There's Something Wrong With Me – Chapter 2

Systems

Connor blew across his hot tea, tucking his feet beneath him on the couch. He set down his mug, shifting the blanket to cover both arms. He had the heat turned on low in his apartment, but he wanted to get a better idea of his monthly energy baseline before he started turning it up any more. He hadn't even been here a month, so he hadn't actually received a bill yet.

He pressed his lips to the edge of his mug, and could feel that the tea was still too hot. He was touched when North had gotten him that single-cup tea infuser for "Friendsmas", but it did make the water quite hot for his liking, even after topping it off with cold water from the fridge. He made a mental note to pick up ice trays on his next trip to the store.

He scrolled through the most recent season of "The Lovely British Baking Show". Hmm, bread week or pastry week… Connor did like the intricate decorations on the pastries. This was the perfect drama-free, gentle watch he needed after that particularly rough call to the Eden Club, which he had decided resolutely to push out of his mind. He would still have to file a police report, and either he or Lieutenant Anderson might be called to the stand if it went to trial—but Connor would cross that bridge when he got to it.

He closed his eyes, holding his lips to the hot mug, the steam hitting his nose. He hoped Traci Liu was at least able to make bail, and was somewhere safe. Although... given how the law tended to treat sex workers, she might have been deemed a flight risk and denied bail until she was brought before a judge.

Connor started playing the pastry episode. "Welcome, to 'The Lovely British Baking Show'…"

OOO

Connor found himself zoning out while he watched filling being piped into pastries, sipping his cooling tea. The only male judge would stalk around the perimeter of the baking stations, casting a nerve-wracking pall of unreadable judgment on whatever the contestants were currently doing. Since this was a British show, this was all tongue-in-cheek, and at this point the judge seemed to lean into it as part of his "brand"—then Connor had a realization—Paul Hollycock reminded him a bit of Lieutenant Anderson, or perhaps the other way around. They were both completely grey with piercing blue eyes, although Lieutenant Anderson didn't look like he had an obvious fake tan. And to be honest, the Lieutenant had seemed much more approachable—and he was more likely to shake your hand.

Connor took another sip of his now-warm tea. He wasn't sure whether he had made a good first impression on the Lieutenant. He had initially thought they played off of each other well, but he didn't appreciate that lecture at the end. Connor had felt very talked-down to because of his age, which he was trying specifically to avoid. It was true that he was the youngest of the three detectives—though not by much in the case of Detective Reed—but he wasn't a fresh police academy graduate. And he was no stranger to Detroit. Perhaps the Lieutenant hadn't bothered to read his file—although that seemed remarkably careless for a Lieutenant. Connor had read everyone else's, after all.

Connor took a larger gulp of tea, which almost went down his throat wrong. Ugh—and now he was annoyed thinking about it again. He almost felt like he was being talked down to because of his empathy—which was hypocritical, because the Lieutenant and Detective Collins had both seemed affected by the case to some extent. Who wouldn't be? Perhaps Detective Reed, although they'd never know because he took off halfway through.

Connor shifted his feet under him, which had started to go numb. "Ya can't just kill someone"—of course Connor knew that—did he think Connor had some kind of moral failing and thought murder was okay when it was an abuser who was killed? Well... Connor quashed the thought. If it was North, she probably would have said, "Good, the bastard deserved it"—but Connor had to follow the law, it was literally his job. No… the Lieutenant was from an older generation, perhaps that was just his way of showing "tough love", so to speak. He might not have bothered to say anything if he didn't acknowledge Connor's skills and experience. He supposed he would have to find out the more they worked together—after all, that seemed to be Captain Fowler's intention.

Connor set down his mug. Well… to be honest, he really had been pushing it by being so transparent with Traci Liu before she had even been read her rights. He thought they had some wiggle room before they needed to arrest her, since it seemed inappropriate and cruel to cuff her when she had nothing but a bedsheet on. It was the best call to have Officer Chen be the one to cuff her, not Connor or the Lieutenant.

Connor found himself hugging his arms under the blanket. In those few seconds after the Lieutenant left the room and Officer Chen entered, Connor felt he had to say something to the girl who had just destroyed her life, but all he could muster was, "I'm sorry. I wish there was more I could do." She had a thousand-yard stare, only wiping her tears, saying nothing.

Connor had subconsciously curled his legs up, almost into his chest. He had missed most of the prep work, and the contestants were already showing their blind-test dishes. Whatever they had made, some kind of doughnut-looking puffs—they looked pretty soft and tasty. He checked his phone—it was just after three. Perhaps a walk would do him some good. His apartment seemed to be within walking distance of a trendy street, so there was bound to be a bakery nearby that was still open—and a pastry sounded lovely at the moment.

OOO

Connor strode at an even pace, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets. He had changed into his go-to "walking around" clothes—grey jeans, a dark olive puffy jacket and beanie, and hiking boots. Markus liked to make fun of him by calling it his "8 Mile extra" outfit. He preferred it because it made him look non-descript enough, while not appearing particularly vulnerable. It was unfortunately something he had to think about in a larger city, as a relatively non-threatening, somewhat-effeminate man. To be honest, it was something he had to think about in the suburbs, too—although that was because he was more likely to run into someone who recognized him.

Connor glanced at his GPS—the bakery should be only a few blocks away. He hadn't been away from Detroit proper that long, but it seemed like more of these "destination" streets lined with bars and cafés were popping up—or being gentrified, as Markus and Josh put it, which was true enough. Connor felt he had no place to speak on that particular subject.

He pulled open the glass door, and was met with the sharp smell of coffee, and old wood furniture. Connor made eye contact with the girl behind the counter, who had pastel purple hair. He smiled. "Hello!"

"Hi, welcome in."

He hung back from the counter, looking up at the menu, so she would know he wasn't ready yet. Hmm, a warm drink sounded good, maybe a hot cider? Hmmm… he strolled by the pastry case, practicing what he was going to order a few times in his head. He made eye contact and approached the register. "Hi!"

"Hey, what can I get ya?"

"Yes—can I get a hot twelve ounce honey lavender latte, and a lemon Danish, please?"

She typed on her mounted tablet. "What kind of milk in that latte?" Oh, shoot—he wasn't ready for that. His eyes quickly scanned the menu—

"Um—just oat milk, if you have it. Please."

"You, got, it." She enunciated as she typed each button. "For here or to go?"

"Oh—to go, please." He had fumbled it twice. "Thank you."

"No problem. One hot twelve ounce lavender latte with oat milk, and one lemon Danish to go." She turned the tablet to face him. "That will be nine sixty-seven."

"Thank you." He tapped his card, and added a 20% tip. He looked up at her while it processed. "I like your hair color, by the way!"

"Oh, thank you!" She leaned her head to the side and scrunched her ends. "It takes a lot to maintain it, so I appreciate the compliment."

Connor gave a small laugh. "I'm sure." In the end, it didn't matter which outfit he put on—as soon as he went into his "nice customer" voice, the gay would come out. "Thank you."

"You're welcome—" She crouched below the counter, wrapping a puffy-looking Danish in a small paper bag. "Here you go—be right out with that lavender latte."

"Perfect, thank you." He went to sit down at a high stool, facing out the window. This part of town wasn't as jam-packed, and almost felt like a suburb—it felt more like a neighborhood with an identity, rather than a gridded city. This shop had a cute atmosphere, with lots of little potted plants and polished wood surfaces—but it looked like there was a lot of powdered sugar on that Danish, and Connor didn't want to get it all over his clothes sitting here. Connor also still had slight anxiety about the idea of eating alone in public, he unfortunately had to admit. It was like he couldn't chew his food normally, he was so focused on it.

He discreetly tried to shake the bag, hoping to knock loose some of the powdered sugar. He didn't need all that—he quite enjoyed tart lemon flavors, after all.

