Hey all!

Final chapter! So, I've gotten out of the Detroit fandom a bit, but I'm still appreciative of those of you who like this story of mine. Thank you all for reading. Chances are I won't write the epilogue I had planned, but I think this chapter ends on a good note.

Chapter title comes from the song The Call, by Regina Spektor.

Also! Those of you who enjoy Avengers and have seen Endgame! I wrote a little two chapter story about Tony and Steve, platonic friendship style. Check it out if you've seen Endgame and like Tony and Steve getting some closure. :-) I won't say anything about the plot, since the whole premise is a spoiler, so I just say check it out if you want.

Thank again everyone!

Enjoy!

Chapter 19: Now We're Back to the Beginning.

The thing about being shot is that it hurts like hell.

Seriously, there is no pain worse than being shot. Hank was sure of it.

Unfortunately, life as a cop meant that you got shot at on a regular basis. Especially in a city like Detroit. However, Hank wasn't a cop anymore. And here he was, still getting shot.

Hank had honestly thought he was going to die. He'd been prepared for it, too. He had watched Connor and his brother in front of him, eyes blurry from pain, and knew that he was going to die. But he had to finish the job. This one last, important mission, before he met his maker. Or the oblivion of death. Whichever.

It had been hard, trying to figure out who was who, mind tinged with pain and eyes going dark. But then. Connor. Sweet, amazing, incredible Connor, who he would never deserve in a million years… Connor had said he loved him. He loved him. Him, Hank Fucking Anderson, grouch extraordinaire. And it was then Hank knew. Not only which was Connor, because of course it was Connor, even if he didn't deserve it he knew it was Connor. But it wasn't just that. No. He also knew that he loved him, too. Against all odds. Against all logic. Hank had fallen in love with his frustrating roommate, who apparently was a cyborg. Or whatever.

And he was going to have to leave him.

Life really was a bitch, eh? You finally have something nice. Something good. And life ruins it. For the first time since Cole he had something to live for. Someone he wanted to live for. And it was then that life decided to take him. Not the many times he'd tried to take his own life. Not in that accident, when Cole died. But now, when he wanted so badly to live. To spend the rest of his Godforsaken life with this wonderful, amazing, beautiful man. This is when life chose to take him.

Life's a bitch.

After Connor's brother had been knocked out, he had known that Connor would wish to hug him. Maybe kiss him. Talk about how they felt. But…

But if Connor touched him then, he wouldn't have been able to hide his pain. He had felt himself getting weaker. He was only standing through sheer will power alone. His hand was covered in blood, the appendage doing nothing to stem the blood leaking from his gut. He was going to collapse soon. And he knew that if Connor saw that he was hurt, he might not finish his task. Connor felt so much, so brightly. And he'd decided that he loved Hank. Connor would feel such grief when he learned the truth.

So Hank hid it for a little while longer. Told Connor to finish his task. And he watched as Connor sent the message, the first few people waking up, then some more, and some more. Hank had felt such happiness and relief.

And then he had collapsed, his knees too weak to hold him any longer. The fall jolted something in him, causing all the air to be knocked out of his body, pain radiating out like nobody's business. He tried not to make a sound, though. He didn't want to worry Connor.

But… of course, he did. Connor saw him, lying on the ground, his blood leaking onto the floor.

Connor's tears had nearly killed him then and there. He hated to see the kid cry. Especially over a fucker like him. Connor should be happy, Hank felt. He should be overjoyed that he'd won. Not crying over a man he never should have loved. Not over him.

The kiss they shared… it wasn't perfect. Hell, it probably wasn't even in the top five of his "best kisses."

And yet, it was the best. Ever. Because it had been with Connor. The man he loved. The man who loved him.

The man he was leaving.

He could feel it coming. The pain mounting. His breath growing more and more shallow. He couldn't see much anymore, darkness encroaching the corners. But he had to comfort Connor. Had to give him the last words he had.

"… Just know that I… that I love you, kid. Always… always love you. But you'll be… you'll be fine. Promise. It's okay. I'll be… I'll be okay. I'm just… going home."

Then he'd known nothing more. Just the black nothingness of oblivion.

He'd thought that would be it. He thought that was where he met his maker. Where he died. Like he'd always wanted. Like he thought he'd deserved. At least he hadn't been alone. At least he hadn't been unloved. He had something above his father, at least. And his mother. So, as he died, he felt at peace.

