What's In a Proposal?

The Sun Sets Today

Caught like two lovers making out on the side of an abandoned road in the woods, Connor almost kicked me away as he did a back shuffle for the car door. His knee landed a blow so powerful to my chest, I almost felt my lungs collapse. "Y/N, ooooh my god, I'm so sorry, are you ok?" Breathless, I squeaked a hushed "I'm ok, don't worry," before quickly gasping for air again. I laid back against the car door on my side, heaving with my hand pressed against my heart.

Hank didn't seem to care; for all I know, he was probably more than willing to call 911 for himself just so he didn't have to witness this. Ripping open the driver side door, Hank threw his back against his seat. Uncharacteristically silent, he didn't turn around as he jerkingly put the key into ignition. I wasn't used to the lack of smart ass quips, the lack of snarky remarks, and the obvious lack of cussing.

His elbow rested against the car window, the low hum of the engine running out the last few miles of its weak run as he looked directly into the rear view mirror. Connor attempted to straighten me out by having me sit up, but this was a tragedy that wasn't going to work itself out in the next 5 minutes.

"Are you fucking serious..?"

"Sorry, Lieutenant, I- I thought Y/N should've gotten the food you bought for--"

"SHH!!" He planted his finger against his lips; a command for Connor to shut the fuck up right then and there before he got dissected and sold for parts.

I was coughing up spit in between whispering "aws", and "Hank, you shouldn't haves."

Hank doesn't say anything as he puts the car into reverse. The tires grind against the loose gravel and wet dirt, sliding itself backwards into the main road leading home. The coughing started to ease up once we were halfway home. The street lights rolled by like wraiths, suspended in the deep winter mist of Detroit.

The wind was ceaseless as the car was cutting through the invisible miasma; the quiet was occasionally disturbed by the shifting of starchy fabrics against the car seats. I was nervous to find out what Hank had to say at the end of our trip; was he going to be pissed? Disappointed? A mixture of both? Or worse, was he not going to say anything whatsoever..?

I looked over to Connor, who was busy staring out the window, watching the frost collect on the window. I wonder if androids ever had a fascination for the same patterns in nature that people were always interested in. Sometimes, whenever he thought I wasn't looking, he'd press his hand against the glass, almost as though he was trying to feel winter at his fingertips. Hank snuck a couple glances at the back seat, pretending to adjust his rear mirror with every peek. Maybe the idleness of this late night car ride was what I needed; after today, there wasn't more talking I could do. Tear stains scared my cheeks, like roads etched into a map; the skin under my eyes hung like curtains spilling onto a hardwood floor. Long story short, I was a goddamn mess.

The scenery remained the same, decrepit homes after decrepit homes, occasionally separated by trees whose leaves have been ripped from them by the unforgiving cold, their black tendrils gnarled and twisted by the elements. Time seemed to fly by fast as Hank was already pulling into the parking lot of my apartment. The car crushed and grind snow into a fine powder as it pulled along the pavement. Frozen, exhausted, and hungry, I propped open the car door with my free hand as my legs failed to keep me upright.

"Need some help, L/N?"

"No, nah, I think I'm good..-," was the last thing I said before slipping face first into the ice laden floor. Fiery sensations that quickly turned to piercing frost needles took over my cheeks.

"Holy fucking shit..." As Hank disgruntledly kicked open the door, he sauntered towards me with a lecture ready in a queue of other hand crafted insults. In a flurry of white and blue, Connor knelt by my side as he took the entire weight of my body into his arms. Cradling me like a small dog, I was resting fully against his chest, much to the chagrin of Hank; the dismissive scowl, the furrowed brows, and the dramatic 180 seemed scripted after years of practice.