The following night I was at Riverside Park enjoying some peace and quiet on the swings, overlooking the Detroit River towards Canada. I hadn't renewed my passport for a while; I should do that and take a weekend across, just for the hell of it.

I heard a car crunch up behind me but I didn't turn around. There were constantly people hanging out in this park who shouldn't be, especially at this hour. I wasn't too put off when the headlights dimmed and there were several long solid minutes of silence again. I eventually heard someone approach on foot. "The fuck are you doing here? Christ, I can't even get a moment's peace."

I looked over my shoulder, slowing my movement with a stiff heel into the gravel. I was surprised he even got out of his car after what happened last night. It was hard for me to look at him; I felt foolish.

Hank came over and leaned against the thick metal frame of the swingset, looking over at me with that suspicious policeman gaze.

"Could ask you the same thing," I said. "How do you know about this place?"

"How do you think?"

"Ah... I'm sorry. That was insensitive. Do you uh - come here a lot?"

"Only when I got a lot to think about."

"Same."

Hank cocked his head up in thought for a moment. " Shit . Said he died in a playground. Guessing this is it."

I turned around in the swing, one foot pushing around at a time until I was facing the rest of the lot. I pointed at a spot in the grass a few yards ahead. "Every spring I put out extra grass seed. So I can see it easier."

I released my feet and jolted back into position, gently swaying side to side until I came to a halt. I stared out at the water. "Feels like I'm here with him. Like he hasn't shown up yet and I can stop it. That's fucked up, isn't it."

"Who am I to judge what's fucked up."

He finally joined me on the swing to my right, tall enough that his feet didn't dangle and he could lean forward to stare out as well.

We stayed like this for a while in silence observing a couple lazy boats out on the river, gentle nighttime breeze pushing the water, one jogger eventually came by without regard to our presence or we to theirs.

"Surprised you came without a drink."

"Already had one in the car. I was parked, don't worry."

I reached into my coat pocket and came out with a gift for Hank. "You want one?"

He took both joints from between my fingertips, pulled out a lighter, then handed one back for my enjoyment.

"Fucking took long enough for this to become legal. Thank Christ," he whispered.

I stood up and tapped him on the arm.

"There's a kiddie castle over there I usually squeeze into. Come on."

He looked over then eyed me suspiciously. "Think I'm too big for that, Alex."

"Nah, come on, trust me."

"Christ, you're a pain in my ass… Alright, I'm coming."

We managed to squeeze in together just fine. He took up most of the space, hunched up against the back with his feet protruding from the entrance. I crawled in after, pivoted to one side, and flung my own legs over his with knees pressed to his stomach since I couldn't stretch out completely. He placed one hand on my shins and the other on my knee between inhales because where else was he supposed to toss his limbs in this thing.

"Cozy," he noted.

"Serves the purpose. Keeps the smoke in pretty okay, too. If you weren't so fucking big we could close the door."

"Captain would give me another disciplinary memo if he saw this one."

"Then we just won't tell him, will we…Hey, I'm uh, I'm - sorry about last night, Hank. I was probably more drunk than I was willing to admit. That being said, I still meant what I said. But I'm sorry for uh - you know." I clicked my tongue and pointed a loose finger at his crotch. Before I let him say anything in an awkward or angry reply, I added, "Good to know it still works though. Told you you weren't old."

I stared at an inner corner of the castle and smiled so I wouldn't have to see the mix of revulsion and embarrassment on his face until several moments later. He coughed and I shifted my knees enough so they weren't pressing against him anymore.

"Sorry," I said. Sorry for the comment, sorry for the smoke, sorry for the physical contact. Pick one.

"Didn't come here to talk about that. How about you shut up and we just sit here, okay."

"Sounds good."

I hadn't looked at the time before coming over and I had no idea what time it was now but after I finished the joint, I hunched over to take a look out of the plastic doorway to the rest of the park. I was barely aware of Hank's " Woah, whatchu doing?" as I stared off aimlessly. I felt a hand against my back, not holding, just placed there to rest.

"You come here often?"

