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It was customary for humans to celebrate the anniversary of their birth. Friends and family would gather together, there would be a celebration, and the birthday person would usually receive gifts. It was supposed to be a time of joy, happiness, fun, and love. It was supposed to be a good thing.
Connor couldn't say he was excited for his birthday. In fact, he was dreading it.
August 15th was 3 days, 15 hours, 37 minutes, and 18 seconds away. Connor absolutely did not want to think about it, but it seemed his loved ones hadn't gotten the memo. They kept dropping hints about it, and some even tried to sneak informations out of him about what he might like as a present (it wasn't working, Connor wasn't a model detective for nothing). Shit, Markus even wanted to throw a little party in New Jericho. Connor had immediately refused, claiming not to be comfortable in large crowds. While there may have been some truth in that (He didn't like being around deviants. He always saw their stares.), it wasn't the real reason.
See, August 15th wasn't just Connor's birth day.
It was also the day of his death.
On August 15th 2038, the day of its activation, the RK800 prototype model was activated and sent into the field to test its capabilities. The first day of Connor's life, he found himself on a rooftop trying to convince a deviant not to take the life of a little girl.
He must not have been very convincing, because the deviant—Daniel, his name was Daniel—ended up jumping. Connor was able to save the girl, but not without sacrificing his own life.
(But did that really count as a life, if he was then nothing more than a simple machine?)
August 15th 2038, the day of his activation, was the first day Connor opened his eyes. Those eyes were the ones who looked at the stars in the sky, getting far away too rapidly, before closing its eyelids a few seconds before the impact with the ground. Satisfied to have accomplished the mission and awaiting its destiny.
Connor wasn't feeling very satisfied right now.
He said he didn't want anything for his birthday. He said it. And the android thought the others understood. He could do that. As long as no one was there to remind him of the date, Connor would (probably) manage to get through the day without incident.
Then the fateful date arrived.
The morning had been a little tense. Hank had kept his promise to not do anything special today, but Connor was still nervous. The old man didn't know about the anniversary, but he could obviously tell something was wrong.
He hadn't asked any questions, though. Connor was grateful for that.
And then, because it just had to fall on a Monday, the two of them had gone to work. Some people had suggested him to take the day off, but the android insisted on going to work like any other day. Acting normally, right?
The ride had been quiet. After a moment, Hank turned on the radio, as if the vibrations of the songs had the power to break the unease in the air. And maybe it did, because at least this habit was familiar. Like any other day of the year. Nothing out of the ordinary.
The pair arrived at the police station and Connor headed towards his desk. He was vaguely aware of a few colleagues greeting him, but he was too distracted to actually register it or respond to them.
His thirium pump was beating abnormally in his chest. His ventilation systems were having trouble functioning. It had started this morning - no, even a few days before. But it wasn't as... uncomfortable as it was just now.
Maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe he was defective and was going to-
No. Connor fiddled with his coin, pushing those nasty thoughts away. He knew how anxiety worked. If he gave this train of thought any attention, then it would only get worse and worse until he broke down and had a crisis.
Connor was pretty familiar with crises. He had no desire to have another one.
But if the universe had heard his wishes—and wasn't it ironic, on his birthday—it wasn't very inclined to grant them. Because when the android finally arrived at his desk, he froze dead in his tracks. His heart began to beat faster, and suddenly it was as if the motors in his legs had a bolt stuck between two cogs.
He stepped forward, looking at the neatly wrapped package. It was pretty, objectively; a simple little rectangular box, ten centimeters high and navy blue, wrapped in a Payne's gray ribbon. Everything was well taken care of, and a small card reading 'Happy Birthday <3' was attached to the ribbon.
Perhaps under different circumstances, Connor would have appreciated it. Perhaps he would have gone around the station trying to find his anonymous gifter and thank them.
But the android couldn't even think about that right now. All he could focus on was the anniversary, the date, what had happened just a year ago now.
Connor leaned heavily on his desk, his ventilation system working furiously, making his breaths labored. He could almost hear a whistling sound when he inhaled or exhaled.
Was there something wrong with his body? Even his thirium pump was running dangerously fast now. His optical sensors were blurry. Why? Something was wrong. Something was deeply wrong and Connor was going to die, again, like-
deviant too unstable, impossible to calm-
protect the hostage, the child at all costs-
the stars that shine bright and high in the sky, gravity pulling him down down down-
hostage rescued and-
mission accomplished then-
Nothing.
Before he knew it, Connor was rushing away from his desk, somewhere he didn't know where, just far far far-
Something was wrong. Something was definitly, truly wrong. He was dying, wasn't he? Oh shit, he actually was dying. Gravity pulled him down (again, for the second fucking time), but his fall was quick this time. He crashed to the hard concrete, and Connor was sure that this was it, this was the end, but curiously the emptiness he knew, the nothingness that had already welcomed him once in the past did not claim him again.
His back hit something solid and his pants got damp. Was it thirium? Was he bleeding from somewhere he couldn't see, and now he was going to bleed out slowly, alone, here, wherever it was?
It was unlighten. Despite the city lights, the night casted its shadows over Detroit. It was too obscure. The only thing he could see were the stars, his last vision before complete darkness. The nothingness.
(Where were the stars now ? He wanted to see them again.)
A sudden snapping noise-
the sound of bodies hitting the ground at full speed-
And somebody was in front of him. It seemed like they were talking—their mouths kept moving, their expressions all confused and alarmed—but Connor couldn't make out what they were saying. Truly, he couldn't hear anything over the sound of his breathing and thundering pulse in his hearing sensors. They moved closer, and instinctively, Connor stepped back. Or at least tried to, because the solid thing behind him was blocking his path.