OOO

Connor gently cradled his Danish to his body with his elbow, unlocking the front door. He quite enjoyed taking a few longer side roads back to his apartment, and looking at all the different styles of houses and yards and gardens, sipping his latte once it had cooled enough. His face had gotten cold while the rest of him stayed relatively warm, but that was pretty typical.

He placed his mostly-empty latte on the small kitchen table. The lavender flavor was pretty subtle, but it definitely tasted different than regular coffee—he could probably taste the honey more. Connor went and washed his hands, then took the Danish over to the trash can, brushing off the rest of the powdered sugar that would come easily off. He apologized internally to the pastry chef who had probably balanced the flavors this way—but Connor was the one eating it now.

He leaned over the trash can and took a bite… the lemon curd was pretty tasty, sour but not overpoweringly so—though the pastry itself was a little doughey. Oh well, it was worth going out to get for that little walk, if nothing else.

Connor slid off his beanie and tossed it on the couch, then pulled a small plate down from his cabinet. He sat down at his small square table and enjoyed the rest of his Danish, the chewiness of the dough less apparent since he was prepared for it. Something had entered unbidden into his mind at the coffee shop… he couldn't help but imagine with a twinge of dread what anyone at the precinct would have to say if they saw his awkward display trying to place his order. Connor found it much easier to enter "professional mode" when he was dressed well, doubly so if he was surrounded by people who were older than him and didn't know anything about his personal life—Markus called it "code-switching", although the context was different. He would be spending quite a lot of time with the men and women in the precinct—he preferred to imagine, as they inevitably observed his habits and idiosyncrasies, that they might light-heartedly roast him like, "Geez Connor, you washed your hands enough?" or "Hey don't touch that, that's Connor's 'special milk'"—but he didn't know any of them well enough to be sure. Detective Collins struck him as the type who didn't particularly care about other people's business—with "that fucker Gavin" Connor wouldn't be shocked if he called him a slur to his face. He didn't have the opportunity to get a good read on Officer Chris, though he wanted to think he was a chill guy, and he was at least polite—the only real wild card was Lieutenant Anderson. Connor did note that none of those old men made any comments about those girls being lesbians, or bi/pan or what have you—in fact it seemed like everyone was empathetic, in what capacity they could show. But then again, it wouldn't be the time or place even if they had some reservations or more "conservative thoughts". That's what had Connor stymied—he had gotten a conflicting read on Lieutenant Anderson, which was unusual for him. On the one hand, the Lieutenant seemed like any other grumpy, jaded old man—he was probably divorced and remarried, given that he mentioned his "weekend with his kid", but he still wore a wedding ring. He and Gavin seemed to openly dislike each other, but everyone else deferred to the Lieutenant with varying degrees of familiarity, some even calling him by his first name. His response to the situation with Traci Liu was also contradictory—one moment he was despondently saying, "Sorry, honey," and the next he was going on a miniature rant about how she did wrong, and didn't deserve to be coddled—but then, maybe that was partly a reminder to himself. It was hard to say.

Connor wiped his mouth with a napkin, then wiped his fingers. There was one other thing—he wasn't sure how to interpret this, but there was a brief moment when they were outside the club, between Connor wondering aloud why Traci Liu didn't just flee the scene, and the Lieutenant going on about "what it's like in the big city"—he seemed to be studying Connor, like he was seeing him for the first time. Like he was really looking at his face with bared interest. Connor's attention had been focused on the squad car, so it was hard to remember exactly... the Lieutenant was probably just trying to get a read on Connor too. It was a little brazen of Connor to essentially wish a murderer had gotten away—well, a committer of manslaughter. The Lieutenant was a Lieutenant for a reason, he must have been good at parsing and profiling people. Again, it was hard to say.

'Mew.'

Connor turned in his chair, bending down towards the floor. "Hey, sweet girl!" he called gently. His poor cat, Diana, had already been skittish—but this move had jumbled her world around again, and she had spent most of her time hiding under his bed, or peering out from her cat tree. "Come here, kitty..." He softly rubbed his fingers together like a silent cricket, and Diana approached ploddingly, like she had just woken up from a nap. She rubbed the side of her cheek on his fingers, then bodied his hand. "Good girl... it's okay..." He stroked her back, and she wiggled around to rub her little wet nose on his hand again. "Aww, sweet girl..." Well, at least she came out on her own, without Connor having to resort to opening up a can. Speaking of—"Let's get you some food."

He stood up smoothly from his chair, and Diana watched him from over her shoulder, trotting over to her food dish. 'Mrow. Maaaooow.'

"I know." He pulled a small can out of the cupboard, cracking it open with a satisfying 'snap'.

'Mraaaow!' Well, she seemed full of energy, now.

"All right, here you go." He scooped half the can into her bowl with a clean spoon, and she started scarfing it down. "Good girl." He was hoping she either understood "good girl" and similar phrases by now, or if he talked in that same soothing way, she would understand that this was their new home, and she didn't have to be scared. Well, Connor would just have to give it time. Oh—

He checked his phone. He still had an hour before North said she would call him. He could change into sweats and rewind that episode of "The Lovely British Baking Show", and see what they were actually supposed to be making in the second round.

OOO

His phone buzzed on the table. A text from North, 'Hey, can I call you?' Connor decided it would less redundant to just call her instead of texting back, 'Yeah, go ahead.' He pressed 'call' and held the phone to his hear.

"—Hey! How's it going?"

"Oh, fine." He crossed his legs on the couch. "I'm just relaxing at home now."

"Nice—" He heard a faint shuffling noise. "So? How was your first day?"

He'd already tried to think of a way to segue out of talking about it, but it might be better to just be honest. "Uh, well—" He let out an uncomfortable laugh. "I had to respond to a bit of a rough call, to be honest."

"—Oh, no."

"Yeah, you probably don't want to hear about it." He found himself gripping his ankle with his free hand. "But I think I got a good vertical slice of what it'll be like working there, and who I'll be working with."

"Well, that's good! You think it'll be a good fit for you?" Her voice sounded farther away. "Hey baby, I'm talking to Connor."

He could hear Markus faintly in the background. "Oh alright—hey, put me on."

"Okay—" More shuffling noises. "Markus wants to talk to you, too. Do you mind if I put you on speaker?"

Connor smiled. "That's fine."

The quality of the audio changed. "Hey, buddy—how're things in the Detroit precinct?"

"Well, I actually didn't spend that much time at the station. But I was surprised, I thought there'd be metal detectors at the entrance, things like that." There was a well-known incident in Detroit around ten years ago when a man shot up a police station and wounded four officers. That sparked some debate about whether the stations should be more fortified, or still appear to be "public-friendly" and open. Connor noted that the Detroit precinct seemed to take a middle ground, with more bulletproof glass like a bank, and one-way locking doors and metal shutters that came down.

"Huh, that is interesting." Connor was already well aware that Markus had complicated feelings and pointed beliefs about the police as a whole—and he could understand why. Since the two of them had known each other so long, they were capable of having a civil debate—but most of the time, they just dropped the topic after a certain point. Connor felt like he was perpetually on both sides of the fence, as it were. He understood his role in the system—he was a detective with a background in criminal psychology, and once had aspirations of being a prosecutor. Markus could understand why Connor was in his chosen field, and Connor could understand why Markus viewed the system as being inherently flawed, and susceptible to corruption. Connor's job was to investigate crime scenes and interview witnesses—he wasn't a patrol cop who pulled people over for DWB, so they just left it at that. "So if you weren't at the station, what did you do?"

"Ahh, I was actually called to assist investigating a scene. A homicide." He was picking at the band of his sock. "You probably don't want to hear about it."

"Baby, he said it was a rough one."

"Well... you might not want to hear about it, but I do." Markus laughed a bit. "What?" Connor imagined North gave him a piercing glare, or smacked him lightly on the arm. "All right, nevermind."

