bed, his thick pale fingers clinging to the sheets.

"You know," he shook his head, "after all this is over."

Connor avoided his gaze.

"Lieutenant..." said he after a pause. The word sounded almost forced.

"Come on, Connor. We both know what's going to happen."

He was right.

The bubbly android nurse could smile all she wanted, and tell Hank that he'd get better in no time, and tell jokes about the faulty air conditioning in the facility, but the truth was so obvious to both Connor and Hank that there was no point in pretence.

Connor had to turn off his radar a few days ago, because with it on, his vision was constantly obstructed by a single red box, displaying the chances of Hank's survival.

The percentage was getting lower and lower with each day.

"Lieutenant," repeated Connor. He was surprised to hear his voice turn suddenly so tender.

This should be easy. He should think of something to say. He should talk to Hank. For crying out loud, he may not be getting another chance.

Perhaps going deviant messed him up more than he'd like to admit.

"I mean, I always thought I'd see Cole again. I thought death was something more... noble, I guess. I was sure death was a good option. Now I'm not sure of a single damn thing."

Hank stopped for a second, catching his breath. Connor could see that it was difficult for him to speak for too long, despite him trying to hide it.

"But what I think is not important now. I'm very close to solving that question for myself once and for all. What about you, Connor?"

Connor looked away from him, to the side of the room.

"Do you have any idea of what happens to a human after death? Or an android, even. I know your kind used to worship this rA9 figure back in the day, but who knows what's the situation now. Four years is more than enough for androids to develop some religious beliefs, right?"

Connor didn't answer. His LED was flickering yellow now. He wished he hadn't had it at this moment. Connor really should have taken the light out by now, the amended android laws no longer required him to wear it. But he kept it in, just out of habit. And now Hank was able to see his thought process plainly and cleary.

There was no way back out of this. He had to speak up.

Once again, Hank was right. He did have his own idea of life after death, even if he had never talked about it before.

"Lieutenant," said Connor for the third time, firmly. "Androids were made in humanity's very own image. The memories and experiences of an android can be uploaded into cloud storage, and transferred into a new shell even after the initial one is destroyed. It is therefore not impossible to imagine that a similar process takes place with human beings, even though there is no rational evidence of it."

Hank stared at Connor during his entire explanation, his eyes wide open. He continued staring at him for several seconds after he finished, and then let out a chuckle.

"You believe in reincarnation? For real?"

But Connor gave him such a stern look that he stopped mid-sentence.

"My theory is highly improbable, and, like I said, doesn't have any rational ground to it. But it is definitely not impossible. If you decide to come back, Lieutenant, I'll be waiting for you."

Both of them went quiet again. Connor turned away from Hank, unable to look at him for too long. Perhaps he shouldn't have spoken up. Perhaps it was the wrong decision to tell him the truth about what he thinks.

But when he looked at Hank again, the expression on his face was already changed to a lighter one. The corners of his lips were raised in a half-smile.

"...You never know, Connor. You never know." His eyes were now fixed on something in the distance. "We'll have to wait and see."

This was the last conversation Connor ever had with him.

He didn't remember what he felt when he received the call from the hospital. He didn't remember what he felt at Hank's funeral. He didn't remember what he felt when the confused lawyer presented him the will and hurried him to sign the necessary papers for the house.

Days, months, years melted into one another.

He registered the passage of time in his system, but paid little attention to it. He did in fact feel much like in the first few months of his existence, when he thought himself to be little more than a machine designed to accomplish a task.

Except before his task was to hunt down deviants. Now he had a new objective, a short and clear one.

Wait for Hank.

DATE: NOV 7TH, 2042

TIME: AM 09:47:16

"Excuse me!"

A tall woman with curly auburn hair ran into Connor just as he was going through the door. He barely reeled, but she fell down and dropped the thick stack of papers from her hands.

"Terribly sorry, I'm still learning the ins and outs of this place!" She hurried to pick the papers from the floor. When Connor kneeled down to help her, her eyes fixed on the writing on his uniform.

"RK-800? Your name doesn't happen to be Connor, by any chance?"

"That is my name. I'm the android sent by Cyberlife to investigate all android cases in Detroit." He looked up at the woman's face and scanned it. "In fact, I believe I am your new partner, Sergeant Houston."

