Unable to sit still and unable to leave the house due to the persistent bad weather and his still healing wounds, Connor busied himself with cleaning the house and spoiling Sumo more than usual. The gesture was an obvious attempt to make the lethargic, arthritic dog feel better during the cold, dreary winter. Ever since Connor moved in with Hank the house had been kept in tidy order but that didn't mean the house didn't need to be dusted or have old items thrown away due to age and neglect from time to time. That particular chore was one that Connor took upon himself since Hank struggled with stumbling over his past or potentially opening old scars by mistake.
Checking through the various items on the bookshelf against the wall in the livingroom Connor felt eyes staring at him and his blue L.E.D. briefly blink to yellow. He turned to look over his shoulder only to see Hank watching him intently from where he sat in the recliner.
"Don't you dare touch ANY of those books." Hank threatened from the comfortable seat as he held a heating pad to his right arthritic knee. "They're old but still good."
"I can locate less worn out copies to replace-"
"No way! That's a waste of time and money. Leave 'em alone, all right?"
"Very well." Relenting to the request Connor left the bookshelf alone. "May I at least attempt to restore the covers and strengthen the spines to keep the pages from falling out?"
"Nope. I like 'em just the way they are." Hank set aside the heating pad as he slowly put his feet back down on the floor and stood upright just as slowly to keep his already sore knee from gnawing at him. "I'm going to take a shower and try to loosen up my knee and my back, so I don't go insane. Don't throw out anything without my okay first, and leave my books alone. They're ALL off limits unless you want to read them."
"I have cleaned and organized everything in the house, there is nothing else for me to tend to beyond the bookshelf."
"Uh-huh. What about the crawlspace?"
"...Crawlspace?"
"Yup." Hank pointed to a gap behind the bookshelf, more specifically to the wall behind it where a small frame for an equally small door had been concealed behind the shelf itself. "Back there."
Connor tilted his head as he peered behind the bookshelf and for the first time since he had ever set foot inside the house and finally noticed the crawlspace hidden out of sight, out of mind. "What's inside of the crawlspace?"
"I honestly can't remember. Mostly junk I guess."
"I'm allowed to sort through everything and dispose of it as I see fit?"
"Sure. Have fun." Hank waved off the comment dismissively as he resumed his trek into the bathroom. "Just don't get dust and grime everywhere when you're finished."
"I will do my best."
Connor waited for Hank to disappear into the bathroom before he carefully pulled the bookshelf away from the wall and slid it to the side to expose the crawlspace doorway fully. The door was three feet tall and free feet wide, just large enough for one person to stoop down and crawl inside to rearrange boxes or put items into storage.
Kneeling down in front of the door Connor lifted the small metal latch and pulled open the door to peer inside the small expansive space beyond. It was dark and there was a small lightbulb positioned in the low hanging ceiling inside the space itself. Six cardboard boxes were positioned along the walls of the crawlspace, stacked two high and two deep. Half of the boxes were labeled under black ink as either items of value or items that Hank had lost interest in over the years.
Sumo walked over to where Connor was kneeling and smelled the odd scent in the air that wafted through the livingroom as soon as the crawlspace door was opened. Wagging his tail a little Sumo settled down on the floor, his chin resting atop his outstretched paws, and watched as Connor awkwardly crouched down to enter the crawlspace.
Sitting down on the floor cross-legged Connor pulled down the first box without hurting his healing wounds and began his task. The box was labeled 'academy' and Connor placed it onto his lap as he opened the lid. Inside was a bunch of old clothing that Hank had worn while he was in the police academy, an old, partially deflated football and a handful of photographs.
Connor picked up one of the photographs and recognized Hank and Captain Fowler standing side by side back when they were still in their twenties and were evidently close friends at one point. It was a shame the two friends had drifted apart over the years.
"Hank used to be brunette."
The deviant stated aloud to himself as he stared at the photograph of the younger detective, his L.E.D. flashing from blue to yellow curiously as he began logging away new details about Hank's life through the numerous photographs. Hank was also sporting a much shorter hairstyle that was far more professional compared to his current look.
"Interesting, I had assumed he used to be blond."
