Connor had not really understood the definition of 'cozy' until now.

He was warm, although the house's A/C prevented the August heat from making it too warm. He had his turtle to snuggle, and his dog draped across his legs. But most importantly, he had Hank.

He has always enjoyed it when Hank would hug him, but this was on a whole other level. This was a long, sustained, embrace that kept him in a cocoon of safety throughout the night. It was peaceful, relaxing, comfortable. It was nice.

And it had driven his nightmares away.

He sighed contentedly, eyes still closed even though his rest cycle had terminated over fifteen minutes ago. Connor let his mind drift in a rare void of nothingness and just layed there, focusing on the rise and fall of Hank's chest as he breathed deep and steadily in his sleep.

For the first time in his life, Connor didn't want to get up and go to work. He wanted to stay right here, head on his dad's chest, content and warm. But he knew it wasn't going to last.

Despite not having a clock in his head anymore, Connor had an impeccable perception of time. Hank's alarm would be going off any second.

Sure enough, less than a minute later, Hank's phone started chiming with it's insistently obnoxious tones that marked the start of their day. Hank's response was immediate. His steady breathing changed as he was startled awake and a sharp jerking motion in the direction of the offending sound jostled Connor's head.

"Shit, sorry kiddo," Hank apologized, noticing as Connor sat up in response. Sumo huffed out a protest that his pillow had moved and hopped down. He padded his way out of the room, presumably to settle by his food bowl until they fed him. "Didn't mean to give you such a rude awakening."

Connor stretched his arms over his head and yawned. Both were completely unnecessary actions, but he found they somehow helped his processor boot up properly after a particularly deep rest cycle. "It's alright, I was already conscious."

"Yeah?" Hank's eyes had a nice sparkle to them when he smiled like that. He wanted to know what caused it, but had yet to locate the source. "How'd you sleep?"

Goodness it was tempting to lay back down, back into Hank's warm arms. "Very well," he said instead of giving into the urge. "No more nightmares."

"Well good," Hank sighed, sitting up himself. His back cracked in more places then he imagined was comfortable judging by the accompanying groan. Connor made a mental note to look into a chiropractor.

"Thank you," he told Hank genuinely. "Being here, you being so close, it really helped."

There was that sparkle again. "Any time kid. You're always welcome."

Connor was tempted to ask if that still applied once he was an adult again, but thought better of it. Instead he simply smiled his thanks and slid out from under the covers.

"Hey, don't forget Crush here," Hank said, almost scolding.

He frowned, turning back to the man who was now holding his stuffed turtle out to him. "Crush? His name isn't Crush."

Hank just shrugged, waving the toy for Connor to take it. He did, hugging the soft material to him tightly. Just because the turtle in the movie had that name, didn't mean his did.

"Well, what is his name then?" Hank asked. "You gotta name it."

"His name is Gavin," Connor answered immediately. "Since he's the one who gave him to me."

Hank pulled a face. "Ok, I could make so many 'sleeping with Gavin' jokes right now, but I'm not going to."

He wasn't really sure what jokes the Lieutenant was referring to. But, since it seemed to be a recurring theme that when he didn't understand it tended to refer to something sexual, he figured he should refrain from requesting clarification. "As difficult as the Detective can be, it's not a bad name."

"Fair enough," Hank laughed. He held up his hands in front of himself as though warding off an invisible attack. "It's your turtle, you can name it whatever the fuck you want."

"Thank you," Connor said with a nod. To be honest, he had been a bit worried. Hank's approval, even in the small things, meant a lot to him.

"Really not something you need to thank me for, Connor," he insisted. His tone was almost scolding, which did make sense considering how much he pushed him to make decisions for himself. He got up from the bed, stretching again earning him another pop. "So," he asked on their way out of the room. "Does that mean if I get you toys and crap, you're gonna name them all 'Hank'?"

Connor froze, processing. He hadn't considered that. "Perhaps… I should re-evaluate my naming conventions."

Hank chuckled and put a hand on his back to push him back into motion. "You might wanna do that, yeah," he laughed. "Now go get ready for the day. Unless you need my help for that."

He knew it was meant in jest, but he still felt the need to deny the offer indignantly. "I can do it," he insisted. He ignored whatever retort the Lieutenant was sure to have and hastened to his room. As nice as it would be to stay in bed and continue resting with Hank, they had work to do.

