There's Something Wrong With Me

by skeevy nyx

Connor was content with his self-admitted boring life—he watched his shows, saw his friends sometimes—but the second he stepped through those precinct doors, the job was his only focus. Connor knew his life wasn't typical, or enviable—but he had systems in place, which mostly worked. AU crime drama with personal conflict and introspection, maybe some domestic terrorism... and love?

1. Chapter 1 - Jaded

There's Something Wrong With Me - Chapter 1

Jaded

XXX

It was cold as fuck, and Hank had to drag his ass out of bed for this bullshit. Damnit—some asshole just had to get himself killed at the sex club the night before his one precious day off. He should have just lied and said he was drunk off his ass.

Hank hunched his shoulders as he strode from his warm car through the fat raindrops that plodded down on him. The rain-slicked street reflected the club's tacky pink neon lights, flooding the whole block. He was walking so fast he trudged right through a puddle in the gutter. "—Fuck! Goddamnit..." There was a crowd of lookie-loos all smattered outside, and Hank pushed his way through them. "All right, move along—police." Some of the them started to disperse, but not fast enough for his liking. "Move it! Don't you guys have anything better to do?"

"All right asshole, Jesus."

Without stopping Hank flashed his badge at the officer posted outside, who ushered him in past the crime tape. Hank strode through the LED tunnel lit up by lady's silhouettes, raking a hand back through his wet hair. You'd think they could turn down the fuckin' music a bit. This wasn't Hank's first rodeo, but you wouldn't even catch him at this dive. The place had that holographic sleek look that just turned Hank right the fuck off, the music they played was too fuckin' loud, and the drinks were all foofy cocktails with fruity garnish. Or so he'd heard.

He spied a group of girls all huddled together on a long wrap-around couch near the entrance, in various states of undress. Must be the working girls—poor things, they looked petrified. Hank was sure they were used to seeing all sorts of shit, but probably not a dead guy on the regular. Nobody was allowed in or out until they figured out what the hell happened, but would it hurt the sleazy owner to at least let the girls change back into their regular clothes?

"Hey, Ben—what you got for me?" The older detective looked up from his tablet.

"Hey, Hank. Well, got a dead guy in that room there." He motioned over his shoulder, sounding tired as always. "EMTs just left—said he died by strangulation. Now it's just down to whether it was some rough play or intentional." Hank nodded solemnly. "We're interviewing the girls, trying to find out who may have saw something."

"He was found alone in the room when his time was up?"

"That's right."

"I see." Hank whirled his finger at the ceiling. "Aren't there any cameras in a place like this?"

"You'd be surprised." Ben rubbed the back of his neck. "The owner values privacy, apparently, so there's only cameras at the entrance and back exit. We're going through the CCTV footage now—but to be honest, it's grainy and looks like shit. The real problem is the owner's clamming up about how things operate around here."

"Alright." Hank made for the door to the private room. "Well, we'll just have to make him talk."

"Oh, hey." Ben stopped him with his tablet. "Gavin's in there with the new kid—Chris is with him too, but you might wanna sic him off before he scares the guy away."

"Oh, great." Hank remembered something about a new kid from the suburbs coming in to fill the roster. "We need new blood in here," Jeffrey had said. "He's good at investigating and interviewing, so don't haze the kid just 'cause he's young—this ain't a fuckin' frat house, Hank." Just what Hank fuckin' needed—he yanked the handle to the private room, and heard a familiar disdainful snort.

"—Hey, I'm talkin' to you." Gavin's arms were crossed, shifting his weight to one side. He was looking down at another man crouched near the body, which was splayed out on the bed. The other guy completely ignored him, gently touching the stiff's neck with a gloved hand. The walls of this room were a holographic nightmare, bathing everything in orange like an early 2000s music video. "Hey, prick. You can't just waltz in here and take over my scene."

"Please allow me to do my job." His voice sounded young, but with a bit of a rasp. It was hard to get a good look at the guy from here, just that he was wearing a dark suit. "I've been called to investigate this scene, same as you."

"Tch." Gavin jerked his head to the side. "Oh great, Lieutenant Anderson's here." A flash went off while Chris took photos of the body from the other side. "Why'd you bother comin' in?" He jut his chin towards the round bed with the cheap-looking red satin sheets. "Not much to see here—just some pervert who, heh, got more action than he could handle." Gavin laughed at his own joke while the other three in the room failed to react. Another flash went off. Hank rolled his eyes.

"Hey Gavin, why don't you go interview the girls or somethin'? You know, make yourself useful." Hank pitied the girls for having to unleash this prick on them, but he couldn't be trapped in this tiny room with Gavin and a dead guy with his dick hanging out. And who knows what was going on with the new guy, he sounded like a stiff himself.

"Tch. You know what—sounds great. Better than dealing with your drunk ass and this alien—" Gavin tried to body check Hank on his way out, but he smoothly shoved the smaller man aside.

"Whoa, hey there, buddy—you don't want to get my old man stink on ya, do ya?"

"Eat my ass, Hank." Gavin yanked the door handle harder than was necessary and disappeared back onto the loud main floor, the door sucking closed behind him.

