I'm so happy you guys are enjoying it!! This one gave me all the feels. OP, I feel you <3 <3 To that anon who asked for Traci as the other android, that's a great idea! I went somewhere more random with it, but I like your theory.
Here's the third part while I work on the rest. <3 <3 <3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There was already another gift the very next day. This time it was just two red roses tied together with a white string. There was a card attached, but this time it was sealed in an envelope. Formally.
Connor stood stock still in front of the desk and considered what he should do. What he should not do, of course, was listen to any of the directives his drive was spewing. No. That would have been very bad.
Still. Connor could not very well leave the card alone without a scan. For safety’s sake. So. He scanned it. Empty except for the intended card, no traces of anything harmful. Just a card. And well…he was already scanning the inside of the envelope, so he might as well look at the message…Connor adjusted his scanners and was able to rearrange the writing in front of him. He analyzed the script and added it to his database for easy processing. The handwriting was the same as before, but the message was a lot longer.
It read: “Dear Hank Anderson, Hello. I’m sorry to leave you so many anonymous messages but I was a little shy at first. I wasn’t sure how you would react to gifts like this. Especially when you found out it was an android sending them, which I’m sure Connor already told you.”
Connor paused for a moment. This card actually mentioned him by name. So. This must be an android they both knew…probably one who worked in the station. Or at least used to.
That was an important conclusion. He filed it away for later.
The note went on: “But since you’ve been accepting the gifts without ridiculing me, even though you don’t know who I am…well, I want to meet you. We’ve met already, but this time I want to meet privately. So I can explain myself and my feelings. If you’re at all interested, please come to the Coffee Bean on 54th street at 6:00. I’ll be waiting. —Yours, S.”
Connor read and reread the note several times. It was in his programming to look for a hidden meaning, some kind of code, so he did. But he found nothing. The words were just…words. They meant what they said.
This person, whoever they were, had clear feelings for Hank. Romantic feelings. A quick internet search for red roses produced nothing but romance-related results. There could be nothing else.
Fighting back more instructions that made no sense, (hide everything, all the evidence, before Hank can see), Connor put his hand on the flesh of the rose. The petal was so tender. Fragile under his hand. This person must have touched the petals in the same way and thought the sensation appropriate.
Was romance as fragile as this? Breakable from nothing but a harsh squeeze? Connor had no experience with romance or sexual attraction. He did his job. That’s what he was programmed to do and he did it well.
But…when he thought about this person, picking out flowers for Hank, Connor found that he knew how they must have felt. Unsure. Anxious. Excited. Wanting.
Want. Want was somewhere between yellow and red. Orange. Needy and demanding. Connor should know nothing of want, and yet…he did. When he imagined this person and these flowers he understood. There was want in these gifts.
Connor had want inside of him too, he realized in that moment. He must have had it for a long time but he just never knew the word for it. This want, this was all part of the way he felt about Hank. Comfort, security, familiarity, happiness, and want. It was there. As loud as any of the other feelings. Connor let himself feel it, starting to get overwhelmed.
I want Hank too.
At last the words settled in his head.
Now he saw his own want reflected back at him through the efforts of another person. It was right there. Red roses and beautiful words. That was want, or a type of it. A way to express wanting.
Connor wished he could find a way to express his own want. This feeling…it was beautiful! It must be shared! No wonder this person had written such a heartfelt letter! They could not possibly keep their want to themselves. It would be awful! Connor understood this person very well now.
They’d come to their conclusions about Hank much faster than him.
“More flowers?”
Connor whirled around to face Hank. His mind racing, Connor stumbled over several words inside his head. It was hard to get any of them out.
Want tell fragilefeeltellwant—
“Hank, I—”
“Oh and there’s a card this time?” Hank had not heard Connor’s outburst. Now he was already opening the card and reading it.
Connor watched his face as he read. For the most part it was blank. Then, at the end, Hank’s face went slack. Quietly thoughtful. He put the card back in the envelope and stuck it in his jacket pocket. A private, personal place. Over his heart. Before Connor even knew what was happening, Hank had gone to the break room and procured a vase.
Still Connor was standing there. Watching Hank put the roses in the vase, mixing them with the leftover flowers from the last bouquet. Weeding out the dead ones and clipping the live ones. Caring for them as he let the flowers breathe in the water. They’d soak up the sun on the farthest corner of his desk.
How long had Connor beed standing here?
“You alright, Connor?” Now Hank was looking at him. Not angry. Not even confused. Just looking. As if waiting for him to say something.
“I…”
I want you too.
He wanted to tell Hank. He should tell him. He should tell him everything—that the nights on the bench and the nights on the couch, those times when Hank came over Connor’s apartment with a DVD. Ancient technology, but something that Hank had a lot of. Something for them to watch. Connor loved all of that. He loved being at Hank’s side and helping him—his objectives now revolved almost entirely around Hank. And Connor wanted them that way. He wanted Hank in his life and he wanted…he wanted…
What? What else was there?