And then the pain kicked in.

And he felt mad at the universe that there was pain even in death.

The pain lasted for hours. Everything hurt. His back. His head. His knees. And most of all, his stomach. It all hurt, so bad. He had wanted it to stop, for it all to stop.

But it didn't.

Was this Hell, he wondered? Was this what Hell was like? It wouldn't surprise him that he'd end up here. While he'd tried so hard to be a good, upstanding, law abiding cop, even in a world full of bad cops who did bad things, he still wasn't a saint.

But wasn't there less fire and brimstone than the Good Book claimed?

Fuck, he was confused. And in pain. And grouchy. Could people be grouchy in death? Fuck all if he knew.

But then… then he felt a hand grasp his. So warm. So soft. And then he had heard words. Kind, caring, sweet words. Pleading with him. Begging him. He couldn't understand them at first, but as time passed (if time could pass in death), he began to make them out.

"Please Hank. Just hold on a little while longer. Just hold on, for me. Please Hank. You need to fight this. I can't… I can't lose you. We won, Hank. We won! My people, they're free. You won them our freedom. But I don't care about that. I only care about you. So please, Hank. Come back to me. Please."

It must have been an angel. That was the only logical explanation. He was dead, and an angel was pleading with him. What an angel wanted with him, he didn't know. But he did know he wanted to help this angel. They had sounded so, so sad. So heartbroken. Like Hank had hurt them badly. Like Hank's absence broke them. Hank didn't know why, but he did know that he had to help them.

So he held on. He kept fighting. He fought the fog. He fought the pain. He pushed through, wondering what he'd find when he was done. If he'd finally get to heaven. If he'd finally see Cole again. Or if he'd see his angel, the one who spoke to him, words so sweet he could almost taste them. Whenever his angel was with him, the pain was more tolerable. It didn't hurt nearly as bad.

Of course, other angels visited him from time to time, who were kind and caring to him (though he'd admit that he liked his angel best of all.)

There was a particularly sweet one, who sounded like a child. She would read to him; books, poems, anything that caught her fancy. Another angel was a little older, a female who came with the child angel, who also spoke soft, sweet words to him. Telling him about her day. About someone named Alice. About how happy she was that she and this Alice were finally free. Hank didn't know who Alice was. Hell, he barley knew what anything was. But he was happy for them.

Sometimes, he'd open his eyes. Not long. Just briefly. It was always weird. He didn't know he had eyes, in death. Did he have a body? Fuck, he must, if it hurt this fucking bad. So it made sense he had eyes.

Opening them just confused him, though. He would only see snippets of things. Lights. Walls. Once he saw a black thing with green lines zigzagging on it. He could hear steady beeping. It was strange. Not bad, but… strange.

He once caught a glimpse of his angel. Only once, though. The angel had been leaning back in a chair, eyes closed, mouth open to breathe. Their hair was brown, their face was rounded. Freckles dotted their skin. They looked so beautiful, Hank thought, even though they looked tired. But they also looked familiar. Who…

But he'd succumbed to sleep then. And when he awoke he couldn't remember the face he'd seen. Only that it was beautiful. And that he wanted to see it again.

Time passed. He could tell. Sometimes he'd see light behind his lids. Sometimes there was just dark. He assumed this meant time was passing. But he still couldn't break through the fog.

He had heard people talking about him. Hank, his name was Hank. It was hard to remember in the fog, but he knew Hank. And someone named Connor. He was special. Hank knew it.

But people talked about him. A lot. Voices he didn't know would whisper to the angels he knew. He thought they might be demons, with how distressed they made the angels. And his angel, especially. He could recall one time when his angel had screamed at the demon, saying that Hank was still alive, that he would be able to fight. His angel had left pretty soon after, more voices yelling and fading, but it had struck him as odd.

Alive? He wasn't alive. He had died. Right? Something had happened and he had died… or had he? He didn't know. He barely could think, let alone figure out if he had died.

But he had been so sure. Something in him had said he had died. Why was he so sure, though? What had happened?

Slowly, after much time passed, his angel growing more and more frantic with Hank, begging him to fight, Hank recalled that night. The events that had happened. Connor. His brother. Connor's people. It all came flooding back, and with that, the rest of his memories came with it. The fog receded. Not enough to let him wake. But enough that he wasn't confused any longer. He knew what was happening.

