It starts off slow.
The transition, if one can call it that, has many bumps to overcome and boundaries that must be broken down. Connor knows that while androids could be quick to embrace change—programming can be quite efficient when it comes to accepting new objectives—humans can't do that…as well.
And Hank is quite the begrudging example.
Oh, their bond is there, even Connor can see that. However, it's tentative and fragile, like the silky strands of a spiderweb that Connor eyes when he busies himself with cleaning. Hank tells him to 'shove off'—that's not what Hank really says, but Connor doesn't like to use vulgarity unless absolutely necessary—but he does so anyway.
It's a mundane task, cleaning, but Connor relishes in the fact that he can disobey Hank.
It's the small things that makes his lips quirk up in a smile and has Hank softening in return.
Hank even told him that he looks less goofy and more…human.
Connor isn't sure how to feel about that. He's still new to autonomy and emoting like humans do. It's okay, though. Hank, whenever he's on his good days, which is happening more and more, claps him on the shoulder and takes him out for a drink.
Connor, of course, carefully monitors how much Hank has consumed before he gently tells the older man to stop. Most of the time, Hank refuses—oh, the wonders of human irrationality and independence!—but sometimes, he allows himself to follow Connor out the bar.
Connor thinks—no, he knows—that Hank has been decreasing his alcohol intake ever since Connor has been visiting him. It stirs an emotion inside of him, and he wonders, is this what it feels like to be human? To…to…? Intellectually, Connor knows what kind of emotion he's feeling, but he can't really grasp the gravity of how well integrated he is in his deviance.
He would like to ask Hank what emotion he's feeling, but he gets the feeling that his partner would shrug him off and not take him seriously.
Small changes are okay and maybe, one day, Connor can really tell what he's feeling.