Pushing the box outside of the crawlspace next to where Sumo was laying, Connor decided to keep the contents of that box and focused on the next. The second box was full of old dishes, cutlery and glasses; nothing of value or interest that had apparently been used back when Hank lived alone in an old apartment. The second box was pushed outside and placed on the opposite side of the crawlspace door to be donated to charity later.
The third box contained old sports equipment; four baseballs, two baseball mitts, a partially deflated basketball and a fully deflated football. This box was pushed aside next to the first box to be kept for later purposes.
"Hank truly did enjoy sports and was much more active in his youth."
Repeating the motions Connor grabbed the next box and put it on his lap. The fourth box contained more old clothes from over thirty years ago. Most of the clothes were still in good shape and could also be easily washed and donated later on if Hank didn't want to keep them. That box was placed next to the second box and now there was more space for Connor to work.
Pulling the fifth box closer to himself Connor peered inside and his blue L.E.D. flashed to yellow in distress. A framed photograph concealed under a thin white cloth had withstood the test of time and neglect, yet the image itself beneath was somehow disheartening.
"Barbara."
Connor recognized the woman in the photograph as Hank's late wife. She and Hank were standing together in front of a large oak tree in the middle of a beautiful park holding hands. Barbara was holding a small bouquet of red roses and the two were wearing brand new wedding rings on their fingers.
"This must've been the only wedding photograph taken after they went to the courthouse and eloped."
Beneath the photograph was a shadowbox containing the dried bouquet of flowers from the wedding protected inside, as well as the marriage license and a newspaper clipping confirming their marriage. Tucked down at the bottom of the box was a second newspaper clipping containing Barbara's obituary as well as the funeral pamphlet detailing her too short life.
"I can't throw this out. No one can."
Connor realized as he very carefully re-packed the box and placed it outside the crawl space with the other boxes that Connor had decided to keep.
"It needs to be protected."
Pulling over the final box Connor opened the lid and felt his heart skip a beat.
"Oh no..."
Connor had found the box to be completely full of photographs and old children's drawings. Most of the drawings had been framed and others were gathered together in protective envelopes and bands. Each photograph contained a single common element and it made Connor feel somehow sad as he looked at the photographs one at a time.
"Cole."
Each photograph had been protected and dated by either Hank or Barbara, their unique handwriting identifying themselves as the photographer, as they chronicled Cole's short but meaningful life. The photographs chronicled Cole's developing life for Hank and to Barbara as he grew up. Connor carefully looked through each photo and made sure to handle them with great care as he copied the images into his memory banks for safekeeping.
Cole had Hank's darker hair color and Barbara's even darker blue eyes. Despite his young age it appeared as though Cole had an aptitude and preference toward sports just like Hank, yet also had an artistic skill as made evident by the crayon drawings that had been preserved inside the box right alongside the photographs. There was so much that Connor had just learned about the little boy that he'd never know in person and made his heart ache a little at the thought.
"...Cole had only just begun to live when he was killed."
The deviant's blue L.E.D. flickered to a distressed yellow as he really thought about what had happened on that horrible night so many years ago.
"It's so cruel that someone so young and innocent could be taken in such a unfair manner."
"Hey, Connor?" Hank called out to the deviant still sitting inside the crawlspace from the livingroom as he stood beside the opened crawlspace doorway. "How many more boxes are in there?"
"...Just one." Connor answered reluctantly but honestly as he re-packed the box with a ginger touch and his L.E.D. returned to blue. "There is nothing inside of it worth being thrown out. I'll leave it in here and push the other boxes back inside."
"Anything interesting in it?"
"...Maybe." Connor swallowed nervously before replying. He didn't want to bring up Cole as it was still a very sensitive subject for Hank, but he didn't want to act like the photographs; the memories of Cole, didn't exist either. "Photographs." Was the short, succinct and honest reply. "They're all in good shape, no need to worry."
"Photos, huh?" Hank asked as he knelt down on his protesting knee and peered inside the crawlspace to look at Connor. "Anything embarrassing I should hide from you?"
"N-No! Nothing."
"That was a joke, kid. Relax." Hank noticed that Connor was acting a little fidgety if not nervous. It was very out of character for the deviant. "You okay?"
"I'm fine."
Hank noticed Connor's hands were pressing tightly at the sides of the cardboard box as if afraid to let it go. Reaching his own hand out to the box Hank pulled it out of Connor's grip to open up the lid. The senior detective peered down inside the box at the contents and his face paled. As soon as he saw the photographs of his late firstborn son and late wife his expression fell entirely blank and his eyes glazed over.
