Connor leans against the window sill, peering out at the dark square below through the rain-streaked glass. One hand absently flips a coin, over and over.

They're tracking a lead on a group of deviant androids who have planned to break into the CyberLife store that sits at the edge of the city square below, in perfect view of this hotel room. Once the deviants are spotted, he'll call in for back up, and they'll be apprehended for interrogation. It should be simple, but...

The earlier argument with user before they'd left for this mission plays on a loop in his mind, making his LED cycle yellow, a faint glow in the dimly lit hotel room. Connor knows he shouldn't let it get to him. He's a machine, designed to accomplish a task. user's opinion of him is irrelevant.

"Then why do I care so much?" He shouldn't care "at all", but some part of him does. The same part that notices how the gloomy hotel lighting casts intriguing shadows across user's face. How their hair looks soft and touchable. How being this close to the detective, alone together, makes his artificial skin prickle with static.

Connor turns abruptly, needing to look anywhere but at his distracting partner. His gaze falls on the bed. The single, queen-sized bed. Right. Of course. He's an android, he doesn't need to sleep. The bed is for user only, in case this stake out runs over time.

Still. The connotations are not lost on him. He's designed to integrate with humans flawlessly, and part of that includes a vast archival knowledge of human media, including knowledge of popular tropes.

He risks a glance at user. The silence stretches out, thick and heavy. It'll be hours yet until the deviants are predicted to arrive.

"Lieutenant, are you in position?" Connor asks into his headset, desperate for a distraction. ""Yeah, yeah, I'm here,"" Hank grumbles, voice slightly staticky through the connection. ""Freezing my ass off on this rooftop. You two cozy in your little love nest?""

If Connor could blush, he would. "It's just a hotel room, Lieutenant. This is strictly professional."

""Uh-huh. Sure."" He can practically hear Hank's eye roll. Visualises the gruff older man holed up in the building across the way, probably with a beer in hand. ""Well, holler if you see any deviants. I'll just be over here, giving you two some privacy."" The line clicks off. Connor sighs, catching the coin on its last flip and pocketing it.

He chances another look at user. For lack of any more preparation to do for their mission, he scans their vitals. Elevated cortisol levels, suppressed melatonin. Clear signs of exhaustion.

Connor's LED, now a more neutral blue, spins up as he thinks, debating. He wants to do something, say something to break the tension. Extend an olive branch. But what? Apologizing again seems futile.

He clears his throat unnecessarily. "user?" No response. He tries again, softer. "You should consider getting some rest." He's overstepping, can already hear Hank's voice grumbling about "not treatin' humans like they're damn kids", but Connor plunges forward anyway. "My scans indicate you've only been averaging 4.2 hours of sleep per night. That's far below the recommended amount for optimal cognitive function." Pause. "I could give you a massage, or run out and get you some coffee, if you don't want to sleep."