Connor was trying to think of how to change the subject. "Oh—something kind of funny did happen." Well, "funny" was relative. "So there was another detective there who was being kind of a dick—so they ended up shoo-ing him out of the crime scene." Connor was pressing his thumb into his ankle while recalling the night. "Apparently he went to go interview the other girls, but they must have gotten sketched out by him, because he just stormed off and left." Maybe Connor should have thought harder before impulsively sharing this story. The Lieutenant seemed to think it was pretty funny, his friends not so much.

"What? That's ridiculous." North sounded like she was leaning over the phone. "How can a cop just get away with acting like that?"

Connor was pressing the side of his thumbnail into his ankle now. "Honestly, I don't know." From his perspective, it seemed like Gavin was heading for a suspension. Or at least, he hoped so. "There were three more of us on the scene, counting the Lieutenant. And several more uniformed officers." They didn't really have anything to say to that.

"... Hey, what 'other girls', where were you guys at?" Of course Markus would pick up on that part. "Were you at a strip club or something?"

"Babe! Come on."

Connor smoothed the little pink line he had made in his skin with his nail. "Well, I don't mind telling you, if you want to hear it." They were silent. "North?"

She sounded like she sighed. "Sure, go ahead. I do want to hear how your first day went."

"Okay." He licked his lips. "Well, to make a long story short, a man attacked a woman at a sex club, and she defended herself, but she ended up killing him." Silence. "I'm sorry—it was pretty negative, wasn't it?"

Markus was the first one to speak. "... Damn. That's awful." Connor was brushing his thumb lightly on his ankle bone. The red indent was still there. "I'm sorry, Connor—that sounds like a hell of a scene to walk in on." He wanted to say, "Feel sorry for her, not me"—but that could be inferred.

"Yeah." He laughed awkwardly, despite himself. "I'm sorry I don't have much to tell you about." He smiled to himself. "But I appreciate you calling me."

"Of course, babe." Every once in a while North would call him "babe" too, which she seemed to do so platonically to even her girlfriends. Er, her other friends who were girls.

"Oh! Listen to this—Diana came out on her own today!"

"Aww, sweetie girl! See, she is getting more comfortable." Connor looked around the small living room. "Is she in your lap?"

"No, I'm not sure where she—oh, she's on my chair in the kitchen." Diana was peering out at him from under the table, her eyes half-lidded. "Silly girl—you can come here, you know."

"Aww—well she's taking baby steps!" He wasn't sure, but Markus might have dipped out of the call since they were now fawning over Connor's cat.

"Hey—maybe if Big Bro and Big Sis come over, she'd know that everything is the same." Well, apparently Markus was still there. Connor knew he wouldn't actually care—after all, they had a mini Pin which Markus took on walks by himself all the time. He said that girls go crazy for a hot guy with a cute little dog, which he didn't doubt. But Markus could probably be dragging a ratty stuffed animal on a leash and still get fawned over.

"Yeah, maybe." Connor smiled to himself. "It'd be nice if you guys came over, anyway."

"Alright—hey, do you go in on Wednesday?"

"I'm not sure—my regular rotation's not set in stone yet."

North's voice sounded smaller. "Babe, remember Simon's staying over on Tuesday and Wednesday." Connor couldn't help but stiffen a bit.

"—oh yeah, that's right—Hey Connor, just let us know what days you'll be free, and we'll make time for you. Alright?"

Connor's smile came back. "Okay. Sounds good. Thanks for calling, I'm glad I got to talk to you guys."

"Hey, anytime."

"Bye babe, we love you!"

"Thanks, you too."

"You have a good night, okay? Don't let that case bother you too much." They knew him too well. Well, they were his closest friends for about 18 and 10 years, respectively.

"Thanks, I'll try. Good night."

"Night!" He waited in case they said anything else, then ended the call. He set his phone on the arm of the couch, shifting to lay down on his side. Well, that was something he'd just have to get used to, sooner rather than later. It didn't look like Simon was going anywhere.

Connor sighed heavily, letting his eyes fall closed. He couldn't help it—it still felt like Mom and Dad were getting a divorce, even though they were just adding a third partner. He knew he shouldn't feel so weird about it, after all the times they sat around talking about it, explaining it to him in ways they thought he could understand—Connor was still just a boring monogamist and a romantic at heart, and it wasn't something he could personally understand. Well—he might just as well be monogamous in theory, since Connor hadn't so much as been on a date since—Connor didn't want to think about that. He didn't even want to think about this, but here he was, turning it over in his mind for the hundredth time—and on his day off, no less.

He laid on his back, his arm shielding his eyes from the light in the ceiling. North had been his best friend since junior high, and when they went to college in Detroit together, she met Markus. At the time, Connor thought Markus was the total package and a really good match for her, and it was a good chance for her to move on from the last shitty guy. This was probably obvious, though none of them had ever talked about it—when Markus first started hanging around them, Connor developed a bit of a "long distance" crush—like you would on an actor, someone who was out of your league who you never had a chance with, anyway. But that was quickly quashed when North and Markus started dating, and getting serious—and the more he got to know Markus, the more he saw that he was thoughtful, and genuine, and really understood people—and Markus became Connor's closest male friend, at that point in his life. At first he was a bit skeptical that a guy that hot could also be so down-to-earth and kind—but when he met Markus' dad Carl, it all made sense. Connor was really happy for North, and he was also really glad that he finally made a guy friend who he could talk to. Markus was pretty open about being pansexual, which was shocking to Connor, at the time—he admired his casual bravery. Markus was the kind of guy who showed up at the Pride event in nothing but gold booty shorts and body glitter, roller skating around going "Whoo!" and high-fiving everyone he came across—he wasn't even particularly good at skating, he just thought it would be fun. He also might have taken a little something beforehand. At that one crowded parade they convinced Connor to join them at, North wore this crazy, strappy, black latex dominatrix outfit, with her hair in a high ponytail that she would whip around—and Connor himself wore something rather outlandish—a pink shirt. Even Connor could laugh at himself, looking back at their group picture—it was the perfect encapsulation of the vibe of their friendship: North looking wild and free and fierce, Markus with his hot masculine body covered in glitter, not caring what anyone thought—and then Connor, with his squinty smile and his pink shirt tucked into white breathable shorts, because it had been rather hot that summer.

Connor chuckled to himself at the memory. That was the dynamic he enjoyed. It was just the three of them. Then, one day, they sat Connor down and told him that they were polyamorous—and had been for a while, they just weren't sure how they wanted to bring it up to Connor. North knew all about his history, or lack thereof—and she correctly assumed it would blindside Connor a bit. North had already expressed to Connor as far back as high school that she might be bisexual, and she had casual things with girls before she met Markus—and obviously Connor didn't care about that. If anything, he was glad that him confiding in her that he was gay helped her to be more open to him. To a certain extent—she had been like a sister to him for half his life, so he still didn't particularly want to hear about the details of her sex life. But, he didn't know both of them had other partners here and there, as far back as a few years into them dating. It just kind of... shocked Connor. Even after they explained to him the freeing feeling of knowing your partner doesn't expect you to belong to them, and the mutual respect and open communication it took to maintain a healthy open relationship, and life was too short and too beautiful to limit your experiences and all that—Connor just couldn't wrap his head around how that wouldn't feel like cheating. Connor would never say this, but he couldn't help but bitterly wonder where the "open communication" was when they decided to keep something so important from him for so long. He felt like after that conversation, a wall instantly shot up between them. But he tried to just remind himself that it was none of his business—it didn't matter if he couldn't understand it, it was their relationship, not his, and he was being a bad friend by getting so hung up on it. He told himself that for a while—but then Simon started hanging around more.

