(A/N: Went to upload a new chapter to AO3 and realized I'm about 4 behind on this website, i'm so sorry! Catching up now! ~AM)

Apparently he had made his stop at the bar three times over the next couple weeks although I was only on shift for one. A nondescript late night in which I dropped him off home but didn't dare invite myself in although he lingered in the car for a few extra moments than usual.

"Hey, uh, I've never actually thanked you, have I. For as long as you've been doing this for me."

I shook my head and chuckled. "In your own kinda way. But it's okay, don't worry about it. I'm just doing my job."

"Hm. Job as an employee or job as a friend?"

"Both, I guess."

He grunted again and started to get out of the car when he paused and looked over at me. "You gonna come inside and clean up or what?"

I spoke half to him, half to the center-console in my car, not quite able to meet his eyes fully. "Hank, you know exactly what's going to happen if I come inside. I'll probably try to kiss you again and you'll tell me to fuck off. And you'll insist that I'm some weird young girl..."

He didn't reply at once, instead stepping out of the car completely and then bent down to talk. "I need to take a shower. Park the car and don't fuckin' spy on me." He slammed the door shut and I watched him walk up the few yards. I sat for a few minutes in comfortable blanketing silence, watching a couple raccoons chase each other down the street. Spilled garbage slowly leaked into the sewer taking the day's lavish love of consumerism with it. I had no idea what was going through this man's mind and I don't know if I would ever pull an answer from him, but right now, I wasn't about to refuse the company.

I entered the dark house which was illuminated only by the light in the kitchen and the faint glow of the television. I took off my jacket and shoes, tossing my keys aside on the bookshelf, and softly padded across the hardwood floor. I heard the water running in the bathroom and maybe if I had all those beers from the other night still in my system I would have dared to see what was beyond the ajar door. Sumo came to greet me from the hallway and I knelt down to sit with him for several minutes. I treated myself to water from the tap, putting a few used dishes in the machine, and then curled up on his sofa in wait.

Except that this turned into a very long shower. Sometimes men jerk off while wasting water, but that would be a little weird now, wouldn't it. "Ah shit." I scrambled up from the sofa and slid across the flooring. I peered through the crack, hearing only the water but no noise.

"Hank? Are you okay?"

No response.

"Hey. You all right?" I said louder.

Quiet.

"Fucking hell," I said. I breathed in deep, praying he wasn't having a very quiet distracted wank, and pushed open the door. His things were discarded on the tile and there was definitely no voice and no movement. I tried one more time, just in case. Last thing I needed now was for him to get pissed off that I had walked in on something. "Hank?"

Nope.

"All right. Shit. Don't get mad at me," I said, pulling the curtain aside.

The man was seated in the tub under the spraying water - which I quickly turned off - which means he hadn't passed out while standing. Thank God, because I had no idea what to do about concussions or shit like that. His legs were bent up and splayed to the sides. He was going to be so mad. I quickly rushed to find a couple clean towels in his hampers and tossed them unceremoniously on the man, then knelt down to rearrange and press them firmly to dry him off. One for his chest and arms, one for… his legs. I grabbed one more for his hair, vigorously drying that down so he wouldn't catch cold. That seemed to wake him up.

"What the - holy fuck, Alex, what the hell?" he yelled.

I knelt back with the towel still in hand and cocked a worried smile. "You - uh, I think you passed out. I was in the living room but you weren't coming out, so..."

It took him another couple moments of realization to come to terms with the situation. His eyes flared and I could tell he was about to yell but managed to stop himself at the last second.

"You should go wait. Out there."

"Yeah, yeah of course," I said standing. As I turned, I noticed the couple prescription bottles on his sink. I paused for a moment as I heard him stand. "Hank," I said turning back. He was wrapping one towel around his waist and tossed the other to the floor.

"Thought I told you to go."

"You did. Are you still taking these?" I rattled the bottle to get his attention.

"Ah. Yeah, that's probably what did it." He stepped out of the tub and came over to grab the blowdryer from the mounted shelf. "You getting out of here or what?"

