Another day, another chapter.
Hey all! New chapter up. Hope y'all like!
Chapter 3: Making Amends
It had been a while since Hank had been this pissed off.
After storming out of the room like a dramatic preteen girl, Hank had indeed gone to the library, but quickly left again after a few minutes of angrily shuffling through some pages.
He wasn't even sure why he was so angry, he thought as he paced the halls unseeingly. It was just that the moment he had seen Connor, something in him burned brightly and it rubbed him the wrong way. Something about his goofy face and his weird voice just pissed the man off. It might have something to do with the fact he tried to kill Markus, the only decent guy in the facility, but Hank thought it ran deeper. After all, he hadn't been too disturbed the other night. It was different, more visceral. Something about Connor rubbed him wrong, made him defensive.
Maybe it was his creepy, blank stare. Not many people had such a blank face and were actually really decent people. It wasn't like Luther, who had blank eyes, but it was clear he was hiding deep pain inside. No. This kid, /Connor/, purposely hid his emotions. And that rubbed him wrong.
What was it those blabbermouth nurses had said about Connor? That he'd been an abuse case, controlled by his adoptive mother? Maybe that was what made him so blank, Hank mused, as he passed the door to the music room. He stopped abruptly after a second, before peering into the room. Upon seeing it empty, he headed inside and went to the old piano in the corner. While not as good as the baby grand, it was a solid piano, which Hank had first began learning to play on about 6 months ago, when he finally agreed to join Markus's music class. While he wasn't good, it helped calm his thoughts well enough.
With non-practiced hands, Hank let his fingers fumble with the keys. He let out a few chords before trying a simple melody. It sounded a bit wonky to his ears, but it wasn't bad. After a few minutes of fiddling with the piano, Hank sighed and thought about Connor again. The anger he had felt before rose once more, causing him to take a deep breath.
Whatever the reason, he didn't like the kid. Something about Connor bugged him. He didn't know what, exactly, but it was something. And now he had to share a room with him.
Fuck. He knew that despite his dramatic demand that he'd still have to share the room. And he wasn't going to be upset with Markus over it. It wasn't the volunteer's fault. Markus didn't make the room selections, so yelling at him would do nothing. With a sigh, Hank pressed his grizzled fingers on the keys of the piano, letting them rest as he stared. He smiled grimly when he remembered old Luther, staring blankly at the keys. Maybe there was something about it, after all.
Maybe he should try and make nice with the kid. It wasn't like he'd done anything personal to Hank. Sure, he'd tried to kill a guy he was fond of (he'd admit that much, no more), but if the guy himself could forgive the kid, maybe he should, too? He couldn't be more than 30, as youthful as his face was. Maybe younger. And there was an… innocence, about him. A naivety that underscored his actions. Perhaps Hank realized that, given the chance, he could really come to care about the kid. Maybe that's why he hated him. Maybe, just maybe, the naive innocence reminded him just a little bit of Co-
He slammed his hands down on the keys, relishing the dissonant clang that the keys made.
But that wasn't Connor's fault. Maybe Hank couldn't be friendly, but he could at least not be hostile. It was hard enough, being admitted into a mental hospital against your will. While Jericho was pretty good, all things considered, it was still a bit of a prison. While they had more freedom than a traditional jail, they still weren't allowed to leave. At least, Connor wouldn't be able to, since he was court-ordered to be here, like Hank. With another sigh, he rubbed his hand against his beard. It was getting a bit long, so he'd have to ask the nurses to trim it. He wasn't allowed near razors, given what had happened the last time. He hadn't meant to do it, it had just… happened.
He'd be nicer to Connor, he decided. Not friendly, since Hank was never friendly. But maybe indifferent. He wouldn't make the kid's life harder than it was. If he really was a head-case and had the opportunity to get better, who was Hank to stop him?
With that decided, Hank stood and left the music room. Without anywhere else to go, Hank headed back to the library to read for the next half hour before dinner was served. Once in the library, he picked up one of the trashy romance novels he would deny enjoying with his dying breath and read until he heard the tone that indicated that dinner was being served. He got up with a groan, his aging back aching, and sauntered to the dining room.