Connor admitted that he never genuinely tried to engage with Simon—Connor would mostly default to "listening" if there were more than three people in a group—but from what he could gather, Simon seemed very "in" the gay community, while Connor felt very much "outside". Connor felt like he was "outside" a lot of things. North and Markus had to practically drag him to that Pride event—besides the fact that he didn't like dealing with large crowds, especially in the heat—he just felt like he didn't belong there. Besides being attracted to men, Connor felt like he had no connection to the community at large, and he didn't match up with what the purported "gay experience" was, socially. He just couldn't relate when Simon and Josh were in the group, talking about their dating and hookup stories—well, Josh was trans, so his experiences would be different to Connor's regardless—but Connor didn't have any dating stories. He only had one, and he sure as shit wasn't going to talk about it with anyone else, besides North and Markus.

Connor was just... different. Connor was a quiet guy who kept to himself, who had boring interests like "The Lovely British Baking Show", who was very career-oriented, and had entered into a field dominated by the old guard—corn-fed old men and tough women who did their damn job and expected the same out of you, in a larger field of criminal justice where you couldn't afford to let your professionalism slip a bit. The only time he was "on" was when he was at work, and that's because he had to be.

Just like his study of Criminal Psychology, there were certain things Connor could understand, but never internalize. He could build a psychological profile of a certain type of offender, and predict their movements, or give clarity to their motives or what made them that way in hindsight—but he would never understand what it felt like to be a serial killer, or an abuser, or any other horrible thing that ultimately made him quit pursuing that particular specialization. Likewise, he felt like he could never truly understand the appeal of polyamory. Likewise, after... that terrible experience, in college, and Connor sat with North and told her how he felt, and how he didn't understand why everyone was so sexually-motivated, that it was a distant fifth or sixth as something that was important to him in a relationship, and when he saw someone attractive he didn't think he wanted to fuck them, he just thought they were aesthetically-pleasing—and she told him, "Connor, I think you might be asexual"—she could understand it, but not internalize it.

The living room light was starting to bother him, so Connor threw his blanket over his face. He wondered if he would have felt differently if their other partner was a woman, or someone different than Simon. Connor actually didn't have a problem with Josh, he could be pretty funny—but he might not like him either if North and Markus said they were dating him. They weren't, as far as he knew—but Connor wouldn't be surprised if, after how less-than-ideally he reacted, they had decided to just not tell him any more about their relationships. That was what Connor was really afraid of... North had been his best friend for a long time, even before she knew he was gay. They started talking because he asked her what book she was reading, and it turned out to be a Japanese manga—and they had shared secret nerdy interests and spent many nights and weekends sitting on one or the other's bed, listening to music and watching weird DVDs they rented from the local video store, and just talking. He really valued their friendship—and although she would make a few jokes here and there, Connor knew North didn't just think of him as her "gay best friend". But then... suddenly, she did have a real gay best friend. It was Connor's understanding that Simon was just gay, so he was Markus' boyfriend, and not North's. But they still did stuff together all the time—Connor would open that photo-sharing app while he was feeling lazy just laying in bed, and he would see one of her posts while they were out somewhere together, and even if admittedly it wasn't somewhere he was interested in in the first place, he would still feel so left out... And when they were all sitting around at their house and Simon would say something like, "Oh my God—my friend sent me this post that was like, 'If you and your friend are both typing and you erase what you're writing first, you're a bottom.'" And North would laugh and slap her hands, going, "Oh my God, that is so funny, can you send me that?"—Connor felt like he was just so out of touch, and North and Markus couldn't relate to him any more, either... and he was being replaced. That's what truly terrified him.

Connor was suddenly aware of the low hum the fridge was making. He breathed deeply, curling into himself and wrenching up the blanket. Connor knew he wasn't normal. His parents didn't believe in therapy, and in reality he probably should have been diagnosed with something a long time ago. Maybe even a few things. But it was kind of too late now—Connor had developed systems that mostly worked, and in all honesty, at this point he'd just rather not know. He had sort of a boomer mentality, in that way. It would be one thing if he could get a diagnosis from a psychiatrist who would say, "Here's this magic pill, just take it and everything you've ever struggled with in your life will just make sense!" That just wasn't going to happen. The most that would happen is he'd be told, "Well, life's just going to be harder for you, and here's why." And Connor already knew that. He just preferred to vaguely self-deprecate like, "Because I'm me" or "my brain just does that". Well, only to his friends. He'd never make excuses like that in the workplace.

He fluffed up his blanket a bit, so it was easier to breathe under. Markus had been given up by his birth parents in a closed adoption, and to this day he had never made any attempt to reach out to them. He told Connor that there were a few times in his life he had been curious—like before he graduated high school, and after his first gallery showing—but in the end, he never reached out to the agency. Carl was his Dad, and anything else didn't matter. He was fine just not knowing. It was just like that... right?

Connor sighed audibly through his nose. None of that mattered. None of it mattered—they were still his most precious friends, and they still inexplicably thought the same of him, even though he was being so weird about their open relationship. He just had to suck it up and accept that that's how things were—it wasn't worth even entertaining the possibility of losing their friendship over. He loved them, and he needed them—after walking around in his suit all day, he enjoyed being able to unwind and talk casually with his own friends, like someone who had just barely turned thirty, and not have to be "on" all the time. Come tomorrow, he'd put his suit and tie back on, and slick back his hair, and slip back into the mask again, not showing an inch of himself, and secretly dreading when everyone he worked with would realize he was gay, or there was something wrong with his brain. He wasn't sure which of those things would be more devastating.

Connor lifted the blanket off his face and peered at Diana, who had closed her eyes, just loafing in the wooden chair. Well... if she wasn't ready to come over yet, he wouldn't push her.

OOO

Connor strode through the cool parking garage, taking a sip of warm coffee. It was the perfect temperature. His shoes tapped on the concrete, echoing slightly around the underground structure. He checked his phone—seven fifty-five, he was right on time. He reached for his keycard—no, it might be better to walk through the front entrance and greet everyone, than sneak in through the back door straight to the patrol office.

He glanced around, locating the ramp up to what he believed was the street facing the front of the station. He took another sip of coffee. It was less sweet than the honey lavender latte yesterday—just plain black coffee with enough half-and-half and honey that he added himself. Connor was in a contented mood—he may have largely wasted his day off by going in circles in his own head, blankly streaming shows before going to bed early—but when he woke up, Diana was curled up at the end of his bed, so everything would be all right. In his half-awake state he had tried to take a photo of her to send to North, but when his feet moved half a centimeter, she snapped awake and jumped off the bed.

Connor pushed open the two rows of glass doors leading into the station. He smiled brightly, greeting the woman sitting at the front of the records office. "Good morning." He almost reached out his hand, but remembered that she was behind glass. "I'm Detective Connor Sullivan, I don't believe we've met. I'll be in your care starting today."

She gave him a once-over, smiling warmly. "Oh, honey—so you're the new detective!" She pushed out her rolling chair and stood up. "You just stay right there, baby." Connor smiled internally. He always secretly enjoyed it when older ladies called him "honey", like waitresses and the like. He and North would sometimes go to this little family restaurant after school and split some loaded chili tots, and the owner Geena was a really sweet black woman in her sixties, and she would always bring them their plate and call them "honey". "Oh, look at you—aren't you handsome." She touched his arm, almost petting his sleeve. "Welcome, Connor." She gave him a little pat. "Oh, call me Wanda."

"Wanda? Thank you." He smiled, shifting his weight to his other foot. "How long have you been working here?"

"Oh, a long time, baby—it must be fourteen years now!" She rested her hand on her hip. Her outfit was interesting—she was a larger woman, dressed in a long-sleeve knit blouse with a gold brush stroke pattern, and a dark brown pleated skirt. It really complimented her skin tone, but Connor couldn't find a natural opening to mention that. Compliments came more easily to him with other awkward millennials like himself.