Connor tried to pull the box back and spare Hank any needless heartache. "I'll put the box away. I'm sorry I let you-"
"...No. No, don't." Hank awkwardly stooped down to get inside the crawlspace and sit down next to Connor on the dusty floor. Picking up the first bundle of photographs from the box a faint, proud smile appeared on Hank's face as he looked at the photo at the top of the pile; it was of Cole as a newborn. "I'm glad you found this. I... I thought Jeffrey really burned everything after the funeral like I asked him to do."
"Burned it?" Connor's reaction was accompanied by a red flash of his L.E.D. before it shifted to yellow with confusion. "Why would you want everything regarding your family burned?"
"It was hard for me coming home after Barbara died and it got even harder after Cole..." Hank took a moment to breathe deeply and recompose himself emotionally before he broke down and sobbed. "I asked Jeffrey to get rid of everything so I didn't have to look at it. So I didn't have to be reminded of what I had lost." The explanation was as logical as it was heartbreaking. "I had Cole's toys and clothes donated to charities throughout the city just like I did with Barb's clothes, then I asked Jeffrey to take care of everything else. I guess he decided that destroying everything would've been too extreme and he hid it from me instead."
"...I agree, and I think he did the right thing."
"Yeah. He did."
One by one Hank began looking through the photographs, remembering every moment that had led up to the photo being taken and the moments that had followed. Silence fell over the duo as Hank found himself happily recounting the memories that he had long since repressed.
Connor sat quietly while Hank reminisced in the long forgotten memories of the photographs that had been recently uncovered. He wasn't sure what he could say or even if he should say anything at all in that moment. Thanks to his own personal experience Connor understood the tragedy of death after losing Lucas, but he still didn't have the experiences of a long life or of a childhood to understand the emotional hardships of distant, painful memories.
"You know," breaking the silence Hank gave Connor a small grin. "I think if you and Cole had met he would've really liked you."
A little confused Connor stayed silent as he contemplated Hank's statement. The ache in his heart seemed to lessen to a degree but not entirely.
"Barbara, too. She had a thing for brunettes."
A light smirk appeared on Connor's face as he watched Hank finding a long needed solace in the photographs.
"I think I'd like to pull a few of these photos out of the box and put them back out in the livingroom. The walls are a little bare." Hank laughed a little as he handed one of the photos over to Connor. "Look at that. Sumo was big even as a puppy, but he was Cole's best friend since day one."
Holding onto the photograph carefully Connor uploaded the image to his memorybank quietly before giving it back to Hank. The image of the massive puppy and the sweet-faced toddler had a strangely peaceful impact on the deviant's psyche and he wanted to keep it as a permanent part of his memory.
"Come on." Hank pushed the box out of the crawlspace and crouched down to exit the narrow area. Brushing the dust from his arms and shoulders Hank stood upright and held the box tightly in his arms. "I want to get these hung up so I can shower off. Again. Fuckin' dust..."
Feeling a sense of relief and comfort Connor followed Hank out of the crawlspace and replaced the other boxes accordingly before picking up the ones he mentally marked for donation. Carrying the boxes into the kitchen Connor watched as Hank sorted through the old photographs and decided which ones he wanted to display in the livingroom and which ones he wanted to keep safely stored away.
Locking the crawlspace door Connor replaced the bookshelf and resumed giving Sumo some attention after the massive dog returned to his pillow in the corner of the livingroom. "Hi, boy. I hope you feel better soon."
Hank watched Connor from the corner of his eye and smiled as the deviant gave Sumo the same type of affection that Cole used to do. The hours of playing fetch and petting the dog's soft fur along his back and then over his ears... It was all too similar to be ignored or denied how much Hank's two sons loved the family dog.
"Sometimes you really remind me of Cole."
"Huh?" Connor looked up suddenly at the passing comment as he hadn't fully heard Hank speaking. "What did you say?"
"Nothing." Hank smiled to himself as he picked up another photograph of Cole from the box. It showed Cole sitting on the floor petting Sumo's head with a broad smile on his face while he held the old green fetch ball in his hand. "I was just thinking out loud..."
-next chapter-