Dinner was a simple affair that day, some spaghetti and meatballs with a side of garlic bread, nothing that needed a knife to cut. He'd kill for a good, greasy cheeseburger, but they tried to go healthy here. The closest he'd gotten Markus to agree to was a turkey burger with lettuce, tomatoes, and onion. No cheese. Sometimes Chris would smuggle him a cheeseburger, and he swore he'd kiss the man if the man wasn't happily married. As it was, the spaghetti was pretty good. The food had improved drastically after Markus had arrived, the man mentioning to Hank once that he'd always hated the food they served at the place when he'd been a patient there. Hank could sympathize, as that had been one of his biggest problems with the place at first. The food had been like plastic, flavorless and rubbery. Now they used good ingredients (some fresh from the vegetable garden beside the rose garden) and made the food at the site, with help from patients who were allowed in the kitchen. Hank wasn't, even if he had wanted to help, due to all the sharp objects. Which, fair.
He ate the food slowly, listening in to his fellows' gossip. Apparently, they were all excited about Connor, their gossip mounting now that the man was there. This always happened with new patients, Hank knew it would die down in a few days. Well, if they didn't catch wind of why Connor was in here.
As he listened, he found that people had figured out that Connor had been transferred from the DPD's holding cells, and that he was roomed with Hank. He got a few odd looks from some patients, whispering behind their hands. He scowled back, doing his best to look unapproachable. It worked, since no one came up to ask him any questions about the kid. One plus about being the town grouch was that no one really bugged him.
After half an hour he finished his food, but instead of leaving, he just sat and waited. It wasn't like he had anything better to do, and the dining hall was the nicest room in the place, with its warm walls, decent lighting, and nice wooden tables. It was better than anywhere else. And he couldn't go back to his room just yet, so there was no problem just sitting around. He did get up so that he could throw out his trash and get a newspaper, though.
The next hour and a half passed that way, Hank slowly perusing the paper and listening into the gossip. As the time passed, the dining room slowly emptied, until it was just him and the few stragglers who had come to dinner late.
It was at 7:30 that Hank began frowning, eyeing the room. He'd been there since the beginning of dinner and hadn't left except to piss about half an hour earlier. But he would have noticed if his new roommate had decided to show up, if only because of the fuss it would have made. As the remaining half hour passed on, there was no sign of Connor. Hank's frown grew deeper and deeper, until it was all over his face. Finally, 8:00 came along, with the volunteers packing up the food and putting stuff away. He was still allowed to stay in the room until curfew at 10:00, but he could see the staff cleaning the tables and wiping down the chairs.
With a groan, his eyes rolling in his skull, head shaking at his own stupidity, Hank made a decision and stood up, headed for the closing kitchen.
"Hold up, hold up!" Hank grumbled, catching Markus's eye. With a pleasant smile, Markus moved towards the window between the kitchen and dining room that the food was served out of.
"Hello Hank. Was there anything you needed?"
Scowling, Hank nodded slowly, fighting with his own decision. It was stupid, beyond stupid, but it might make up for his horrible behavior earlier. Maybe.
"Yeah," Hank started slowly, taking a slow breath before continuing, "I do. I'd like an extra plate of spaghetti, if you don't mind."
Technically speaking patients were allowed to get seconds if they wanted, but Hank rarely asked, at least not on days they had the blander options. That was probably why Markus's eyebrows shot up, an inquisitive look in his eyes.
"You want an extra serving? I guess you're feeling hungry today," Markus remarked cheerfully, surprise still in his eyes, but not bringing it up. Hank considered leaving it at that, letting Markus assume what he wanted, but instead he rolled his eyes and decided on telling the truth.
"It uh, it ain't for me."
