"No, the mother is the prime suspect. She has a motive and she hates her son's guts. She acts wary around her family members as if she knows something. It's her."

"That is wrong, lieutenant,"

"Hank," the man correct, "and no, I'm right."

"Hank," Connor corrects himself, "She wasn't the one who killed her son. She's concealing information from the family. That's why she acts shifty and paranoid."

"And do you have concrete evidence of this?"

"It's an estimated guess," Connor says, "the show withholds information from it's audience and makes it difficult for me to truly comprehend the situation. Besides, she has the behavior of a woman who is keeping secrets."

"Yeah, like murdering someone?"

Connor looks over to Hank who sits on his right. Never before had Connor been so tempted to roll his eyes and it takes all of his willpower to prevent doing so. They sit on his couch, Sumo lying by Hank's feet, while a modern crime show plays in front of them. Connor had started watching it after he had finished putting the kittens to sleep. Even now, they all lay huddled together in a fort of blankets and cushions Connor had prepared for them, and there they would stay until they woke. Once Connor found himself with nothing to do he had sat down and turned on the TV.

Hank had come from a day at the office and had collapsed next to Connor without a word. The two had watched together in silence, Connor sensing that Hank wasn't in a particularly talkative mood until Hank had decided to share his opinion on who the murderer was.

Connor stays silent until the episode is nearly ending. He predicts it will end on a cliffhanger because nothing of value had been revealed other than showing the bonds of a few character relationships. Connor isn't shocked to find that he's right but of course the scene has to end by zooming into the mother unlocking her basement and disappearing inside. Connor didn't want to be wrong about her, not when Hank had spruced up his competitive side.

"Now that was as suspicious as hell," Hank begins and Connor is ready for him to start rubbing it in, "almost as if she's murdered someone."

"You seem insistent," Connor notes, "that she is the murderer."

"Yeah, well, I've seen her kind before. Kills their own son and then regrets it afterward. They aren't aware of what they've lost until it's gone."

Hank is quiet after that and Connor takes his eyes off the screen to look at his friend. Connor knew there was something more to Hank's words simply by the way Hank turns silent. It was unusual. Connor felt he could safely determine that Hank was in one of his moods again, the kind of mood that threw him into a fit of grieving for his lost son. It's the mood that makes Hank get up from his spot on the couch and head to the fridge to grab a beer.

"Don't you have work tomorrow?" Connor asks.

Hank grumbles, "I have work every day." Then he takes a swing from his beer before settling in one of the chairs of the dining table.

Connor gets up from the couch and moves to the table.

He wasn't going to let Hank do this to himself.

"I advise some rest instead of getting drunk," Connor's eyes point at the can held lazily in Hank's hand.

"Not tired," Hank answers simply, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

Connor does not know where to proceed from there. Instead, he sits in silence alongside Hank, watching as the man takes another swig of beer, before setting the can down on the table. Hank doesn't seem to care all too much that Connor is sitting across from him, watching his every move, which was strange altogether because Hank was always piqued when Connor watched him too closely. He always expressed that he didn't like Connor staring at him with such great intensity, as if he's trying to look into his soul, but that didn't necessarily stop Connor.

Hank sighs.

"I'm thinking he would've liked you," he begins, "didn't have very many friends to begin with."

"That is… unfortunate," Connor says.

Hank nods glumly.

"Yeah. That's why he always looked to me. I regret not… spending more time with him."

"I know my words alone won't help much…" Connor trails off in his uncertainty, "but I believe Cole would be rather upset to see you like this."

Hank stares.

He grabs his beer once more and his grip is tighter than before. Tense.

"You didn't know him, you wouldn't know," Hank say.

"What child would want to see someone they love in such a defeated state?"

Connor says this genuinely with a sincerity that came from caring for the man in front of him.

Hank sighs, "None, I suppose, but that doesn't make it any less painful."

"I would think not," Connor agrees.

So they sit in further silence, neither speaking.

Connor wonders what would have happened if Cole had lived. He wonders what Hank would be like now instead of the man who sits across from him, stricken with a deep sorrow.

But Cole wasn't here and all Connor could do was make a silent promise to the deceased boy.

Don't worry about your old man Cole.

I'll take care of him.