"I had a feeling, this seems like your castle."

"Humph. That's one way to put it." Connor found himself laughing. "Oh, I'm just kidding, honey—" She pat his arm again. "You go on now, don't be late!" Oh, that's right. She waved over her shoulder, walking back to her side door. "Good to meet you, Connor."

"Likewise, thank you." He returned her wave, then continued on to the back of the precinct. Even though they didn't clock in or out, and were just trusted to keep an accurate timesheet—Connor still liked to be on time.

He quickly located Captain Fowler's office behind the glass doors in the back, and scanned the room for anyone he would recognize from last night. The patrol office had a high ceiling and an open floor plan, which Connor liked—each desk sat as an island in a grid pattern, with plenty of room to walk between them, and there were smaller offices with closing doors, as well as the break room and kitchen down along the side of the room. It didn't feel claustrophobic like the precinct in Novi, with high partitions that felt like you were in a cubicle. There was one gentleman at the first desk whom Connor hadn't met—he looked up at Connor, then went back to his computer. Connor felt it would be less awkward to make his introductions later.

He made his way to the break room to throw away his empty coffee. He recognized Officer Miller, pouring himself a cup from the machine on the counter. He noticed Connor approach and turned to face him. "Hey, you're back." He smiled like he was laughing to himself. "Hell of a first call, right?" Connor recalled him saying something similar to Lieutenant Anderson the other night.

"It certainly wasn't pleasant." He lightly threw his coffee cup into the trash. "But nothing I haven't seen before." That wasn't quite true—while Connor had responded to the odd homicide out in the suburbs, none of them were quite like that. And besides—Connor had never even been inside of a strip club, let alone a sex club. They had one "bikini bar" in Novi, and Connor had no reason to go there.

Officer Miller seemed to pick up on that. "I bet." Connor thought he seemed like a decent guy from the other night—but now it almost seemed like he was secretly laughing at Connor, going "Mm-hm" in his head. Well—here goes nothing.

"I don't think I introduced myself the other night." He held out his hand. "I'm Connor Sullivan. Nice to meet you." Officer Miller shook his hand firmly.

"Chris. Miller." He let go, then leaned in a bit. "Hey—if you want my advice, just go ahead and call everyone by their first names. No one here cares." He clapped Connor's arm. "'Cept Captain Fowler." He gave Connor a friendly smile, which he returned.

"Thank you, I'll keep that in mind."

Chris walked off towards his desk, and Connor made a beeline for Captain Fowler's office. Maybe Chris was a decent guy—maybe Connor was just overthinking things, as he was wont to do.

Connor knocked on the glass door, then opened it when the Captain waved him in. "Good morning, Captain Fowler."

"Morning Connor—thank you for being on time." He stood up, but kept his hands on the desk. "I wish I could say the same for everyone else." Connor wasn't sure what to say to that. "Well, I wanted to talk to both you and Hank about how to proceed from here, so just go ahead and sit tight 'til he gets here. And he will get here, I made damn sure he knows not to stroll in here after noon if he wants his hide to stay on." A small laugh escaped Connor. He was surprised by how candid Captain Fowler could be—completely different than his no-nonsense Ed Begley Jr.-looking Captain at the Novi precinct.

"Thank you, Captain—I'll just be at my desk, filing my report from Saturday."

"Please, do."

OOO

Connor was leisurely reading an article about the changing ecology of cranberry bogs. Apparently the cranberry plants require ice cover to survive year-round, and with climate change causing winters to shift temperature unpredictably, the ice suddenly thawing can shock the plant. Connor hadn't been aware that half of the world's supply of cranberries was produced in Wisconsin, how interesting. Connor quite enjoyed cranberry juice and cranberry sauce, though he really only ate it around Thanksgiving and Christmas—and he secretly preferred the tube of jelly that came out of a can as opposed to a home-made, chunky sauce. It was probably the smoother texture that did it for him.

He checked the crystal clock on his desk, a graduation gift from his parents—it was already past nine. Captain Fowler came out to tell Connor he called the Lieutenant again at eight-thirty, but he still hadn't shown up. The Captain wasn't even bothering to hide his irritation. The Lieutenant wasn't the only one to be late—Gavin had sauntered in about twenty-after, and besides a short, "Tch, you're here?" he had thankfully decided to ignore Connor, instead sitting with his foot up on the desk, playing on his phone. Connor had to stifle a laugh when he walked in—he could still hear the Lieutenant refer to him as "that fucker Gavin, with his shitty, patchy beard." It was a bit patchy—but better than Connor could grow, probably. He had never tried.

Someone laughed from over by the water cooler. "Hey, is it noon already?" Chris was grinning in the direction of the office entrance, as the Lieutenant came striding in.

"Yeah, yeah." The Lieutenant pushed back his hair, which was falling into his face as he walked. "Hey, 'good morning' to you, too."

"Mornin', Lieutenant."

Connor stood up, folding the newspaper he had taken from the break room. He extended his hand, with what he hoped was a casual smile. "Good morning, Lieutenant."

The Lieutenant took his hand, and Connor made the conscious effort to return his rather firm handshake. "Mornin' kid—whoops, it's Connor, right?" The Lieutenant gave him what looked like a sly smile. Thanks to that, Connor felt himself relax—it was safe to assume that was just the Lieutenant's sense of humor, calling back to the previous night.

Connor laughed, despite himself. "I'm glad you remembered." The Lieutenant gave him a curious expression which Connor couldn't quite place, smoothing down his beard when he let go of their handshake. He was wearing a worn brown leather jacket, and a loose dress shirt with a loud pattern, Connor observed with interest. Something about the Lieutenant seemed a little different—"Lieutenant, did you trim your beard?" That must be it, his face looked a little slimmer and longer. Connor found himself asking before he had time to question whether that was a weird thing to notice, and to ask out loud.

"Ah, yeah." The Lieutenant raked a hand back through his hair again, and his eyes flicked away. He turned to face Connor, a somewhat serious expression on his face. "Hey, Connor—"

"Hank, Connor." Captain Fowler called sharply. "Can I see you in my office, please?"

The Lieutenant let out a long, grumbly sigh, closing his eyes. "Got it," he called. He grumbled a bit more under his breath and walked past Connor, giving his arm a light pat. "Let's go, kid."

"Yes, Lieutenant." Connor followed him to the large glass office at the back of the room. The Lieutenant opened the door first, then held it open behind him without looking. "Thank you."

Captain Fowler jerked up his waistband, settling down in his chair. "Nice to see you this morning, Sunshine."

The Lieutenant pulled up a chair in front of Captain Fowler's desk, and Connor followed suit. "Hey, you know—I don't think I've gotten up before nine in three years."

"I know you haven't, Hank." Captain Fowler tapped his fingers on his desk, thoroughly unamused. "But that shit stops today."

The Lieutenant didn't respond right away. "Okay? Is that all you wanted to tell me?"

Captain Fowler flipped through some reports on his desk. "I read the reports from the homicide at the Eden Club." Connor felt a nervous twinge. "The two of you got that club owner to hand over his personnel logs and open those private rooms, without us having to obtain a warrant—which led directly to the arrest." He flipped back a particular page. "I had more than one guy tell me they thought you worked well together." Connor found himself internally wondering who that was—Detective Collins, Chris? Maybe even Officer Chen—

"Jeffrey—" The Lieutenant leaned back in his chair with an annoyed grunt. "What are you getting at?"

Captain Fowler emphatically tapped his finger on the desk. "Starting today, Connor is going to be your new partner."

"What?" The Lieutenant didn't even miss a beat. "Why?"

"I'm not asking, Hank, I've already—"

"I'm the Lieutenant, last time I checked—I don't need a partner!"

"Yes, you damn well do, Hank!" Captain Fowler sliced both hands down. "We're all lucky if you even show up before noon—the best way for you to get your shit together, is to have a partner to hold you accountable!"

