Connor didn't sleep, but he did have periods of being 'off' when he processed the day's events and ran self-checks in standby mode. There were some aspects of it analogous to a sleep-wake cycle, but it was generally much shorter. The flow of time processed differently for him than a regular human, but his days had been filled with tireless investigation and drunken lieutenant management. Now that his days were filled with far less, he ironically entered stand-by mode more frequently and dwelled there for longer periods.

When he came back from his last period of idleness, however, he found himself questioning if doing nothing for stretches was 'healthy' for his system. Nothing was running as it should. Aside from a keen sense of it all being 'off' he couldn't even enter standby mode if he tried. And he did. For an hour.

Resorting to visual checks, nothing seemed to be amiss with his body. Movement--nothing wrong but he felt far more than he should have. The tension and pull of something beneath his skin, warmth and humidity in his oral and nasal cavities, an ache spreading from the back of his head--distracted with all these sensations, Connor had ended up in the middle of the hall and bumping right into Xavin's cart.

His brown eyes found hers, and he simply gave an anxious nod and started out to be on his way, but his hand didn't follow the rest of him, still apparently grasping the edge.