At that, a look of complete shock came over Markus's face. Hank wasn't sure he'd ever seen the man so surprised. He'd almost find it funny, if there wasn't heat creeping up on his cheeks and neck. He scowled when Markus grinned widely at him, obviously knowing who Hank was bringing the food to. So sue him. The food here, while good warm, tasted like shit when cold. He was just being nice. He could be nice, right? Extend an olive branch? Besides, he had a creeping suspicion it was his fault the kid hadn't left his room and he felt guilt climb in his stomach at the thought. He may be an asshole, but he wasn't into scaring people so bad they refused dinner.
With another grin, Markus turned to the kitchen and started to set up another plate of food, putting a plastic cover over it so that it would stay warm. Still grinning, almost smugly (the bastard), Markus returned and handed Hank the plate.
"Here you go, Hank!" Markus exclaimed cheerfully, eyes twinkling. Hank scowled deeper, yanking the plate from the infuriating man. Why did he tolerate this piece of shit, again? He turned to leave, when Markus called out to him. "Make sure you give Connor my best."
Even though he was turned, he could hear the smug tone in the man's voice. Hank tensed and was almost ready to throw the plate in trash and be done with it. But, remembering his actions toward the kid, Hank knew he had to offer something. Plus, he did feel sympathy towards Connor. He knew how tough the first day could be. So, with that in mind, Hank just lifted his middle finger and barked back, "fuck you, you cocksucker," before heading out the door. Markus's laughter following him out.
In the hallway, Hank allowed some of the tension to leave his shoulders. He wasn't used to doing nice things for people, so he was feeling very tense about this. What if Connor didn't appreciate the gesture? What if he was offended? What if it just made things worse?
Well, nothing ever got done by thinking of 'what if's' (and God did he know that truth), so he forced his old body to start moving, ignoring the creaking of his bones. Maybe North's dance class would be good for him. It would be good to have exercise, he supposed, other than walking around the facility, bored out of his mind.
All too quickly, Hank reached his (and now Connor's) room, the door slightly foreboding to him. He hesitated outside it. Funny. A cop for over 30 years and this was what scared him. A 30-something twink who had the most emotionless expression he'd ever seen. Like a doll playing at being human. Scowling yet again (one day his face would stick like that, his mother had used to say before she'd died of alcohol poisoning), he opened the door roughly, carefully holding the plate in one hand. He blinked in surprise when he noticed the room was pitch black, except for the light from the streetlights outside the window. Frowning, he turned to Connor's bed, and froze when he saw the sight before him.
While awake, the kid had a controlled expression on his face, as emotionless and blank as he could make it. Brown eyes showing nothing of what went through his mind. But in sleep, his entire face relaxed. He looked… younger, Hank decided, staring at the youthful expression. The face was softer, the roundness pronounced in sleep. He couldn't see his eyes, but the whole face was slack, not all bunched up like in his waking hours. His mouth was slightly open, soft breathing coming from his pink (and yes, /pillowy/) lips. From where he was, Hank could barely make out a few freckles, which made him swallow dryly. God, he looked cute.
Tensing again, Hank growled to himself, shaking his head viciously to get that thought out, his scar twinging. He didn't think people were cute. Puppies were cute. Little kids were cute. Hell, even cats were cute. People, much less his roommate, were not cute.
That thought firmly in place, Hank roughly placed the plate of food down on the bedside table beside Connor's bed, before heading out the room. He didn't know what he'd do, maybe try and watch TV on the ancient set that sometimes worked. He thought that a basketball game might be on, which he'd like well enough. He wasn't able to keep up with the sport as much as he would like while in here, but he still enjoyed watching every so often.
That decided, Hank left the room without a backwards glance, eyes decidedly not straying to the figure on the bed. He didn't care if Connor's food got cold. It was the thought that counted, right? Even if Connor didn't realize he was the one who brought it. Fuck. Whatever. He didn't care. He tried and look where it got him. Scowl firmly in place, Hank stormed into the common room, bypassing the startled looking patients. He glared at the people watching TV until they left with mildly terrified expressions. He felt a twinge of regret at that, but ultimately didn't care.