I sighed and put the pills back down, heading back to the living room. I had half a mind to just leave and go home and give up for the night. I have no idea why I stayed. Stupidity, perhaps. My own loneliness. Some fucked up commonality, a little bit of jealousy that he was so blatantly unafraid to mix drugs and see which end would be up in the morning.

I treated myself to his whiskey, an almost-empty bottle of Jameson and curled up on the sofa to wait for Hank to emerge, nursing at it like a tit.

I heard the fridge door open and I offered up his own stash with a wave of my arm, the liquid sloshing like a dinner bell at Cracker Barrel. Hank came over and snatched it from my grasp, going behind the sofa to his chair.

"Fuck's sake, Hank…"

"What."

"That." I nodded at his lazy clothing choice: slippers, dark green boxers, and a loosely belted blue robe that framed the tattoo. I noted another one peeking out from under the shorts on his left thigh.

"What."

"It's like you do these things on purpose."

I took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling, crossing my ankles up on the coffee table. I splayed my arms behind me in a stretch before pushing out another sigh and forcing myself to look at the man downing a couple full swallows of the whiskey.

He paused and asked, "You're not seriously turned on by this."

It's like he completely forgot about his semi the other night. What the fuck was Hank playing at with me?

I raised my eyebrows and gestured with an upward jutting palm to indicate, Yeah, you dumb fart.

He peered at me through half-lidded eyes before shaking his head and giving his attention back to the bottle.

"You going to give that back or what? Barely got a chance," I said.

"Shit's mine, Al. You can pry it from my cold fucking dead fingers when I'm done."

"Gonna pry it from you right now if you don't know what's good for you."

He peered at me, wondering whether or not to accept that dare.

He didn't know what was good for him.

I dropped my feet from the table, pushed off the sofa, and perched myself up on the arm of the chair. He held the bottle up high in his right arm away from me.

"Fuck off! Get your own," he said, staring at the TV.

The infomercials had started.

Bling for your android! Only $39 + S&H. Call now!

"Christ…" I whispered. I plunged backwards into his lap from the arm, maybe a little too forcefully falling where I should(n't) have, and reached back to grab his wrist, vainfully trying to yank down his arm.

"Hey!" He stared down at our arrangements, which were much to his consternation. He dropped his arm to loll over the side and rested the other one on my knees.

He looked down at me, "The hell are you doing. Gonna make me puke you're so fucking heavy on my gut."

"This is what you get, you jackass." I shifted just enough against him to awkwardly splay my legs over the side of the chair, head resting over the other, and my arms draped over his leg.

"Here," he said. "If it'll make you get off me." He shoved the bottle over my side which I grabbed and finished off in a sputtering warm coughing fit. I set it down on the floor to roll away in a low clatter, thoroughly enjoying the quick and coursing sensation down my throat.

"You done now?" he asked.

I rolled back, eliciting another pained grunt from the man so I could look up at him properly and poke a finger into his chin.

"You scared me, Hank. I don't appreciate that."

He pulled my hand away to drop back in my lap.

"Don't really give a shit what you appreciate."

"Maybe just take the pills in the morning," I said.

"You my doctor now?"

"No, but it would be nice to know you won't pass out on top of me."

"The fuck would I -"

The realization took several moments to dawn. He grumbled something indistinguishable, quite the feat considering his face was inches above my head. As awkward as the position was, I didn't really want to move. That was short lived as he suddenly pushed me off his lap and I rolled to the floor in a heap. He stepped over and headed off back down the hallway. I pushed myself up following only part way to use the bathroom.

He had disappeared into the bedroom across the hall, bent over in a chair between the window and the bed. I noted his gun out on a side table, clothes strewn haphazardly around the furniture, and another half bottle of something under the lit lamp next to him. As I stood in the doorway, head already beginning to swim, I realized something.

"Hank." His head snapped up to look at me, cigarette hanging from his open mouth. "What am I doing here."

"Whatdyou mean."

"Nothing…" I think my theory from earlier was correct. He wanted the company and the distraction but either he had no idea how to express his wishes or would realize too late what the outcome of his actions would be and just roll with it.

Guessing that was one of the reasons his captain had to keep writing him up.

I strode over and plopped down on his messy bedspread to stretch out close to the edge near him. I held out a couple fingers in a pinching motion to indicate he should share.