"Really?" The Lieutenant draped his arm over the back of the chair, his tone edging into combative. "The new guy's supposed to 'hold me accountable'?" It made Connor bristle. It felt like they were talking past him, like he wasn't even there, and it was very awkward.

"Yes. To be blunt Hank, I can't rely on you getting your shit done on your own. Connor—" Captain Fowler turned to face him, gesturing emphatically. "You're skilled. You're young. You have a wide background of training." He turned back to the Lieutenant. "That's why I trust him to be your partner. Connor, you know what led to Hank's promotion to Lieutenant? He led the biggest coke bust Detroit has ever seen, we tracked down an entire tanker of the stuff."

Connor cleared his throat before he could stop himself. "Yes, I've read all about Lieutenant Anderson's accomplishments. I'm very impressed by his track record."

"See, that's the Hank Anderson I want to see—now you need to lead by example, Hank."

The Lieutenant collapsed back into his chair with a loud annoyed sigh, running his hand back over his hair. "Come on, Jeffrey. You know I don't do well with partners." He dragged his palm down his entire face. "Why're you springin' this on me all the sudden?"

"Hank, I don't know why you're bitching now—from what I heard, you and Connor already worked well together on that homicide. Is there something else I should know?" Connor's ears perked up. He was beginning to wonder that himself. The Lieutenant did seem inexplicably reluctant for someone who greeted him so casually, almost playfully five minutes ago. Maybe he really did hate the idea of having a partner so much, no matter who it was.

The Lieutenant sighed loudly, continuing to palm his beard. "... No."

"Hank…" Captain Fowler leaned against the arm of his chair. "I don't know what's going on with you—well I do know, but you need to leave that shit at home and not let it affect your work." Connor found his curiosity piqued. "Now unless you want me to go down the list and embarrass you more in front of your new partner, I suggest you snuggle up in the 'get-along' sweater and do your jobs." Connor almost snorted at that absurd image. "What, would you rather me stick you with Gavin?"

"Anything but that."

"Good. Then this conversation is over." Captain Fowler turned back to face his computer. "Connor, you're free to go. Lieutenant Anderson will give you his case files to start working on—Hank, you stay right there." Connor found himself curious what they were going to talk about with him out of the room—but there was no way to eavesdrop on Captain Fowler's glass office, which he wouldn't have done anyway, because that would be highly unprofessional.

Connor was unsure whether to thank the Captain, as the conversation hadn't gone particularly well. "Thank you for your time, Captain Fowler. Lieutenant." He smoothed down his tie, and left the office.

Connor made his way back to his new desk, which happened to be attached to the Lieutenant's. The Captain had off-handedly mentioned that Connor would have a partner once he got settled. He internally counted his blessings that he didn't get stuck with Gavin instead. When that Eden call popped up and the Captain directed him to check out the crime scene, Connor's focus was just on doing his job correctly, and demonstrating his abilities. He hadn't even met everyone at the precinct yet, so when the Captain told him to "work with the Lieutenant", Connor had just assumed he intended for the Lieutenant to show him the ropes. It makes sense now if that was his intention… but perhaps it would have been a good idea to talk it over with each of them separately, rather than dropping it in their laps like that. Connor generally wasn't a guy who found his masculinity threatened, as he chose not to care about such things—but even he felt the second-hand emasculation from the Captain dressing-down the Lieutenant in front of him. Then again, maybe that was their old man "tough love", or "you need to pull yourself up by your bootstraps", or whatever the boomer equivalent of lacking empathy was. Well—that wasn't exactly fair, according to his file the Lieutenant was fifty-three, which would put him at the top of Gen X.

Connor stole a glance at the Captain's office. The Lieutenant was leaning forward in his chair, arms resting on his knees. Captain Fowler was supporting his head in his hand, one finger pointed up towards his ear. They looked like they might be having a more serious conversation. Connor got the impression that the two had known each other a long time, especially since the Lieutenant had called him "Jeffrey" and not "Captain".

Connor went to go put the newspaper back in the break room where he found it. Surely, there must be someone who would find the resilience of the cranberry plant as fascinating as he did. Oh—it had been so long since he read a physical newspaper, he had forgotten about the ink runoff. The sides of his fingertips were very slightly grey. Connor went to the sink and washed his hands, internally hoping he didn't get ink on Lieutenant Anderson's hands when he shook them.

Connor rounded the Lieutenant's side of the desk, taking a cursory glance at the items strewn about. An old Walkman with wired headphones stood out the most—though Connor couldn't make out which CD was inside from the little window. There was also the skeleton of a little bonsai tree, now just a sad-looking twisted stick. For some reason, Connor still found himself wanting to know more about the Lieutenant—surely there had to be more to why he was suddenly so unreceptive to the prospect of being his partner. Connor's eyes scanned all the stickers on the back of the Lieutenant's monitor—'If you have a complaint, please go to HELL'—'If you're not a bartender, then go away!'—and a sticky note that read, 'I'm not grumpy, I just don't like you.' Connor had no doubt the Lieutenant was easily annoyed by people, but he had a hard time imagining the older man actually bothering to stick these to his monitor. Perhaps they were teasing gifts at his anti-social tendencies—he could picture the Captain whipping a sticker across the Lieutenant's desk as he passed, saying, "Hey, saw this and thought of you—" to which the Lieutenant would quip, "Fuck off, Jeffrey—" then hold up the sticker at his retreating back and yell, "Hey, can't you read?!" The thought gave Connor a silly little smile. Other than a baseball cap with the Detroit Gears logo, there weren't any other personal effects—oh, Connor just noticed a framed photo, tucked underneath the monitor—it looked like the Lieutenant on a boardwalk or pier, with shorter hair and a Hawaiian shirt with large flower print, standing with a little boy who was hugging him around the waist. That must be his son. The boy had a large smile, and looked to be around five or six. The Lieutenant was squinting heavily in the sunlight—but his smile was just as big.

After a while, the Lieutenant strode from Captain Fowler's office, his hands on his hips. Connor watched him in his peripheral vision, facing his monitor. No doubt the experience had been as awkward for the Lieutenant as it was for Connor. The Lieutenant sank heavily into his chair with an audible grunt. He pulled both his hands back over his hair. "—All right, kid." He hit the Power button on his computer. "Guess we'll be workin' together from here on out."

There was still a slightly tense air over the desk. Connor picked his next words carefully. To be honest, it did bother him a bit—he was under the impression that the Lieutenant had warmed up to him, so to be hit with such a stubborn reaction... "I'm sorry if I've done anything to make you hesitant to work with me, Lieutenant."

The Lieutenant grunted in frustration. "No—" He cut himself off. "You didn't do anything, Connor." He pressed his palm over his eyes, rubbing his temple. "Just forget it, all right? Just get to work." Connor resigned himself to not getting an explanation beyond that.

Connor turned back to his computer, which was logged in with his new credentials. He would have liked to get to work, but he hadn't been given any case files, or additional direction from the Lieutenant. "Have you filed your police report from Saturday night, Lieutenant?" He already looked annoyed before Connor had finished his sentence.

"No, I haven't." Hank leaned over his legs, his hands clasped. "Look, Connor—if you want to work with me, just stay out of my hair." Connor found himself wanting to say that it wasn't his idea. "I like doing things at my own pace, all right?" Well. That certainly seemed plausible—although their work as detectives was often time-sensitive, but Connor knew better than to push the issue any further. The Lieutenant had said directly that Connor hadn't done anything to particularly offend him—maybe it was just a pride issue. The Lieutenant didn't like that the Captain had just stated outright that he was losing his edge, and letting his personal problems, whatever they were, affect his performance—and he felt emasculated and insulted by being paired up with "some kid" who just blew into town—that was all Connor could guess at, anyway. He couldn't understand that fragile sense of masculine pride, and taking things so personally that it expresses itself outwards in anger, or violence—Connor was a self-admitted soft boy, and gay, and couldn't relate to these wound-up men from older generations—or the bizarre chronically-online men his own age, who seem to blame everything on women not wanting to sleep with them. The first time he watched Taxi Driver, Connor found himself frustrated because he couldn't understand what Travis' motivations were for doing anything—he just couldn't understand him. He had to watch a video essay afterwards—and even then, it's not like he could internalize such struggles with masculinity.

