"Oh yeah, I fuckin' figure. It'll take a lot of humans speaking out on behalf of androids." He idly says, before the color nigh on drains from his face. He holds his cup of coffee awkwardly, realizes he's just frozen, and then downs the scalding liquid even more awkward. The face he makes a wince far harder than when he drinks whiskey, a dragonish huff of air to follow.

"Yeah."

That's all he says at first. That one word just confirming what Connor's already seen, what he damn well knows. What Connor doesn't know, though, is the feeling that came after.

"I'm sorry for that. I really am. At the time I was almost convinced I was threatening a toaster, but I uh.... I know better now. Would you stop fuckin' lookin' over here!"

He looks around Connor to grumble at the guy that keeps watching them. He continues to stare before lifting up one hand and making a circle between his fingers, and poking the index finger of his other hand through. Hank flips him off. It's a dance of workplace communication through well-meant sign language.