And he was alive.

Alive. Not dead. Not in Hell. Or Heaven. Or any other final resting place. He was alive. And in a hospital, if he had to assume.

And the doctors wanted to take him off life support.

He supposed it made sense, in his addled brain. How long had he been out? A lot of time had passed, he felt. He tried hard to fight, but it was so hard. His brain hurt. His heart hurt. His stomach hurt. It was all too much. It would be so easy to give in. To actually die, like he'd thought. To face the sweet embrace of death.

But…

But how could he leave his angel? His Connor? He couldn't. He couldn't leave Connor, not now, nor ever. Connor was everything. And Connor was so sad. He could hear it in his voice. Connor would cry, so often. And it killed him to know he was the cause.

So he kept fighting. And then, one day, he was able to move his hand. Alice has been there, sweet Alice, and she had been so excited. She'd called for her mother, who had called for the doctors. After that, no one suggested he get off life support. He was fighting. He was alive.

Connor had cried so hard when he'd been told that Hank had moved. Hank wanted to move again, to hold Connor, to make all the pain go away. But he couldn't. He could just lie there, trapped in his mind, wanting to break free but unable to.

He slept a lot. He didn't know how he knew he slept, as it all felt so similar, but he thought he was sleeping. For one, nothing happened then. No sound. No pain. Nothing. Just… nothing. Frankly, it scared him. A lot. The idea of nothing… it wasn't as nice as he'd once thought. When he thought of death and the nothing he had once expected… it had comforted him, once. Now it scared him. He didn't like sleeping.

Connor kept him awake. Connor would speak to him for hours and Hank clung to that. Clung to Connor. He had to. Connor was everything. So amazing. So kind. So wonderful. All those adjectives, the synonyms for perfect and good and bright… that was Connor.

The pain gradually started to fade. He noticed it one day, when Connor spoke about Jericho, that he hated having to return there, leaving Hank alone every night, that Hank noticed the pain. Or, the lack of it. Well, not lack. It was still there, don't get him wrong. But it… it hurt less. Not as bad. And as the days passed, it faded more. Well, he thought the days were passing. It was easier to tell, now. Connor would come each day and leave each night. He would take breaks, but only to allow the others to visit in privacy. And to take his much needed time off. Watching a coma patient must be hard work, Hank figured.

As the pain faded, the more Hank could move. The first time he was able to squeeze Connor's hand, it felt like magic. Connor had cried again, but this time out of pure joy. He'd kissed Hank, then, softly, sweetly. It was… everything. The doctors had objected, but it fueled Hank.

It was hard to focus while in the coma. He knew it. It was so fuzzy, and everything felt like he was underwater, or had cotton stuffed in his head. Or both. But he had enough of his wits about him to know he had to wake up. He needed to get back to Connor. So he could hold him. And kiss him. And do other things that Alice would never learn about with him. He needed Connor like he needed air.

So he fought. And he kept fighting. And, one day, he opened his eyes for longer than a split second.

Connor was sitting there, eyes closed, frown deep on his beautiful face. Alice was sitting next to him, reading another of her stories. Kara was nowhere to be found, but he figured she was taking a break. Kara, Alice, and Connor were his biggest visitors. He'd sometimes get visits from Markus or Ben, even Chris or Luther, but they were few and far between.

He supposed they all were busy. From what he could gather, from the news articles that Alice would read him sometimes, to the snippets Connor would let loose, the government was in shambles as investigation after investigation was launched into Cyber. It honestly surprised him. He'd thought it would be harder. Yeah, they had evidence, but when had that stopped the U.S. government? But it was being taken seriously. The FBI, the section that was not under Cyber's control, was investigating the part that was. The government was rearranging itself as it was found that more and more people were involved in the conspiracy than one would have thought. The US population was horrified at the events, which likely what drove the attempt to rectify the situation.

Anyway, all of that probably made it hard for Markus and his other friends to visit. And that was fine. He loved the time he got to spend with Connor. And Alice, the sweet thing she was. Even Kara was nice to spend time with, though he didn't know her well.

