Chapter Seven: Bad Blood

A dull thud resounded throughout the silence of the Detroit Police Department as Hank allowed his head to fall against the surface of the desk. He'd been combing through these files for hours, trying in vain to find something - anything - to help them figure out who this son of a bitch was. He racked his brain, searching for some clue about the missing member's identity, but nothing came to him.

He sighed audibly.

"Is there something wrong, Hank?" Connor asked from across the desk. Hank lifted his head to see his partner looking at him quizzically from the opposite side of his terminal, his LED cycling between a cool blue and a vibrant yellow.

"Nah," he shrugged, allowing his head to rest back upon the surface of the desk. "I'm just trying to remember who that guy was - the one I couldn't catch over a decade ago - and I can't remember a damn thing about him."

"So you are searching for, in essence, the one who got away?" Connor asked. Hank didn't have to raise his head to see the smirk that was surely plastered on Connor's face.

"Fuck off."

Connor leaned back in his seat, glancing at Hank's slumped shoulders. He then stood and walked through the hallway to where the break room was.

Though he would probably prefer whiskey, coffee is just going to have to suffice, he thought as he retrieved one of the biodegradable coffee cups from the counter. Shuffling footsteps approached him from behind as he prepared the coffee, but he didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"Hey, Tinman," Reed said as he leaned against the counter next to Connor.

A bit too close.

"Hello, Detective," Connor responded, reaching over Gavin's head to retrieve a lid for the coffee. Reed's hand shot up and grabbed onto Connor's arm, pulling it down.

"The fuck do you think you're doing, trash can?" Reed snarled.

Connor sighed. To this, Reed scoffed, letting go of Connor's arm as his face progressively reddened.

"Fucking androids. They should've scrapped the whole lot of you when they had a chance." A slight grin appeared on his face. "Maybe I'll just have to do it for them."

Connor placed the lid on the coffee cup, then turned to face Gavin. Connor was a good three inches taller than Reed, which allowed him to look down on the detective.

"Perhaps the true issue here is your own sense of inadequacy, Detective. After all," he paused. "Androids were made to be superior."

Reed's face turned an alarming shade of magenta, and Connor hoped for a moment that he would cut off air supply to his brain long enough to pass out.

"You'd better watch your fucking mouth, you plastic prick," Reed growled under his breath.

Connor turned to face the door and took a few steps forward before pausing to face Reed again.

"I suggest you put the ruler away, Gavin. I would win."

He exited the break room, allowing a smile to cross his features as he heard Reed - for perhaps the first time since he'd known him - at a loss for words.

"What're you grinning about?" Hank asked when Connor set the coffee down on his desk.

"Nothing, Lieutenant," Connor said. The smirk stayed put.

Hank shook his head, looking back to his terminal. "Fuckin' weirdo."

A few more hours went by, and Hank still hadn't found out anything more about the runner who'd escaped. The coffee was gone, and Hank's motivation had disappeared with it.

There were times when Hank still found himself shocked at Collin Rivers' sudden transformation. Then again, he was one to talk.

The death of his son turned him into a suicidal alcoholic. The death of Rivers' son and wife turned him into a murderous drug ring leader.

Grief can do incredibly shitty things to a person.

Hank's thoughts wandered to Natalie, as they usually did whenever he thought about that night. She'd been through so much shit, even after her dad was arrested and the drug ring was disbanded (or, at least, they had THOUGHT it was disbanded).

He wondered how the same blood could run through Collin's and Natalie's veins. Even though Rivers had been one of his closest friends on the department, someone doesn't just turn into a murderous drug runner overnight - there has to be some predisposition beforehand.

Hank just wondered how he hadn't seen it.

He glanced over at Connor, who was immersed in the files as well. His LED was cycling that same amber hue it had been almost every day since the attack.

Since he'd met Natalie.

Hank smirked to himself. God, he thought. They're both so damn obvious, it's like knowing a train is going to wreck and all you can do is watch as it slowly approaches its inevitable destruction.

He wasn't too sure what would happen in the future between those two. They both had a rebellious streak that had landed them on Hank's shit list at one point or another. Putting them together?

Hank was getting too old for that shit.