Connor didn't put a lot of thought into his outfit, pulling on a green polo and a pair of jeans. It was as close to business appropriate as he could get at the moment. Perhaps he should have taken Hank up on his offer of new clothes. He certainly felt more professional when he dressed the part.

Maybe that could help keep his mind from going.

Either way, it was time to get into work mode. No matter how tempting it was to go back to cuddle mode.

Clothed and ready for the day, Connor grabbed the tablet from his bedside table and joined Hank in the bathroom.

He was finishing up giving his beard a quick trim as he entered, leaning over the sink with the razor so the clippings were contained. Connor appreciated that the Lieutenant was taking at least a few steps to keep the place clean. He scolded him when he obsessed over messes, but seemed to understand that they brought him anxiety.

"I think I have sorted through a little over three fourths of our suspect pool," he announced, getting right to it.

"Yeah? That so?" Hank seemed less than focused, instead brushing the rest of the loose hairs from his beard before turning on the tap to rinse them down the drain. Not the best for the plumbing, but better than the alternative.

Connor nodded, coming closer. He kept his focus on the tablet, running a couple more searches. "Yes, I still have several to look into, but I think it's a good start," he said. "I do have… surprisingly few people who match the criteria."

Hank looked over at him, drying his hands on the towel. "Yeah, well, you're essentially trying to track down a doppelganger. What are the odds that two people who look almost identical are in the same city?"

He figured Hank was asking a rhetorical question and wasn't requesting statistics. "It is unlikely. I think I need to expand my search parameters."

"Not a bad idea." Hank picked him up, setting him on the edge of the sink so they could talk more at eye level. "Maybe look more at general features, not exact matches."

"You think?" He would basically need to redo his search, look through a whole cast of people he had already dismissed, but if he couldn't find a match with his current criteria, he had to do something.

"Yeah," he said, pulling his toothbrush from its place in the cup. "Maybe he changed his appearance. Found someone he looked enough like and dyed his hair or some crap? Or maybe he went far enough to have surgery. They can do all kinds of shit with that nowadays." He started brushing his teeth, not bothering to replace the cap on the toothpaste tube.

"I suppose it's possible," Connor agreed. He reached over and secured the top himself, rolling his eyes at the older man. "It just seems like a lot of unnecessary effort."

"It's fucked up is what it is," Hank reasoned through a mouthful of toothpaste. He leaned over, spitting unceremoniously into the sink before turning on the tap to rinse his mouth. "Changing your face just to commit a crime? Fucked up."

Connor was inclined to agree. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror. He liked his face, it gave him a sense of identity, a sense of self. This whole experience would have been far more unsettling if he hadn't been able to look like himself...

"Oh! I am an idiot!" Connor shouted suddenly, startling Hank. He took no notice though, returning to his tablet to scroll through the casefile.

The Lieutenant dried his mouth on the towel before questioning him with an odd look. "The hell you on about?"

He didn't look up as he explained. "I let my personal biases cloud my judgment," he admitted. "All this time, I have been operating under the assumption that the suspect is human, but what if they are an android?"

Hank looked up at him a bit skeptically, but still open to his explanation. "That's always possible, I guess. What makes you think so?"

"He made himself look like Mr. Sawyer, we know that much," he reasoned. He could feel himself literally bouncing, energy filling him from his revelation. "But, that would have been difficult for a human, and honestly not worth the effort to frame a dead man."

"Ok," Hank agreed, leaning his hip against the sink and crossing his arms. "So what, it's not too much effort for an android."

Connor shook his head. "Not if the android was a traci model."

The Lieutenant's brow creased in thought as he followed Connor's train of thought. "Traci model, you mean like from the Eden Club?"

"Exactly!" He looked up at him triumphantly. "Traci models were designed to edit their appearance to fit customer taste-"

"Creepy," Hank interrupted.

He shot him a mildly irritated look. "Yes, but not the point. They can edit the majority of their features at will. As long as the overall body structure matched, it would have been simple to make themself look like pretty much anyone." He looked back at his own reflection. "It's the same technology Simon adapted to allow this body to reflect my own."

"Shit," he breathed. "This opens up a whole new level of identity theft you realize. This is… fuck, if you're right, our jobs just got harder."