And so, when he opened his eyes and saw his two favorite visitors, he couldn't stop the small smile that wanted to rise on his face. He was glad the breathing mechanism he'd had had to wear for ages was finally gone. They'd found that he was finally well enough to breathe on his own what he assumed was a few days ago. It took a minute, but eventually Alice looked up and saw his eyes were open. Hank had wanted to speak, but his voice was dry and dead. And he couldn't even bring his thoughts together enough to speak, even if he wanted to. Which he did. Greatly.

Still, her eyes had widened and she let out an excited gasp. Connor's eyes opened at that, wondering what had happened that had excited her so.

"Alice? Are you alri-"

Connor cut out, eyes going to Hank, widening when he saw Hank's baby blues. Hank tried to widen his smile, but his face wouldn't cooperate, the muscles tired and sore. And soon, too soon, he felt his eyes slipping shut. Alice had run to get a doctor, but Connor was just holding his hand, voice excited as he spoke to Hank. But Hank couldn't hear. He passed out, back to the oblivion of unconsciousness.

He opened his eyes several times after that. Sometimes for only a few seconds before passing out again, but sometimes for whole minutes. Fowler has actually been there one time, which had surprised Hank. He hadn't recalled hearing Fowler come to visit at all. But, Fowler was always quiet, when he didn't have to yell as the captain. Maybe… maybe he had been visiting. He had looked comfortable in the chair when Hank saw him, fast asleep. Hank seemed to catch people asleep a lot. It was tiresome. But it was nice. Knowing his old friend had visited. Knowing he hadn't been abandoned by his former (or maybe still current?) friend.

Several more days passed after that. The New Year came and went, Hank noticed, a Happy New Year banner hanging over the doorway. Apparently he had first opened his eyes for real on Christmas Eve. Fitting.

That was another interesting thing. He always had a ton of presents on his desk. So many he didn't know what to think about it. Connor told him once, when he saw him looking, that it was from the people he'd help free. Connor had made sure that Hank's story was told. That the world knew that Hank had freed them all, at great personal cost. It had made Hank smile, before he passed out again.

The first day he stayed awake for longer than just a few minutes, had been a Tuesday. He remembered because it was on the calendar, which he had been staring right at. No one had been there, which was fitting. He had stayed awake for fifteen minutes, trying to make his voice work, before he fell asleep. Not unconscious, but sleep. He had dreams, now. They were different to his unconsciousness. The dreams were strange, very colorful and bright, but good. Nice. Better than the nothing of unconsciousness.

The next time he was awake longer than a few minutes, Connor had been there. Which Hank had felt so relieved for that he actually cried. A single tear had rolled down his face, which Connor had carefully wiped away. Connor smiled at him so sweetly and kissed his cheek softly. Hank had wished he'd kiss his lips again, but Connor tended to refrain from that. For some reason.

Connor had been overjoyed when Hank had stayed awake for a whopping 20 minutes.

And then, the next day, he stayed awake for 23.

The more time that passed, he longer he stayed awake. The doctors would run tests, would poke and prod him, ask him questions, but he still couldn't speak. But he was trying. The doctors gave him medicine, which was supposed to help with his throat, which it did. A week after he first woke for longer than half an hour at a time, multiple times a day, he spoke his first word.

It was to Alice. She had been reading to him, again, and was leaving for the day. She told him she had a math test in the morning, her nose crinkling at the thought. Hank let out a breath, which signified laughter for him, causing Alice to smile. Hank had smiled back, and decided to try and speak. He tried not to speak around the others, yet, leaving that for his sessions with the doctors, but he decided he needed to try.

"Th-th… tha-than… thanks," Hank rasped, voice ragged and rough. But it was something. Alice had looked overjoyed, hugging Hank carefully to not aggravate his still healing wound. Apparently the bullet had hit his spleen, which had needed surgery to repair. It had left him with a large wound that had mostly healed, but still ached from time to time.

It had been on his two month anniversary of being admitted to the hospital, January 23rd, that he finally spoke his first full sentence.

It had been to Connor. Hank had practiced it over and over, voice halting and raw, until it was perfect. Then, when Connor had brought Hank a meal he had made from the facility, warm and perfect, Hank had said the four words he'd practiced so hard.

"Con, I love you."