I know what he meant but I laughed anyway and did a horrendous imitation of his deep inflection, still staring off into the grass beyond. " Hey baby, you come here often to see where your bro died, get fucked up, and pass out? Wanna make out on the slide? I come as often as I need to, Hank. Guessing you do, too."

"Don't ever do that again."

I leaned back forcing him to move his arm back to my leg, my own arms across my chest. "What, you don't like the voice? I'll try again. ' Hey, Alex, thanks for cleaning up my fucking house and taking care of my dog and being the best damn bartender in the city limits'. "

"Hey, I didn't ask you to do any of that."

I scoffed. "Maybe not but like I said yesterday you haven't kicked me out. And what the fuck you doing enjoying a smoke with me in this playhouse if you didn't like me one way or another. And you fuckin' kissed me back last night in case your memory is starting to fail you, you old bastard. And if I felt correctly, you were starting to sprout a boner. So, ya know, you're welcome. For all of that."

He grimaced at the memory but didn't say anything.

I sighed. "I'm sorry. Okay? But I still - I needed last night."

"You and me both."

Neither of us moved for a while. I was vaguely aware of Hank's fingers idly scratching at the fabric of my left leg as he sat with closed eyes.

I had a low buzz going, just enough to simply be a little sleepy. "Hey Hank, I forgot to tell you something but you know, you might not care cause it means spending more time with me."

Without opening his eyes, he said, "Don't be an ass, Alex. What."

"Some uh, some venue popped up in my feed earlier today. Like one of the only live stages left in the city, in some underground bar or club or I dunno. I don't think it's… too far from here. Might actually be around the docks. They're having uh, that band you like. The… Black Hooded Death on Horses . Some fuckin' name like that. Angry lookin' guy. I dunno. You know who I'm talking about?"

He looked at me with a gaping mouth, wide enough I could shove my fingers into, before he snapped it shut and then answered, " Knights of the Black Death ? How the hell can you butcher a band name so bad, Alex. You've played them for me in the bar before."

I grunted. "Sorry, didn't remember. But yeah, that's it. I got tickets. It's in a few weeks. So clear your desk 'cause I'm taking you. That okay?"

He was about to say something but shut his mouth again, instead patting me on the shin "Thanks."

"Oh my God , did Hank Anderson actually just say 'thank you'. It's like a fuckin' miracle. I'm gonna call Fowler right now and let him know, maybe he'll thin out that disciplinary report. I'm gonna get you a fuckin' Boy Scouts badge for that one."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, you do that. My back's gonna give out in here, move it so I can stretch." He whacked my legs. I managed - with absolutely no grace - to pull my legs completely back over so I was crunched tight against the one side of the castle. Hank scootched down so that his lower body was now revealed to the park and he pressed his palms up to the low ceiling to stretch. I think every bone in his body popped in the motion but he made no more gesture to leave entirely. He clasped his hands on his stomach, and was angled awkwardly to one side so I had at least a foot or two to myself.

"Don't get any ideas," he said.

"Tough shit," I replied. Ignoring his grumbles, I stretched out as well, able to lay flat and flush against his right side, head cocked up on his shoulder, left leg flung over his right through the tiny doorway. I shoved a hand into one of my pockets and brought out a partially flattened cigarette. I had one more and then a pack in the car, I remembered.

"Where's your lighter?"

"You're laying on it." I unceremoniously fished around in his jeans pocket for the device - " Jesus Christ, careful down there !" - lit up, then crossed my arm over my body in offering. He took it as I fished out my other. Same routine then I shoved the lighter back in his pocket. "Do you mind?"

"Nah."

Hank must have finally resigned himself to his horrible situation. He loosened his right arm from between us and flung it around behind my head. I shifted to better rest myself in the crux of his armpit and stared up at the cobweb that had formed during the time of our little meditative session. I curled over after several minutes to my left side, switching which leg was over his, and pushed up to fling my right arm over his torso.

"You really feel the need to keep moving?"

"Why. Does it bother you?" I asked with rolled eyes. I breathed out the smoke away from him and flicked the ash against the other wall, tossing the butt into a corner to fizzle out. Hank was done with his and I plucked it out of his mouth to stab on the ceiling and tossed somewhere as well. I pushed up again as best I could in the tight space, flung my leg over and looked down at him squarely with hands to either side of his head.