Instead he tugged open the drawer in a rattle revealing another bottle of pills, another gun and a case of ammo, assorted crap, one half-full carton of cigarettes and a few loose rolling papers. I grabbed a smoke after much fiddling and scooted down further on the bed to roll onto my stomach, propping myself up on my elbows. Hank's eyes wandered not so discreetly for a second before he relaxed further into his chair.

"What do you usually do after I dump you off?"

My question seemed to startle him from whatever absent thoughts swirled behind his eyes.

"This. Why do you care so much?"

"Why do I care? Because I just fucking do, Hank. Is that really so tough for you to believe? Maybe I am a weirdo for wanting to spend time with an old alcoholic cop. Like I've said, get over yourself."

"You do think I'm old."

"Oh come on, it was a jab. How old are you?"

"52 last month."

"Hold on," I said, pushing up to my right side. "You had a birthday and didn't say anything."

"Not one to celebrate...so how do I stack up to the other ones you were into. Said you've dated older men before."

I snorted. "What, you jealous?" I rolled to my back and half propped up against the headboard. "Okay… uh, one was a grandfather at 40. That was a while ago. The guy with the android in the shed was um.. I dunno, 48 maybe. Few years ago was… fifty….five?"

"Oof. God what the hell is wrong with you."

I laughed again through my nose. "I told you. Guys my age are obsessed with these androids, you can't satisfy them. You know, I think you and folks 10, 20 years older than me, you know what it was like to live without those things. It's tough to compete when the android's got a better body and doesn't argue."

"Hm. No fucking human connection anymore."

"Yeah…" I stared up at the ceiling, deciding if I should keep stealing from his refrigerator or chain smoke. My current had burned out and I laid it over in his ashtray.

He decided for me when he stood and demanded I move over, tossing a pack of cigarettes on my chest. "Move your ass." I held it to myself and rolled over to the left, taking the lighter when he offered as he creaked in beside me. He grabbed the half bottle from his nightstand to join us as well.

We stayed like this for a while, stretched out flush beside each other (he wasn't too happy about the contact, but tough fucking shit, Hank Anderson) sipping away at the scotch between us and chaining a couple packs until his room reeked like my grandmother's ass after Jazzercise.

I took a short break in the middle of our binge to take a bathroom break and walk Sumo down the block while Hank peed. I wondered if the two of them ever went together. Probably. Guys had it easy.

Much to Hank's chagrin - but honestly what the hell did he expect at this point - I flopped an arm over and mindlessly and drunkenly ran my fingers along the inside of his robe, knuckles brushing against his chest.

"When'd you get that?" The ink.

"After graduation. Thought I was tough shit."

"You are tough shit. I like it."

Grunt.

"Shouldn't put yourself down, Hank."

"You're my therapist now, too? Position's already filled."

I had plenty of comebacks to that one but each would probably end with a bullet in my brain.

Instead I ungracefully rolled into him and flung a leg over, snaking a hand over his chest under the fabric, and rested my head along his shoulder, breathing in the booze and smoke from the night.

"You're doing this again?"

I muttered into his robe. "No fucking shit, Hank. I don't see you tossing me out the window. It's right there. Stop asking me questions and go fuck yourself."

After some contemplative moments, he finally rested his free hand along my back, his other still occupied with a smoke and his tumbler.

Eventually, I was getting antsy; I brushed my fingers over an old (what I assumed to be) bullet wound near the front of his right ribcage, then a few inches closer to me was the beginning of a scar, the remainder hidden under his robe.

"You can stop there," he said, grabbing my hand to drop back over his right side.

I didn't even realize I was kicking my legs back and forth until he said something. "Can you stop that, Jesus, why do you move so much?"

"Are you kidding me? You must have the most boring sex if you think I move a lot. Or I dunno, maybe you're used to girls just lying there." I pushed up to cross my arms over his chest and laughed into my elbow.

He pushed out a sigh and finished his current glass.

"I think it's time for you to go to sleep. Move."

"Mmmm, nope, I'm good, thanks though." I slithered off of him and rolled to my other side, sprawling over the edge of the bed. "You always deflect, Hank."

"What're you saying?"

