[He expected protest. Maybe that's why Connor doesn't seem to be bothered by the anger, standing still as he is, hand continually extended in an offer of help that won't so easily be dismissed.

Hank says he doesn't even know what emotions are, and maybe he doesn't. Maybe all he knows are the errors that are flickering across his coding, how they dance in his chest even now, especially now. But he'll take those words and twist them into wretched defiance; let them enforce an android's ingrained nature to be unflappable in the face of human emotion, to let Hank's angry display hit him in a wave and roll right off of his shoulders.]

I want to help you. I want to be able to work with you without having to be concerned about your concern of me. I want you to trust me when I say that I can handle it; I mean it this time. I can. I'm not made of glass. I won't break.

[Maybe that's a lie; it doesn't matter.]

You're right when you say that I don't know what emotions are, and you should consider that a reason to not be concerned. If I experience what you're feeling, then what? I'll jettison them out of my mind, labelling them as yours. Compartmentalize and pay no real regard to the experience. What if we find ourselves in situations where I have to grab onto you? Or the other way around? I can't hesitate, and I won't let your power break my focus.

So we work through it. Take my hand.

[Maybe Hank's power won't even activate. Maybe it will. But this trust has to happen; otherwise it's not a partnership at all.]