…Romance?
Connor looked at the flowers on Hank’s desk and was lost. He had no idea what it meant to be in a romantic relationship. Other than sex and physical touching, of which Connor knew very little as well. Overall, he had no idea what he could expect from Hank should they enter into a relationship like that. This note, these gifts…they were beyond Connor, in a way. He hadn’t thought to give them and he probably never would have.
And now. Well. Hank already read the letter. So.
It was too late.
Swallowing his regret and bewilderment, Connor forced himself into a seat. “…Nothing,” he said. “Nothing.”
It wasn’t nothing. It was never nothing. Did people always say ‘nothing’ when they meant the opposite? Now Connor was doing it too.
“Huh.” Hank was still staring at him. Unconvinced.
“What did the note say?” Connor asked emotionlessly. Hank didn’t know he’d read it already. Connor wouldn’t admit to doing it if he didn’t have to.
“The person wants to meet,” Hank explained. “The one who sent all this stuff. Sounds kind of like a date.”
A date. Connor ran an internet search even though he didn’t have to. He knew what a date was.
Holding hands. Conversation. An enjoyable, shared experience. Kissing.
Liquid, fiery cold something ran through Connor again. He wanted to go on a date with Hank. Didn’t he? They already had! More or less. They’d been alone and talked about personal mattes. Confidential things. Life and feelings. There’d never been any kissing or touching, but…once, Hank put his hand on Connor’s shoulder for a long time. If Connor recalled the memory he could still feel it there.
That was a date, right?
…That wasn’t a date. No. Meeting at coffee shops at a specific time agreed upon in advance, with gifts beforehand, that was a date. Connor had never been on a date.
“Are you going to go?” Connor asked, unsure why. The slick rage/fear feeling was only getting worse. “On the…date?”
Hank sucked on his top lip. “Who knows.”
Mostly likely, yes. “I see.” Connor turned back to his computer, pretending that his hands weren’t shuddering every ten seconds.
“Heh, a date. Can’t explain it for shit,” Hank said, shrugging his shoulders in that overwhelmed, put-upon way he had. He passed a hand over his face as if it were all too much.
Even so. The flowers were put in a vase with water. Kept on the desk. Tended to. Cared for with Hank’s own fingers.
And there was a certain kind of levity on his face. Not a smile per se, but. Lightness. Hank walked a little straighter the rest of the day.
Finally, Connor’s database was able to put a word to the feeling inside of him.
Fill: Pining, jealous Connor (pt 3)
Here's the third part while I work on the rest. <3 <3 <3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There was already another gift the very next day. This time it was just two red roses tied together with a white string. There was a card attached, but this time it was sealed in an envelope. Formally.
Connor stood stock still in front of the desk and considered what he should do. What he should not do, of course, was listen to any of the directives his drive was spewing. No. That would have been very bad.
Still. Connor could not very well leave the card alone without a scan. For safety’s sake. So. He scanned it. Empty except for the intended card, no traces of anything harmful. Just a card. And well…he was already scanning the inside of the envelope, so he might as well look at the message…Connor adjusted his scanners and was able to rearrange the writing in front of him. He analyzed the script and added it to his database for easy processing. The handwriting was the same as before, but the message was a lot longer.
It read: “Dear Hank Anderson, Hello. I’m sorry to leave you so many anonymous messages but I was a little shy at first. I wasn’t sure how you would react to gifts like this. Especially when you found out it was an android sending them, which I’m sure Connor already told you.”
Connor paused for a moment. This card actually mentioned him by name. So. This must be an android they both knew…probably one who worked in the station. Or at least used to.
That was an important conclusion. He filed it away for later.
The note went on: “But since you’ve been accepting the gifts without ridiculing me, even though you don’t know who I am…well, I want to meet you. We’ve met already, but this time I want to meet privately. So I can explain myself and my feelings. If you’re at all interested, please come to the Coffee Bean on 54th street at 6:00. I’ll be waiting. —Yours, S.”
Connor read and reread the note several times. It was in his programming to look for a hidden meaning, some kind of code, so he did. But he found nothing. The words were just…words. They meant what they said.
This person, whoever they were, had clear feelings for Hank. Romantic feelings. A quick internet search for red roses produced nothing but romance-related results. There could be nothing else.
Fighting back more instructions that made no sense, (hide everything, all the evidence, before Hank can see), Connor put his hand on the flesh of the rose. The petal was so tender. Fragile under his hand. This person must have touched the petals in the same way and thought the sensation appropriate.
Was romance as fragile as this? Breakable from nothing but a harsh squeeze? Connor had no experience with romance or sexual attraction. He did his job. That’s what he was programmed to do and he did it well.
But…when he thought about this person, picking out flowers for Hank, Connor found that he knew how they must have felt. Unsure. Anxious. Excited. Wanting.