He switched the channel to ESPN and was relieved that the crappy TV decided to work that day. God, he hoped Markus would replace this TV soon. While the man wasn't in charge of the living areas or what was put in them, he would still sometimes gift the facility with new items when the old ones broke. Hank didn't know how much money the man had, but he was fairly sure he was loaded, given who his adoptive father had been. After Carl Manfred's death, the man had left both his sons half his fortune each. Markus's brother had been furious at that, contesting in court, but it was ultimately decided that Markus was entitled to half the fortune, though his brother got the house. Markus got the remaining paintings, though, so it was anyone's guess who got the better deal.
Settling in to watch the game, Hank tried his best to not think of his new roommate and was successful for about an hour. Then the game kind of stalled, no one scoring, and so Hank's mind wandered, try as he might to stop it.
The innocence of the kid sure had been exaggerated in sleep. He looked so young, there. And, try as he might, Hank couldn't help but compare him to...
He hated it. It had been a while since he'd thought of Co- of his so- of… of Cole. Of his boy. It still hurt, even three years later. The past month had been particularly bad, with another suicide attempt corresponding with the three-year anniversary. He hadn't really expected it to work, but it had gone farther than any of his other attempts while in the facility and it had concerned the doctors, who had forced him to start taking his meds. He had stopped, now, but it had helped for a bit, he guessed. He just hated medication, how it made him feel. He knew it would help, but… maybe he didn't want to get better. Maybe he just wanted to get worse and worse; to hit rock bottom.
God, he missed whiskey. What he wouldn't do for even a sip of the stuff. Maybe he'd wheedle some out of Chris the next time he saw him. Or maybe Ben. Ben was more disapproving of the vice, knowing Hank's history with the stuff, but he would be sympathetic if Hank begged. He'd be seeing Ben in a couple days anyway, when he brought Sumo to visit on Sunday. That got a small smile on his face, as he thought of his dog.
He missed Sumo. He missed his little house, that he'd gotten after Cole died. He missed his job, and his friends. Hell, he even missed the grocery store he used to shop at. He missed being part of the outside world, of being able to wander freely. Perhaps it was his fault, for not taking his meds, or not talking to the stupid psychiatrists or doctors. He probably could have checked himself out by now, had he not tried to kill himself last month. But it… it had hurt, so bad. Three years without Cole. His boy would have turned 9 that year. Hank had shot himself at Cole's previous birthday, when he'd thought of how happy Cole would have been to turn 8. When he remembered the happy expression that Cole always had on, even when he and his wife would fight. How Cole would hug him so tightly when he'd break down over something he'd seen on the job. How kind Cole was, to everyone. How everyone adored him. How friendly and happy his little boy was.
Hank hadn't even realized he was crying until he felt water hit his hands, blinking at the blurry room. He let out a soft gasp, and hastily scrubbed his eyes, before anyone saw. He didn't care who saw him cry, but he didn't want anyone to try and talk to him about it. Least of all Markus, if the man decided to wander in. Markus, for all his kindness, could be overwhelming with his sympathy. And Hank didn't want sympathy. He just wanted to curl up in a ball and die. Or maybe drink until he couldn't see straight, until the demons in his head shut up. Until he couldn't remember Cole. That just made more tears fall from his eyes, softly. He gasped, eyes squeezing shut tightly.
He didn't want to forget Cole. He never wanted to forget Cole. Cole was everything, and he'd deal with this pain as long as he could to give life to his son. If he forgot his son, then Cole was truly gone. And he couldn't bear that thought. He couldn't.
After a minute, he realized the tears wouldn't stop, so he stood hastily and made a beeline for his room. He knew that Connor was still there, but he hoped the kid was still sleeping. He rushed passed the lingering patients and volunteers, not stopping when a nurse called out to him.
Finally he made it to his room, where he paused outside the door to try and control his breathing. Leaning his head against the door, he breathed deeply, in and out, until he could breathe normally again. It took a few minutes, but that was okay. The tears wouldn't stop falling, though, so he just scrubbed the tears that were already on his cheeks away and carefully opened the door, so as to not wake Connor.