Connor felt like he had to be the mature one in this situation—he had to show that he was making an effort to understand why the Lieutenant would be frustrated. But he also knew he had to stand up for himself—even in the workplace, Connor had to make a conscious effort to not just be a people-pleaser for the sake of keeping the peace. "I can understand why you'd be frustrated suddenly being partnered up with 'the new guy'." The Lieutenant's eyes snapped up to meet his. "For what it's worth, I'm looking forward to working together—so I hope you won't underestimate my experience, Lieutenant." The Lieutenant didn't say anything, just nodded slightly, his face angled towards something on the floor. Connor would just have to be the one to redirect the conversation himself. "Well then, Lieutenant—" Connor clasped his hands, resting them on his desk. "I'd like to get to know each other better. What do you like to do in your spare time?"

Hank scoffed in amusement. "What the hell kinda question is that?" He rested his chin in his hand. "Nothing. Go to the bar, watch the game, and get drunk."

"I see." Connor spied a long, white hair stuck to the Lieutenant's jacket. "Do you have a dog, Lieutenant?" He looked up at Connor, brows slightly furrowed.

"Why're you askin'?"

Connor nodded in his direction. "I happened to notice you had a white hair on your jacket. I always have to use a lint roller before I leave the house, so I know the struggle." He smiled. "What kind of dog do you have, what's their name?"

The Lieutenant sighed. "Sumo. He's an old Saint Bernard. Mostly just sits around." The Lieutenant craned his neck to look at his shoulder. "Don't know how his fuckin' hair keeps gettin' everywhere." Connor laughed lightly, and the Lieutenant's eyes met his. "You got a dog, Connor?"

"Actually, I have a cat—but I like dogs." Connor found himself smiling genuinely. "We did have a dog when I was growing up, she was a big Irish setter named Sadie."

"Huh." The Lieutenant shook his head to himself. "So you have a cat..." Connor wasn't sure what that was supposed to imply.

Connor shifted in his chair, crossing one leg. "I was curious when I saw your Walkman. What were you listening to?"

The Lieutenant wordlessly pressed the button on the side to open the disc tray. "Look for yourself."

Connor leaned over his desk to peer at the CD. Knights of the Black Death? Connor had never heard of them—his first thought was something akin to Iron Maiden or Judas Priest, but they could also be black metal with growly vocals, or high-energy power metal. Connor had a hard time imagining the Lieutenant lying on his back dissociating while listening to doom, as Connor sometimes found himself doing, when the mood was low already. "What genre are Knights of the Black Death, Lieutenant?" He gave a light laugh. "Black metal and death metal are quite different, from what I understand."

The Lieutenant narrowed his eyes, almost like he was testing Connor. "You know anything about metal, Connor?"

"Well, I admit my knowledge of all the different sub-genres is limited, since I tend to gravitate more towards what you might call 'folk' metal, and doom. Well, as long as it has a melody." The Lieutenant looked literally taken aback. "Are you familiar with Agalloch and SubRosa, Lieutenant?"

The Lieutenant leaned over his desk. "Are you serious, Connor?"

"Of course." He laughed uncomfortably. "Why would I make that up?"

"You didn't look at my CD and then just look that up on your phone?"

"I promise you, I didn't." Connor laughed genuinely. "I have a wide variety of interests, and I've listened to a lot of different genres of music. Sometimes I'll 'dive down the rabbit hole' if I find something particularly interesting." Maybe Connor should have looked this stuff up on his phone as a refresher—when he was in a weird doomy mood, he usually just put an entire album on and listened to it front to back, not really pausing to look up the individual track names. "I'm quite fond of The Mantle—I'm sure you've seen the album cover, with the head of an elk in the foreground."

"I know Agalloch, Connor." The Lieutenant looked like he was staring right into his soul. "What's your favorite song?"

"Well, I'm quite fond of 'The Lodge', though I also like 'In the Shadow of Our Pale Companion', and…" Shit, what was the name of that other song… he almost said 'Opeth', but that was a band. "—'Odal'."

The Lieutenant regarded him with suspicion, then resignation, then interest. "All right." He was stroking his beard now. "What was that other one you said?"

"SubRosa?" Connor smiled despite himself. He actually didn't have a whole lot of friends that shared this particular interest—it wasn't North's thing, nor Markus'—only his friend York from the police academy seemed to appreciate it. "They're much heavier, and have a female vocalist." Connor whipped out his phone, pulling up the first album he discovered by them. "This is my favorite album—More Constant than the Gods. I particularly enjoy the opening and closing tracks, and 'Cosey Mo'." He leaned across the desk to show the Lieutenant the eye-catching album art—a greyscale portrait of a woman with long black hair, a white moon behind her, shooting lightning out of one finger, with a red inky serpent winding around her other arm. He figured if he showed the Lieutenant this artwork, he'd be intrigued.

The Lieutenant was rubbing his mustache, peering at Connor's phone screen. "Interesting. I'll have to check 'em out." Yes!—He hoped the Lieutenant would like it, so they could talk about it.

Connor laughed at himself. "I had a roommate in college who I used to talk about music and movies with, and he told me, 'Connor, it seems you like anything pretty—even heavy metal.' Which I suppose is true." He went back and searched 'Elder band', since for the life of him he couldn't remember which album of theirs he liked—but he would recognize it by the artwork, a round purple landscape—ah, it was Lore. "I need a melody to hook me, otherwise it doesn't sound like I'm listening to anything."

The Lieutenant was giving Connor his full attention. "Interesting." He leaned heavily on his desk with one arm. "Now what's some music you like that you don't think I'd like?" It did still seem like Hank was testing him, for some reason. Connor never thought he would be "gatekept" about his taste in music in real life—much less by his superior. "Something really lame and embarrassing?"

"Lame and embarrassing…" Connor chuckled to himself.

"What's the first thing you thought of?"

"Well, the first thing that came to mind was something like The Cranberries, or Jewel. I like the slower songs like 'Linger' and 'Ode to My Family', but I imagine you'd be more into songs like 'Zombie', Lieutenant." Connor found himself stroking his chin. "I don't have an excuse for Jewel." The Lieutenant laughed. "I think it might be a live version, or at least a different version than they play on the radio—but there's a rendition of 'You Were Meant for Me' where she sounds like she's trying not to cry while singing. I really like it." He was almost hugging his knee with his clasped hands, and willed himself to relax. "I suppose I have a fascination with music from the nineties, since I grew up listening to a lot of it on the radio—but I didn't have the larger cultural context as a child, so when I go back and seek it out as an adult, I gain a new appreciation for it." He glanced up at the Lieutenant. "Does that make sense?"

The Lieutenant was thoughtfully scratching his beard. "S'pose it does." He raked a hand back through his hair. "Guess that's how I feel about music from the seventies. I was there, but too young to really appreciate it 'til I got a little older."

"Exactly." Connor smiled while scrolling through the playlists on his phone. If the Lieutenant really didn't believe him, he could look at his carefully-curated playlists according to "vibes". He briefly wondered if the Lieutenant was the type to get mad if he saw "the kids on their phones" during work—but they were just having a casual conversation.