Want. Want was somewhere between yellow and red. Orange. Needy and demanding. Connor should know nothing of want, and yet…he did. When he imagined this person and these flowers he understood. There was want in these gifts.
Connor had want inside of him too, he realized in that moment. He must have had it for a long time but he just never knew the word for it. This want, this was all part of the way he felt about Hank. Comfort, security, familiarity, happiness, and want. It was there. As loud as any of the other feelings. Connor let himself feel it, starting to get overwhelmed.
I want Hank too.
At last the words settled in his head.
Now he saw his own want reflected back at him through the efforts of another person. It was right there. Red roses and beautiful words. That was want, or a type of it. A way to express wanting.
Connor wished he could find a way to express his own want. This feeling…it was beautiful! It must be shared! No wonder this person had written such a heartfelt letter! They could not possibly keep their want to themselves. It would be awful! Connor understood this person very well now.
They’d come to their conclusions about Hank much faster than him.
“More flowers?”
Connor whirled around to face Hank. His mind racing, Connor stumbled over several words inside his head. It was hard to get any of them out.
Want tell fragilefeeltellwant—
“Hank, I—”
“Oh and there’s a card this time?” Hank had not heard Connor’s outburst. Now he was already opening the card and reading it.
Connor watched his face as he read. For the most part it was blank. Then, at the end, Hank’s face went slack. Quietly thoughtful. He put the card back in the envelope and stuck it in his jacket pocket. A private, personal place. Over his heart. Before Connor even knew what was happening, Hank had gone to the break room and procured a vase.
Still Connor was standing there. Watching Hank put the roses in the vase, mixing them with the leftover flowers from the last bouquet. Weeding out the dead ones and clipping the live ones. Caring for them as he let the flowers breathe in the water. They’d soak up the sun on the farthest corner of his desk.
How long had Connor beed standing here?
“You alright, Connor?” Now Hank was looking at him. Not angry. Not even confused. Just looking. As if waiting for him to say something.
“I…”
I want you too.
He wanted to tell Hank. He should tell him. He should tell him everything—that the nights on the bench and the nights on the couch, those times when Hank came over Connor’s apartment with a DVD. Ancient technology, but something that Hank had a lot of. Something for them to watch. Connor loved all of that. He loved being at Hank’s side and helping him—his objectives now revolved almost entirely around Hank. And Connor wanted them that way. He wanted Hank in his life and he wanted…he wanted…
What? What else was there?
…Romance?
Connor looked at the flowers on Hank’s desk and was lost. He had no idea what it meant to be in a romantic relationship. Other than sex and physical touching, of which Connor knew very little as well. Overall, he had no idea what he could expect from Hank should they enter into a relationship like that. This note, these gifts…they were beyond Connor, in a way. He hadn’t thought to give them and he probably never would have.
And now. Well. Hank already read the letter. So.
It was too late.
Swallowing his regret and bewilderment, Connor forced himself into a seat. “…Nothing,” he said. “Nothing.”
It wasn’t nothing. It was never nothing. Did people always say ‘nothing’ when they meant the opposite? Now Connor was doing it too.
“Huh.” Hank was still staring at him. Unconvinced.
“What did the note say?” Connor asked emotionlessly. Hank didn’t know he’d read it already. Connor wouldn’t admit to doing it if he didn’t have to.
“The person wants to meet,” Hank explained. “The one who sent all this stuff. Sounds kind of like a date.”
A date. Connor ran an internet search even though he didn’t have to. He knew what a date was.
Holding hands. Conversation. An enjoyable, shared experience. Kissing.
Liquid, fiery cold something ran through Connor again. He wanted to go on a date with Hank. Didn’t he? They already had! More or less. They’d been alone and talked about personal mattes. Confidential things. Life and feelings. There’d never been any kissing or touching, but…once, Hank put his hand on Connor’s shoulder for a long time. If Connor recalled the memory he could still feel it there.
That was a date, right?
…That wasn’t a date. No. Meeting at coffee shops at a specific time agreed upon in advance, with gifts beforehand, that was a date. Connor had never been on a date.
“Are you going to go?” Connor asked, unsure why. The slick rage/fear feeling was only getting worse. “On the…date?”
Hank sucked on his top lip. “Who knows.”
Mostly likely, yes. “I see.” Connor turned back to his computer, pretending that his hands weren’t shuddering every ten seconds.
“Heh, a date. Can’t explain it for shit,” Hank said, shrugging his shoulders in that overwhelmed, put-upon way he had. He passed a hand over his face as if it were all too much.
Even so. The flowers were put in a vase with water. Kept on the desk. Tended to. Cared for with Hank’s own fingers.
And there was a certain kind of levity on his face. Not a smile per se, but. Lightness. Hank walked a little straighter the rest of the day.
Finally, Connor’s database was able to put a word to the feeling inside of him.
Jealousy.