"I was told so! How did you... oh, never mind. You androids know everything, don't you? Very glad to meet you, Connor." She raised on her feet and took the papers Connor had collected for her. "Thank you!"

A wide smile was shining on her face. "Now that I have so conveniently found you. They told me to ask you about the cases left over from my predecessor. Adams, was it?"

"Anderson. Lieutenant Hank Anderson."

"What happened to him, I wonder?" asked the sergeant, furrowing her brows together.

"He passed away not three weeks ago. Liver failure."

"I see." She nodded. "You know, I keep telling my Barry to give up drinking. It will be the death of him, I swear! Yet he still goes to those wretched pubs of his every single weekend."

Connor didn't respond.

"Ah yes, where was I?" She tapped her foot. "Yes. The cases. Let me just drop these files at my desk - where is my desk, by the way? would you be so kind to show me? - and then we'll get to those cases. Come on! I can already see we're going to be a great team."

Connor leaded the sergeant to her desk without saying another word, his LED turning yellow. His programming obliged him to analyse the personality of everybody around him and change his behaviour accordingly.

Sergeant Houston was a decent person. The records from her previous workplaces showed a high percentage of solved cases and excellent work ethics. She was amiable and open-minded, and didn't have any prejustice towards androids. She liked her job a lot.

She wasn't Hank, of course. Connor was still waiting for Hank. But while he was waiting, she'd have to do.

DATE: APR 15TH, 2044

TIME: AM 00:07:02

Sumo was lying on the floor in the living room of Hank's house. His eyes were closed. He looked as if he was running on its side, as if he saw a cat or rabbit in a dream and went to chase it. But Sumo was not asleep. Sumo was dead.

Connor went to the centre of the room and knelt beside Sumo. He gently put his hand on the dog's muzzle. It was still warm.

Connor didn't have to wonder long about the cause of his death. Sumo has been an old dog. Connor did everything in his power to take good care of him after Hank died - or, at least, everything an android could do. He had read a scientific study once which claimed that dogs left to androids' care were more prone to stress and disease than those who spend more time with humans.

Connor didn't know whether to trust that study. Sumo was always very friendly towards Connor, more so than towards other androids. He accepted the treats from his hands, he always came when Connor called for him, and when one day Connor knelt down before him and told him that his master had passed away, he listened attentively and seemed to understand every word.

Sumo was never quite the same after that day. His gait was less cheerful, his barking quieter, his tail wiggling much less energetically. But he still loved Connor and never refused his care, and was as happy of a dog as he could be.

Gastroenterological problems were quite common for a dog his breed and age. The vets had warned Connor many times that Sumo has lived well past his time.

Connor took another good look on Sumo. At least he didn't seem to have suffered much.

Now it was just Connor in the house. All on his own.

He had to keep waiting.

DATE: FEB 9TH, 2065

TIME: AM 08:36:27

Connor entered the police station. His eyes took a moment to readjust from the blazing winter sun reflecting in the snow to the moderate lightning inside.

The office was mostly empty - Connor was early. The sound of fingers typing on a keyboard could be clearly heard amidst the silence of the morning. A coffee machine buzzed in the distance - one of the officers was getting ready for a new day of work.

Suddenly, Connor stopped. One of the desks didn't look the same way he remembered it on his last shift.

He leaned towards the desk to examine it. The desk used to be empty, but today there were several new items on it: a couple of files, a worn-out pouch, a ticket for some modern band concert, a tablet with sports news open on it. A grey coat was hanging over the chair. After examining it closer, Connor discovered some short hairs stuck to it, belonging to a chihuahua dog.

His LED blazed red. Biocomponent #8451 - the one that regulates the heartbeat - stopped working for a second.

He looked at the name plate. It was empty.

"Excuse me," asked Connor the nearby police officer, "who is this desk assigned to?"

"Oh, it's the newbie," answered the officer, gesturing towards the kitchen. "He was transferred to us over the weekend."

Connor straightened up. He saw a young man exit the kitchen with a cup of hot coffee in his hands. As he turned his head, Connor was able to scan him.

"ANDREWS, HARRY

Born: 09/06/2043 // Police Officer

Criminal record: None"

That was what the database told him. But there was something else Connor knew, something which no database included. Something that couldn't in fact be known or proved by any rational explanation, but something which Connor knew without doubt was true.

His wait was now over.