Someone was here. Who? Connor didn't want anyone to see him like this, but at the same time, maybe they could help-
A firm pressure on his shoulder. Hand shapped. Tight? Was familiar. It reminded him-
"Hank," Connor choked out.
And indeed, his vision became a little clearer, revealing the gray-haired man before him. He was crouching in front of him, frowning. Hank… Hank was safe. Connor was safe with him.
The lieutenant stood up, and his touch was immediately missed. But before he could voice his displeasure, there was a click and light flooded the world. Connor blinked. Now that he could see properly, the android could discern where he was; the men's restroom, still at the police station. Not the roof. And Hank was here—if he was there, then Hank couldn't be here.
Oh. Connor had another crisis, hadn't he?
Hank came back, pressing something cool to his forehead.
"I don't really know if this helps, but uh, here you go."
It was a small stack of papers soaked in cold water. Connor focused on the cool sensation.
"Helps," he murmured. "Thank you."
Hank grumbled, sitting down on the dirty floor beside him. The android rested his head on his shoulder, and the human grabbed his wrist. The pressure helped ground him in reality. They sat there in silence until Connor calmed down enough to stop hyperventilating.
Hank was tapping a rhythm on his wrist, which Connor belatedly recognized as an old metal song. When the old man noticed his quietness, he straightened slightly.
"Better ?" he asked, his voice gruff as usual but almost whispered. As for not to break the quiet, post-storm atmosphere.
Connor nodded, and the lieutenant ran his free hand over his face, relaxing his shoulders. You could hear the relief in his sigh.
"Good. You scared the shit out of me. I was gone for like two freaking minutes looking for coffee, and when I come back I learn from Chris that you ran away after frozing in front of your desk. What the hell happened ?"
Connor repressed a grimace. He was a little embarrassed that apparently (almost?) all of his colleagues had seen him in this state. And more importantly, how was he supposed to explain to the man that he had panicked over a little gift package?
But Hank was familiar with his crises. He helped him more than once. He'll probably understand. Connor didn't even have to go into details.
"Earlier, I saw something that... triggered me. I am sorry for the worry I caused."
"Hey, what did we say ? No apologizing for having emotions." He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand and sighed again. "It's about the birthday, isn't it?"
Well, so much for not going into details. However, Connor wasn't surprised that the lieutenant had figured it out. Anyone, at this point, could have. He nodded again nonetheless.
Hank looked thoughtful.
"Did something happen? Or is it just...?" Seeing the android's look, he hastened to add, "But you don't have to talk about it! It's just... shit... you know... if it helps..."
The man grimaced, and Connor sympathized with him. Then he reflected seriously.
It was true that he never told about it to anyone. And he didn't really plan on doing it. It was just supposed to be... a thing. Before becoming a deviant, it never really bothered him (and he was totally ignoring what was definitely not fear at the edge of the the Stratford Tower's roof). It was just after he became one, after he thought about it with all his new panoply of emotions, that he freaked out.
Connor never thought of telling anyone. He didn't see the point. Didn't think it would help. But… during all those months he had lived with him, Hank had been nothing but supportive. Even the times he was there during his crises, he had helped him. Same for today. Perhaps it was worth giving it a try…?
The android played with the coin in his jacket pocket. "Do you remember back then, during our first investigation? We were at Chicken Feed. You asked me if I ever dealt with deviants before." It was a good start. Not much information to begin with.
Hank nodded. "A deviant threatening a little girl, right? And you managed to save her." (Was that a hint of pride in his voice? No one would ever know.)
Connor pressed the coin between his fingers. "Indeed. I… He was threatening to jump off the roof of a skyscraper with her. I saved her. By jumping with him."
Hank took a sudden breath, eyes widenning, but before he could answer Connor quickly added,
"It was the day of my activation. August 15th, 2038. My… birthday."
It was silent for a moment. The android didn't bother to calculate how long. And then...
"... Shit." And after a beat, "That's fucked up."
Yes. Very good description of the situation.
Another moment passed. Neither of them bothered to fill the silence. The old man had a frown on his face, his mouth turned down. Despite the light reprimand from earlier, Connor found himself feeling guilty for causing him so much concern. After a while, Hank finally spoke.
"You know... we could always change your birthday."
This took Connor by surprise. "What ?"
"I mean, if August 15th is such a negative date for you, there's no reason to keep it. A lot of androids took the day they became deviant as their birthdates and I think you deserve to have a good birthday. One that doesn't remind you that."
"But-" The protests died on his tongue. There was no… tangible reason why it should be impossible. But it was just so simple. For months, Connor teared his hair out over it. It seemed like an insoluble problem, and he had come to terms with the fact that he would never be able to celebrate his birthday like his peers.
Was it really possible ? Would changing the date of his birthday make things a little better? It's true that it wouldn't coincide with the anniversary anymore, but...
"I'll think about it," he ended up answering. A promise, perhaps.
Hank stopped tapping out the melody of the song he was doing. Connor found himself missing the gesture.
"Great," the man declared. "And as for today and the years to come... you know you can always come to me. Whatever you need."
That made Connor smile. Something warmed inside him. "Thank you, Hank. But all I want to do is live this day as normally as possible. I don't want to… put any emphasis on it."
"Okay, if that's what you want," came the easy answer. The old man stood up, stretched with a grunt, then held out his hand to help him up as well. "Ready to go back ?"
Connor was still somewhat apprehensive, but with Hank by his side, he could let himself believe that everything would be okay.
"When am I not ?" he answered with a wink. This earned him an eye roll without any heat.
The two men headed towards the exit when, without warning, his father figure suddenly stopped walking.
"Hey, Connor ?" Hank called. He placed a hand on his shoulder, and did one of his small smiles. Not huge, but... there. "I'm fucking glad you're alive."