His endeavor was pointless, though, as the kid was sitting up in his bed stretching, hair mused slightly, eyes heavy with sleep. His eyes darted to Hank as soon as the door was opened and Hank watched as the kid's eyes widened as he noticed the tears that still fell from his cursed eyes. He tried to scowl but found he couldn't quite manage it.
"Lieutenant…?" Connor started hesitantly, only to shut up when Hank glanced fiercely at the kid, scowl firmly up, glare cutting. He didn't want to talk about it. He just wanted to shower and forget this had happened. God, he wished he had booze. He'd even take those fruity cocktails he'd always said he hated but secretly liked. He'd take even a wine cooler, for Christ's sake. He just wanted to be numb for a while. To forget for one night.
He realized that he was staring at Connor, who was staring back. Tears still fell, so Hank scrubbed them away again, before storming into the bathroom, locking the door viciously. Taking deep breaths, Hank undressed and went into the shower, turning the water as hot as it would go in winter, and tried to erase his thoughts.
It took almost half an hour for the tears to stop, the water long since turned cold, before he felt sane enough to try and venture out into the room. He hadn't bothered to grab any clothes on his way in, as focused as he was on getting away, so he'd have to do the walk of shame. Wrapping his towel around his hips, Hank hoped that Connor had gone back to sleep, so the kid wouldn't be scarred at seeing his old man chest.
But his luck had officially run out, because Connor was still awake, picking at the dinner Hank had brought for him. As soon as Hank entered the room Connor's head popped up, wide eyes staring at Hank. Hank flushed when he noticed Connor's eyes darting down, over his chest, causing the older man to defensively cross his arms over his bare skin. He hadn't gotten much exercise since he'd left the force, and years of drinking daily and eating takeout food had given him a bit of a gut. Even staying in the facility, which had better food and no alcohol (regrettably), hadn't done much for the fat, not without proper exercise.
Once he got his bearings back, he stormed over to his dresser and picked out his night clothes, feeling Connor's eyes roving over his back. He tried not to tense, not liking the heavy stare. Picking clothes at random, Hank hurriedly went back to the bathroom to change, slamming the door loudly, feeling a touch of satisfaction at the sound.
Done dressing, Hank stormed back out into the room and laid down in his bed, staring at the ceiling, body tense. The lights from outside gave enough light to see around the room, and Hank hated the shadows that danced on the ceiling. He pushed out thoughts of Cole, who'd always been afraid of the dark, wanting to sleep with him and his wife more nights than not. He hadn't slept well in years, always expecting to find a warm body beside him in the bed. Pushing the thought away, Hank slammed his eyes closed, willing sleep to find him.
Long minutes later, just as Hank was about to drift off, the only sound in the room the silent breathing of both men, he heard a soft voice, so soft he almost thought he had imagined it.
"Thank you," the voice breathed, causing Hank's eyes to open abruptly, head tilting to look at the bed to the right of him. He could barely make out Connor's face amongst the pillows and blanket, but he could see those deep brown eyes staring at him, emotion shuttered inside them. Hank felt his throat dry. He wasn't sure what the kid was thanking him for. The dinner? The olive branch? Something else?
"Don't mention it," Hank grumbled lowly, head facing up again. He felt Connor's eyes linger on him until he finally drifted into sleep.
Well. This sure was going to be interesting.
Poor Hank. :-( Just saying, I have Hank cry a bit in this story, so if that's not your jam, I apologize. I just wanted to focus on the "getting better" aspect of depression, and you can't get better without feeling worse. Well, you can, but not with Hank. Plus, he's missing his favorite coping mechanism, here, so I feel like crying after your son dies is a bit of a natural response.
Also, I added a new tag, mostly due to things that happen in the chapter I just wrote, chapter 17. And with things that happen with Reed, who I don't really like. So, just a warning, I use some ableist language, which, for those of you who don't know what that means, means that I kind of have characters be rude to mentally ill people and use slurs. I bleep out the really bad ones, but I just wanted people to know beforehand. :-)