"It is a new parameter we will need to account for going forward," Connor admitted with a nod. He lowered his voice, frustration with himself taking over. "It should have occurred to me sooner. I excluded an entire race of people from my suspect list."

"Don't beat yourself up about it," Hank ruffled his hair and, despite his protests, Connor did find the gesture comforting. "I didn't think of it either. Hell, android violence is rare, especially against other androids. We've had what, two cases in the last year?"

"Three if you count the domestic disturbance," he corrected him somewhat absentmindedly. "Here," he declared finding what he was looking for. "Look at this. Mr. Sawyer's measurements basically match that of a standard traci model. Less toned and more body fat, but enough to be passable without issue."

"Calling a dead guy fat? That's kinda harsh, don't you think?" Hank teased.

Connor frowned at the accusation. "I didn't mean to be disrespectful. Just that androids, especially the traci models, were designed to reflect a human ideal. Meanwhile, Mr. Sawyer was an accountant with a desk job and no gym membership. It's natural that there would be discrepancies."

Hank laughed, Pulling Connor off of the counter, waiting until he was sure he had his feet under him before letting go. "I know how bodies work, kiddo. I'm just messing with you."

Connor appreciated the reassurance even if he already suspected he was just jerking him around. Clarity was best with his mind continuing to de-age. "If you are almost done," he said, letting it go, "I'll go feed Sumo. I've already selected your breakfast for the day."

Hank pulled a disgusted face, apparently not pleased with some of his earlier choices. "No more kale smoothies," he said, using his no-room-for-argument voice.

"But they are good for you," Connor insisted anyway.

"Fuck no," he pushed him towards the bathroom door, gesturing for him to go feed the dog who had taken to staring at his empty bowl miserably, convinced it would never have food in it again. Hank, apparently, wasn't the only one displeased by his diet. "I'll eat greenery, fine," he called, heading into his room to get changed. "But I'm not drinking it."

Connor just laughed in consent to the statement before prying open the stiff door on the hutch to retrieve the food for Sumo. The St. Bernard barked happily in anticipation.

It took longer than usual to feed him. Connor's tiny arms struggled with the heavy food bag and the excited dog trying to pull it from his grip didn't help. He managed, barely, and only noticed Hank standing there laughing at him once the offensive bag was shoved back where it belonged. "You alright?" The man asked. There was a note of concern breaking through his amusement.

"Yes, I'm fine," Connor assured him quickly. He ran his hands through his hair, to put it back into order. Sumo crunched noisily on his kibble, not caring about his struggle in the slightest.

Hank laughed again, then handed him his turtle as well as the tablet he had set on the table before attempting to feed the dog. "Come on, let's get a move on."

Connor couldn't help but beam happily at Hank's promptness. It was a welcome change from his typical desire to get to work as late as possible. "We're going to get to the precinct early, so long as we don't encounter heavy traffic," he couldn't help but announce as he followed Hank out the door.

"Guess again, little fish," Hank laughed again.

Connor frowned, stumbling as he tried to stop only to be guided along by the Lieutenant. "What do you mean?"

Hank unlocked the car and helped Connor climb into the back seat. "You've got your recheck appointment today," he reminded him.

"But dad!"

"Nope, you aren't going to 'but dad' your way out of it." The locking click of the buckle felt like it was sealing his fate as it held him fast to the child seat. "Doctor's orders. We gotta make sure you're ok."

"I'm fine, Hank," he tried to reason. "I'd much rather get to work so we can continue the case."

"I know you would." He shut the car door pausing the conversation until he climbed into his place at the driver's seat. "And we are going to work. We're just doing your recheck first. Jeffery already cleared it."

"But!"

"No, Connor." Hank sights, glancing over his shoulder at him with a reassuring smile. "It'll be quick, I promise. We'll be at the precinct by ten at the latest. Then, I promise, I'll be completely focused on the case, no distractions. Ok?"

Connor crossed his arms. He knew he was pouting, but he didn't really care. "Fine," he said, though it came out as a whine.

Hank turned back around, apparently satisfied that he wasn't about to throw a tantrum. He was tempted, but resisted. It would only delay them farther. That was the last thing he wanted. It felt like he finally had a solid lead to follow and he was going to do everything he could to hasten his progress.

They pulled out of the driveway, the road humming under the tires as they went. The answer was close, so close, he could almost taste it.