I could tell he was forcing his eyes upwards instead of down my loose blouse. "Fuckin' squishing me. Gonna piss me off in about two seconds if you don't move."

"Alright Hank. What the hell is your problem with me? Hm? You been making your rounds of the bars for almost two years, including where I work; I been driving you home on and off for the past year cause I swear to God, I must be the only person left in this shit hole that doesn't want to get in trouble for a cop dying from alcohol poisoning. My coworkers are just fine in letting people trudge off, cause no one gives a flying fuck anymore. Someone died? Replace em with an android. Excuse-fuckin'-me for thinking we were friends." I lowered my voice a note as I continued, looking at a spot past his head to gather my thoughts. "Look, I know I can be a little forward, all right. But life's too short to putz around. You just want me to be the chick who holds your hair back when you puke then I can be the chick who holds your hair back when you puke. It's been a long couple nights with you that I have really needed and I really enjoyed and…." I had lost my confidence with the last few sentences and rolled off him to my back.

In another moment, I was crawling out of the castle completely to stand out in the fresh air and stretch properly. I heard him grunt behind me in a difficult effort to leave the cramped space but my eyes had already unconsciously focused on that patch of grass beyond the swing set and I didn't even realize he was speaking to me until he blocked my view and bent down just enough to meet my eyes.

"You okay? You spaced out there."

I snapped myself back with a sharp inhale. "Yeah. I'm sorry. Getting depressed in a depressing location isn't what I'd call a good night. But…I'm glad you were here. I'm sorry if I - fucked up your night, Hank. Really." I considered saying something else but instead brushed past him to head to my car, careful to steer clear of the grass.

I couldn't even form a coherent thought. I was tired, more flustered now than when I had left the house, remotely confused and confusingly horny, thankful that Hank was here to get my mind off my brother and my disturbing ritual, but angry that I couldn't just sit with my brother's ghost in the grass in peace. This must have been the first night I let myself get so distracted. It was royally and inordinately fucked up.

I slid in behind the steering wheel, blank gaze numb to any external stimulation, laid my head against my forearms on the wheel, and cried.

My door clicked open, startling me from my dark thoughts. "Holy crap, Hank," I croaked, wiping my hands over my eyes.

He grabbed my upper arm and tugged. "Come on. Not gonna let both of us go home

fucked up. You been helping me too much these days. Least I can do."

I relinquished my grip on the wheel and pushed out another deep sigh. He slammed the door behind me, wrapped two arms around my back and held tight. I was startled at first then began to ease and I held to his back and burrowed my face into his coat.

"It's okay," he said. Whether he was saying it to himself or to me or to the memories that hung in this park, I don't know. Truthfully, none of it was okay . How could it be. Hank came here to relive lost memories with his dead son, I came to watch my brother's body be covered in tarp and hauled into an ambulance year after year. It was so. messed. up .

I clutched to Hank's back, squeezing my eyes shut, trying so hard to just concentrate on the feel of the man. He let me be for a few minutes, perhaps needing this as well, before he pulled back and released me completely, shoving his hands in pockets and stepped aside. "Are you, uh, you okay to get home?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Don't um… don't stay out too long, Hank. This place isn't...it's not good for us."

He waited for me to get back in the car and turn on the ignition before he asked, "You're still taking me to that concert, right?"

I smiled and waved a couple fingers in goodbye. "You have a good night, Hank."

The following Wednesday, one of my coworkers let slip to me that it was Hank's son's birthday and that if last year was any indication, they weren't going to see him until after the anniversary of the accident, which was three weeks later.

A debate raged in me then and I let the worried friend win.

When my brother was found dead, the last thing I wanted was sympathy from other friends or family. They could all righteously fuck off. But I also empathized with that happened when you were left alone with your grief for too long.

I peeked into Hank's windows, the few that were moderately cracked and found nothing suspicious. He wasn't passed out in the lawn or the driveway, but as I turned back to my own car, I spotted him slunked in his front seat with the window cracked halfway.