It had hurt to say- physically, not emotionally- but it was worth it to see how Connor's eyes lit up, happier than he'd ever seen the kid before. Connor had kissed him deeply after that, making Hank's toes curl deliciously. Connor had breathed back, against his lips, that he loved Hank too. Connor always said that, before he left, but this time it felt better. Stronger. It made Hank grin like an idiot, so glad he had been able to tell Connor the words that had been trapped within him for months.

It was on a cold February morning that Hank was finally cleared to go back to the facility.

It had made his heart soar. Yeah, he had to go back to the facility, his time of which had been extended by six months following his actions during the revolution as Connor called it, but it was better than the hospital. Yeah, Perkins had been arrested after it had been made known he was helping Cyber, so his charges from punching the man were dropped, but Hank had still escaped. And Rose (and Fowler, Hank suspected) felt it would do him good to spend more time in the facility. Which… maybe they were right. Two of his months had been spent while in the hospital anyway, which left him only four months left. And Connor was the same.

The day he had returned to the facility, in a wheelchair since his legs still were weak from lack of use, a party had been thrown for him. Apparently all of the patients had demanded it, everyone pitching in to make the place look nice for him. Hank had almost cried when he saw it, but stopped himself at the last moment, scowling. But it had touched him deeply.

The best part, though, was the fact Ben had come to the party. And not just Ben. Hank was not ashamed to admit he'd cried, hard, when Sumo had come bounding in, whining, tail wagging a mile a minute as he attacked his owner with kisses and love. He had missed Sumo so much while in the hospital and had been so happy that he finally could see his boy. Connor had grinned at him, eyes so tender as he watched Hank play with Sumo, making Hank suspect he might have had something to do with Ben's visit.

After that, life returned mostly to normal. Markus still visited as often as he could, though he no longer had time to run any classes. He was busy making laws and fixing the government, the US population rallying around him like his people did. Simon, North, and Josh still remained at the facility, though, making sure everything was going well for them all. And the numbers at the facility only grew as more and more of their people arrived, seeking help, wondering how to adjust to their new world.

The strangest thing Hank found was the weird relationship Markus, North, and Simon had found themselves in. Hank had always known something was up between North and Markus, and had also known that Simon had a thing for Markus too, but he hadn't figured that would end well for them all. But, they had found a way to make it work. North and Simon didn't get along quite as well as they both did with Markus, but they were good enough friends (and loved Markus enough), to not feel threatened by the other. Hank figured that, hey, if they're happy, why not?

Speaking of happy, Hank thought as he looked down at the tuft of brown hair nestled under his chin, Hank was currently very happy. Connor was sitting on his lap as he lounged in his new recliner, drawing absentminded pictures on his chest. Hank chuckled, his voice still raw but getting better by the day.

"You enjoying yourself?" Hank questioned, stroking Connor's hair with his free hand, the other hand flipping through the channels on the brand new TV Markus had gifted Connor and Hank for their new room (on the ground floor, to help Hank while he still healed). The new room was more spacious than their old one, a thank you gift from Rose and Markus for their help. But, best of all, it only had one bed. Which, the pair made great use of, quite often. Hank couldn't help the wicked grin on his face as he recalled just how they'd used it last night, Connor on top of him, so beautiful as he rode him for hours. Well. Not hours. Hank wasn't exactly young. But it had still felt amazing.

Hank felt Connor hum against his chest, the kid (and he really, really had to stop calling him kid, especially with their late night activities) snuggling closer to his chest.

"Yes. You're very comfortable," Connor hummed happily, nuzzling him like a fucking cat. Hank just chuckled again, catching the hand that was drawing the absentminded shapes, kissing it gently. It currently was early March, a little under a month since he had returned to Jericho. And he was so happy he didn't know how to contain it, his lips finding Connor's, knowing he didn't deserve this but not giving a single fuck. Maybe he didn't deserve it. Maybe he would never be good enough to deserve it. But maybe… maybe it wasn't about deserve. Maybe, just maybe, it was just about love. And who they wanted to be with. And, damn it all, but Connor seemed to want him. To love him. And that was enough for Hank.

The two kissed for long minutes, Hank's hands running up and down Connor's back. He loved this. He loved him. This was the best feeling, Hank decided. He never wanted this to end.

"I love you, Con. So fucking much. So much," Hank whispered, moving his lips to kiss Connor's hair, holding the kid close, closer than he'd ever thought possible. Connor did his best to nuzzle ever closer, like he was trying to open him up and snake inside. Which, honestly, was a disturbing thought that he quickly pushed away.