"Well, try again Connor—" The Lieutenant had turned back to his computer. "'Cause I like The Cranberries." Connor smiled, looking at his phone. "I'm gonna forget that album you told me—hey, write it out and send it to me." Connor's eyes snapped up. "Here…" The Lieutenant grabbed a sticky note, scribbling on it with pen. He pulled the note off and stuck it on Connor's desk. It was his phone number, with "Hank" underlined below it.

"Oh, thank you, Lieutenant—I had forgotten to ask." For some reason, getting a hand-written phone number made Connor feel a little fuzzy.

"Yeah, just text me that and I'll save your number that way." Connor had already started typing in a new contact under 'Lt. Hank Anderson'. "And another thing—stop calling me 'Lieutenant' all the time." Connor's eyes raised to meet his. "It's just 'Hank', okay?"

Connor licked his lips. "Sure." For some reason, it made him self-conscious to suddenly call the Lieutenant "Hank" on the spot. He typed out his first message:

'Hello, it's Connor.'
'SubRosa – More Constant than the Gods'

Send. For good measure, he thought he should also send the album art. And… Send. He heard a default-sounding ringtone, and Hank pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. He grinned at his screen. "Black magic woman, huh?"

"You may be right." Connor tucked his phone away. "What's yours?"

"My what?"

"Your most embarrassing music that you like?"

Hank put his phone away. "Hah? I don't listen to embarrassing music."

Connor rolled his eyes. "Come on, Hank." He was surprised by how easily it came out. "I told you mine."

Hank rubbed his beard, an odd smile on his face. "Well… I'll give you a two-fer, since you gave me two—first thing that comes to mind are two cheesy Stevie Nicks duets—'Leather and Lace' with Don Henley, and 'Whenever I Call You "Friend"' with Kenny Loggins." Hank grinned to himself. "Those are pretty corny."

Connor felt an odd grin on his face, as well. "I'm not sure I'm familiar with either."

"Oh I'm sure you've heard that second one on the radio—'Sweet love showin' us a heavenly light!'" Connor burst out into a short laugh—Hank had tried his best to do a falsetto. Despite that, he could actually recognize the song by the melody.

Connor leaned his chin in his hand. "I have, actually—is the next line, something-something 'beautiful sight'?"

"That's the one!" Hank pulled in his chair with a loud scrape. "See, there's hope for the younger generations after all."

"… I thought you said that song was pretty corny?"

"It is. But the fact that you know it means you don't have your eyes glued to that fuckin' phone all day." Connor couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"You know, Lieutenant, with any information you could possibly want being available at our fingertips at all times, the world has never beenmore accessible and informed." Hank was already rolling his eyes before Connor could finish his whole sentence.

"Yeah, yeah. Then why do people keep getting stupider?"

Connor laughed. "That's something I'd like to know myself." Hank shot him an almost dirty look. "That wasn't directed at you, Lieutenant."

"Hey, now." He started tapping the point of his pen on the sticky note pad. "Don't get sassy with me and switch back to 'Lieutenant'. Who are you—my old lady breaking out the middle name?"

"What is your middle name—Hank?" He almost said 'Lieutenant' again, out of habit.

"Pft, wouldn't you like to know."

Connor leaned in over the desk. "Is it an embarrassing old man name, like Eugene?"

"You just keep guessing." Connor laughed lightly. "What's yours, Seamus?"

"Close!" Connor almost snorted. "It's Sean. Did you just guess the most Irish name you could think of?"

Hank was rubbing his beard with a small grin, though he was looking at his monitor. "You look like you got some Irish in you." Suddenly his eyes dropped, and he covered his mouth, which had broken into a grin. He didn't say anything else. All right? What was that about?

Connor absently circled his mouse across his desktop, trying to decide what he should set as his new background. He was a bit surprised—pleasantly surprised, at how easy it was to talk to the Lieu—to Hank. Connor supposed he should just let it go, whatever had transpired in Captain Fowler's office. Hank seemed to like him enough now—at least enough to tolerate his attempts at small talk. Something suddenly came to Connor's mind, which had struck him as odd—

"Hank, what is the 'get-along sweater'?" Hank let out one singular laugh.

"Hah! What, you've never heard of the 'get-along shirt'?" Connor shook his head. "It's a big shirt they stick siblings in when they won't stop fighting." His eyes flicked to something below his monitor. "Thankfully Cole's an only child, so I never had to deal with that."

"Cole is your son's name?"

Hank nodded thoughtfully. "Here." He gently placed the framed photo on Connor's side of the desk. He picked it up to get a better look. Upon closer inspection, Hank and his son were wearing matching shirts.

Connor smiled. "You both look happy."

Hank raked a hand back through his hair. "Yeah, well..." He took his photo back, tucking it back in its place. "I got divorced not too long after this was taken." Ah. "So who knows." Connor felt it wasn't his place to pry. From that resolute response, it was safe to assume Hank hadn't remarried—he must just wear his wedding ring out of habit or sentimentality. Perhaps he was the one who was served the papers, and he hadn't seen it coming. That might be what the Captain— "Anyway, here." Hank slapped a thick file on Connor's desk. "I'm sure that shit's in the computer too, but here's what I got. You'll be working with me to check 'em all out. Right now my priority's that missing persons report—it's well outside forty-eight hours, but still no hide or hair of 'em." Hank rubbed his beard. "I want to go back out and poke around more before telling the family we got nothin'."

Connor nodded. "Got it, Lieutenant." He opened the first tab in the folder. Paper-clipped to the report was a small photo that looked like a student ID, of a young man with neat blonde hair. His name was Daniel Lambert, 5'10" and 151 lbs, Caucasian, blue eyes, no distinguishing scars or tattoos. He had just turned twenty. There was also a print-out of a digital photo of him smiling with a little girl. "Who's the girl?"

"The host family's daughter. He was a student from France who lived with them." Hank leaned back in his chair. "Apparently he's been with them since he stared college here. One day, he just up and left."

"I see." Connor found himself rubbing his chin while he scanned the report. "No sign of him booking any flights, or hotel rooms?"

"That's the thing—the family has his passport." Connor's eyebrow raised. "They said he left without it—but if you ask me, I think they were withholding it." Hank's expression hardened. "You know, like shitty rich families do to their live-in housekeepers?"

"Interesting." Connor closed the file. "Is there any evidence of foul play?"

"Not yet, but he's been gone five days." Hank stroked down his beard. "No bodies have turned up, either."

"I see. May I scan these to have a digital copy?"

"Knock yourself out."

"I assume I don't need administrator clearance to email externally from the scanner, I can just enter my address?" Hank stared at him blankly. Connor rolled his eyes, in what he hoped was a playful way. "Never mind, Lieutenant—I'll ask someone who wasn't born before computers were invented."

"Hey, now!" Hank moved like he was going to get up from his chair, but decided against it. "There were computers in the seventies! How do you think they shot up all those rockets?!" Connor laughed quietly to himself, moving towards the giant office printer. He placed all the files from the missing person's report in the tray, and typed in his mercifully-short work email.

Connor sat at his desk, waiting for the email with the PDF to pop in. He minimized the window and found himself staring at his sparse desktop, lost in thought. The wallpaper on his old computer was a gorgeous sunset over a lake, deep purples and pinks reflected perfectly in the water. For some reason that seemed a little pessimistic, though—perhaps it was time for a change.

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Thanks for reading, y'all! Poor Connor—we know why Hank's hesitant to be stuck in a car with him and work with him all the time, but Connor doesn't DX As you can see, Connor has a lot of personal stuff to work through just for himself, before he would even consider the possibility of starting a relationship—so if that's not your speed, there are plenty of other great fics out there :) For everyone else—*slaps roof of car* this baby can fit so much unresolved generational trauma

For those of you who peeped Connor's friend "York", that was a stupid idea that came to me XD Connor needs more friends, so who better than other ND-coded eccentric FBI agents? I'm sure you'll recognize the third in their little college trio XD