I reached in a hand to shake his shoulder. " Hank ," I hissed. "Hey."

He grumbled, asleep. I took my hand back out and then cracked open the door, bending down to eye level. "Hank."

He grumbled again and blinked awake to glare at me.

"Why the fuck do I see you so often these days, Alex. Go home."

"I'm not gonna do that, Hank. Just checking on you. I know today's-"

"Go home, Alex. Not going to tell you again. Don't need you hanging around."

"Hank - "

"I said to FUCK OFF, ALEX. Go!"

He turned his attention back to the dashboard as I stepped back with shaky hands on hips.

"Fine," I said. "Fuck you, too."

I felt horrific saying that as I went back to my own car, but it was the only language he understood.

As predicted, we didn't see him for the following weeks. At some point, my morbid curiosity got the better of me and I dug up the obituary online. October 11th. That was Sunday.

So on Sunday, my stupid stubborn ass dragged me back to his house but it was to no avail. His car wasn't even in the driveway.

I stopped by a couple other bars in the area to peek my head in. Plenty of languishing older men, none of whom sporting that unique grumbling disdain.

The playground, maybe?

I crunched up through the stones slowly, shutting the headlights as I approached where Hank and I had run into each other last month. I was delicate in each subsequent motion in case he actually was here; I didn't want to startle him or have him yell at me in the middle of the night in the middle of a park. Didn't need any more loose pages flying around Fowler's office with Hank's name on them.

I spotted a dark form on a far off bench down a side path. Could be one of the thousands of homeless in the city, but no, the disheveled half-fallen over man was just Hank on his stomach, fingers barely scraping the sidewalk. An empty bottle of scotch visible a foot under the bench.

I whispered his name as I approached. Fruitless, I knew. I knelt down before his face and brushed the hair aside to reveal closed eyes and a gaping snoring mouth. I didn't know what to do; I didn't feel obligated to do much of anything, as horrible as that sounded to myself. He is allowed to grieve . This was only the second anniversary of his son's death. It may have already been a decade for me, but I knew what the years felt like and each annual reminder was as raw and disintegrating to the mind as the next. Without laying judgment or encouragement, I understood.

I leaned back against the bench, careful not to touch him, but looped a couple fingers through his hand dangling down.

I sat, again cautious not to make any movements more than necessary. I stayed awake for as long as could, just to make sure he didn't fuck himself up in his sleep or choke on his puke.

...

The sun startled me coming over the river and I was flat on my back on the concrete. I looked up to see Hank sitting up straight at the other end of the bench, leaning back with one foot over the other knee. I pushed up to my elbows and he peered down at me.

"Thought I told you to fuck off, Alex."

"And I say, tough shit , Hank." I managed to push myself up, my back aching, and brushed off my pants from the debris and leaves. I walked over a couple feet into the grass before turning back to look at him, that default sourpuss contempt greeting me a bad morning.

"You're welcome," I said.

"How'd you know I'd be here?"

"I just figured."

"When'd you get here? You were ass up when I came to."

"I dunno, quarter after twelve maybe. I don't remember…. Hey, you uh...I'll see you, Hank."

"Yeah."

I barely made it ten feet before he spoke up again. "Al."

I stopped to look back. "What."

He shook his head before nodding a goodbye. He was still sitting when I pulled away.

A/N: Welcome. If you're coming here from 'Experiences, Connor', this is the story of Hank's old mystery woman, so I guess kind of a spoiler alert, but if you haven't noticed already, I'm big into the non-linear. My plan at the moment is to tie the two stories together near their ends and experience the same scene/s from both OC's perspectives. This fic is kinda my way to experiment with narrative structures and multiple 1st person POVs since I've never done anything of this magnitude before. If you've ever read the Divergent series and then Four, that's kinda the storytelling style I want to play with near the end. 'Experiences, Connor' is the main fic, and 'Hankerings' will divulge a little extra information. But if you're reading 'Hankerings' without having read 'Experiences,' that's okay. I'm treating this as a standalone story in its own right. Also if anyone's wondering about Hank's tattoo, it's from the game's concept art by Mikael Leger.