"You deflect. I say something that makes you uncomfortable, you deflect."

"Not going to talk to you like this," he muttered. "I'll be with Sumo."

My morning self would realize that was the smart decision. My drunk nighttime self, kind of a pain in the ass.

"You're doing it again, Hank." I felt him get up and pad around the bed toward the door. "You don't have to leave your own bed."

From the hallway he replied, "Yes, I do."

At some point which felt like hours later in the middle of the night, I got up to use the bathroom in the dark, washing down my face in the sink, sobering up ever slowly. I had forgotten I had taken my pants off to get more comfortable in his bed, and hoped that Hank wouldn't catch me as I stumbled into the kitchen.

I heard him snoring from the sofa and went over to peak down at him from over the back cushions. The robe was flung open, one leg up on the arm rest, the other sprawled out at an angle to the floor, horrific noises emanated from his mouth but Sumo was none the wiser from his corner by the computer; I think he was snoring a bit as well. I reached over to brush a few strands from Hank's face; he grumbled with the touch but didn't wake.

I got myself a full glass of water and found a stray bottle of Tylenol on the kitchen counter, settling against the room divider to spy on Hank's shadowed form in the dark, barely illuminated by the street lamps around the neighborhood. After a few moments, I crossed over the room and settled into the chair, curling my legs up beneath me, only a faint chill shuddering through my limbs. Cold, alcohol, nervousness, some diluted mixture of the above combined with the oddest sense of peace considering our fucked up circumstances.

I hadn't had a night like this before him in ages. Back when I was dating, sure. By myself, rarely, except for the pot at the playground. That was a staple.

I was just about to get up when I heard him utter my name in a grumble. "What you doing?"

"Just checking on you," I said. I tightened my legs under myself. "You should go back to your bed. I can sleep out here." I was horribly self-conscious that he was still looking at me. I had shed my bra as well but that's not what I was worried about. As quickly as I could, I launched myself from his chair and started back to his bedroom. In an equally fast motion, he was after me and grabbed my arm to stop me in the hallway.

"Is there something you want to tell me?"

"No." I lurched my arm back and continued into his bedroom.

"Alex." He was firm, demanding that I turn back to face him. I obeyed, knowing I wouldn't get out of this one. He flicked on the lightswitch in the bedroom, partially blinding us for a few moments before our eyes adjusted from the pitch darkness of the night.

"Fuck you do to yourself." He was standing in the doorway, giving me a once over but focusing on my lower body.

"They're old, Hank. Very old," I sighed. "It's okay, it's over… Can you shut the light back off, please?"

He did so after a pause then trudged back off down the hallway, leaving me flustered. I hadn't really planned on him finding out like that but it was my own damn fault for wandering around the house.

As I was getting back into his bed, I heard him return; he leaned against the doorway with crossed arms to look over at me.

"What?" I asked.

"How old?"

I sighed before responding. "14 to 18. I was 14 to 18 years old. Better for a while and then uh, started up again for about a year after my brother died.. I haven't since then. Don't feel the need to. Figured out other ways to manage."

The smoking, the drinks.

"The older men."

"Don't chide me, Hank. You make me sound like a serial dater. It was just the ones I told you about. Just three. Actually, I think you should be honored."

"Why's that."

Cause I actually like you.

I shrugged instead. "Don't ask me anymore about the scars and I'll get off your ass about your bad habits. But I…" I trailed off, running my hands up and down the bumps on my thighs before covering my lower half with his sheets and duvet.

"What?"

"I'd really like it if you took your bed back."

"You mean you want to share."

"Good deduction, Lieutenant. Knew you were in the force for a reason."

I hesitated again in empty thought before scooting myself back down on my side to face away from the door. Part of my mind was still rattling against my eyes from the night several weeks ago when he had started to kiss me back before his own body interrupted and he disappeared in embarrassment. Embarrassment, shame, fear; I wasn't quite sure.

I squeezed my eyes shut against his pillow, breathing in the cacophony of various alcohols and smokes and body odor. After a while, five, ten minutes, it all blurred together by now, I felt Hank maneuver to sprawl out beside me. I grabbed his arm to wrap over me and curled into his side. He didn't reject me this time and I quickly fell back asleep.