"I love you too, Hank. I'm so glad you're here. I… I can't imagine not having this," Connor whispered back, voice breaking at the end. Hank felt his throat tighten as well, arms grasping Connor impossibly tighter.

He'd thought the same thing. So often. Had Connor not been able to carry him out of CyberLife Tower… had he not gotten him to the hospital as fast as possible… had Hank not fought as hard as he did to survive, had things been just a little different… he wouldn't be here today to have this.

Though, maybe he had died. Maybe this was Heaven, he thought, kissing Connor's head once more. He didn't know. But he was happy. So happy.

And he still missed Cole. He'd always miss Cole. But… he could finally move on. Could finally find happiness again. And love. So much love.

He could have lost this. No, he could have never fucking had this. He would never complain about life again, because life had given him Connor. And that was worth anything life could throw at him.

"I know kid. I know. But I'm here. You're here. Sumo will be here tomorrow, along with Alice and Kara. Markus said he might visit, Simon too. We're all here, babe. And we're all alive. All of us," he muttered, eyes closing. One of the many problems that still lingered for Hank was that he got tired a lot easier nowadays. He didn't know if it was his old age catching up to him, or if it was the coma that was still affecting him, but he was always tired.

More than that, though, was the fact that his legs were still weak, the physical therapy the facility provided helping only somewhat. Apparently two and a half months lying in a hospital bed led to atrophied legs. Go figure.

North, surprisingly, was the most helpful with that particular issue. It seemed that helping them free her people had been enough to finally warm her to him. And now they were very happy to snark at one another, very pleased when they pissed the other off. But it was all good natured. Not like it had been. She helped him with his legs, helping him move and gain the muscle he had lost back. He snarked at her, teasing her and her hobbies. It was nice.

He would also still get phantom pains every now and then. Usually in his gut. He'd wake from a nightmare, back on that night but it had ended differently, Connor the one getting shot, Hank having shot the wrong person, Connor bleeding out… dying…

His wound would ache for hours after he awoke, Connor whispering sweet nothings as he tried to calm his boyfriend down.

Boyfriend. Heh. Even the thought of it made him grin so wide, mind abandoning any negative thoughts he'd previously had, hand trailing up and down Connor's back and sides. Connor hummed again, happy to get the treatment. Hank abandoned the TV completely as he kissed Connor again, the kid mewling with pleasure. He was such a cat, Hank thought with a chuckle, fully expecting Connor to start purring any second now. Connor pulled away from the kiss, pouting at him.

"What are you chuckling at?" Connor asked with fake suspicion, using his arms to hoist him up, away from Hank's chest. Hank didn't let that stand, though, snaking his arms around Connor's torso and pulling him close. Connor resisted for a moment, but eventually gave in with a huff, going back to his previous, favorite spot.

"You. You're so much like a cat, you know? All I got to do is stroke you the right way and you're pudding in my arms," Hank chuckled, hands massaging lower than he had a minute before. Connor just pressed back against him, grinding against his hands, humming pleasantly.

"Hmmm. Is that so? And would you do this with a cat?" Connor asked, before doing something a cat would decidedly not do.

Hank couldn't help but smile, after, as Connor laid satiated in his arms, sleeping softly, body spent after Hank had teased him for half an hour. While he may be old, he knew a thing or two to keep his lovers happy. And he wanted to keep Connor happy for a long, long time.

So this was his life now. It was not what he'd ever thought it would be. He'd never expected Connor. He'd never expected to be happy. Not like he currently was. He watched Connor sleep, marveling at the beauty he held in his arms. The masterpiece. Who somehow wanted an old fuck like him. It was amazing.

Things wouldn't be perfect. There were still problems with Cyber and the government, the whole system being reorganized to fix the mistakes. Hank and Connor would have some challenges to face, like what they'd do when they got out.

But that was something to worry about later. Right now, right here? This was perfection. This was his Heaven. He'd never give this up, for anything in the world.

He was glad that bullet hadn't been an inch to the right, a year ago. He was glad that woman had been walking by his house that day, had heard the gunshot. He was glad he had been saved.

Because he sure would have missed this.

Yeah.

Sure would have missed this.