Chris and Hank exchanged a look, and he snapped a few more photos of the victim's wallet and other things on the glass desk. He regarded Hank with a nod as he made to exit the room. "All yours, Lieutenant." Hank wished he had stuck around a bit more, so he wasn't stuck alone with just the new guy.

Hank peered over the younger man's shoulder. Whelp, time to see how "good" he is. "What're you lookin' for? The EMTs already determined he was strangled, right?"

"Yes, he definitely died from asphyxiation." He delicately traced the bruises along the victim's neck, under his beard. "Normally during breath play, you'd avoid crushing the trachea. Given the pattern of bruising, the person who was choking him was just squeezing his throat relentlessly." Hank found himself nodding along. "The way the bruises wrap around the throat also indicates someone with smaller hands, so most likely a woman, or a petite man." That's right—this was one of those clubs that catered to both. A gloved hand hovered over the victim's chest. "He also has several scratch marks, as well as some impact bruising on his chest... This could have been from prior play, but it's more likely there was a struggle before he was ultimately asphyxiated. Whether he requested such play or not, the person he was with was really trying to strangle the life out of him."

"All right." Hank crossed his arms, regarding the rookie with annoyed interest. "Then who are we looking for?"

He stood up, and Hank finally got a good look at him. He was a young guy in a neat suit, with a dark blue dress shirt and white tie. He looked more on the slender side, and shorter than Hank, but not by much. "The owner must keep a log of which escorts are going with which client. But according to Detective Collins, he's either pretending he doesn't keep such logs, or he's refusing to hand them over." He pulled off the latex gloves he was wearing, depositing them in a little bag he produced from his suit pocket. He ran a hand back through his hair, smoothing a lock that was falling out of place from his otherwise perfect coif. "I'd like to move on to questioning the owner next."

Hank snapped back, realizing he'd only been half-paying attention. "Right—let's find him."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" He gave a lopsided, almost shy smile. "I was a bit caught up in my observations." The young man moved to shake Hank's hand. "I'm Connor Sullivan. I just transferred to central from Novi." Hank shook his hand, which felt a little powdery from the gloves. He was somewhere between handsome and cute, and had brown almond-shaped eyes that looked too innocent for a homicide detective.

"Hank Anderson—Lieutenant." Hank gave Connor's hand a firm shake before letting go. The kid's handshake was kinda weak. "Let's go find that owner and shake 'im down for those logs." He opened the door, holding it for Connor.

"Yes, Lieutenant." Connor slipped through the door somewhat quickly. "Thank you." The music out here was still too fuckin' loud, and no one had bothered to kill the light show. If that shtibag owner thought they needed a warrant to see those logs, he had another thing coming. [Author's note: We're going to fudge the way the law works in real life, just to make things more interesting and move along quicker. i.e. Brothels aren't even legal in Michigan. But they are in DBH, and it's just gay fanfic lol]

"All right." Hank stopped in front of Ben. "Where's this owner?"

The detective motioned with his head over his shoulder. "In his office, on the back right side."

"Got it."

Hank strode off towards the back, and he heard Connor pipe up behind him, "Thank you, Detective Collins. May I throw these away here?" What—oh, he was talking about the little baggy he stuffed his gloves into.

"Huh? Oh, sure, go ahead." Connor nodded again, his body bending forward slightly like the start of an incomplete bow.

"Thank you, Detective." Hank couldn't help but roll his eyes.

He heard Connor walk quickly to catch up to him. "Look, kid—I know you're trying to be polite and ingratiate yourself to your seniors or whatever—but Ben's just doin' his job, you don't need to thank him for every little thing." Hank turned over his shoulder, and was surprised to see Connor looking right at him. He half-expected his head to be dropped to the floor like a wounded puppy.

"I'm not trying to ingratiate myself to anyone, Lieutenant." Connor smoothed down his tie. "And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't call me 'kid', I'm in my thirties." No fuckin' way—Hank'd believe that when he saw his driver's license. "Just 'Connor' is fine."

"Oh, yeah? How far into your thirties?"

Connor looked away that time. "... I turned thirty this year."

"Ha!" Well, he's got the spirit, he'll give him that. "All right, Connor." He clapped Connor on the shoulder, and the kid flinched a bit at the contact. "Don't take it personal—when you're old like me, everyone's a kid." They stopped in front of a 'Staff Only' door. "Even that fucker Gavin, with his patchy, shitty beard." Out of the corner of his eye, Hank caught Connor stifle a laugh.

"Is that so?" He adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket. "I don't believe Detective Reed cares for me being here very much."

"Ah, Gavin can get fucked. He doesn't like anyone, 'specially me." To be honest, Hank wasn't looking forward to some young upstart showing up and throwing them off their game either—but eh, the kid was alright. "He's definitely easier on the eyes than Ben and Jeffrey," Hank definitely didn't think to himself. He knocked loudly on the door. "Detroit Police, comin' in."

Officer Tina was already inside, in the middle of taking his statement from the looks of it. Seemed like a bad idea to Hank to leave her in here by herself with a skeezy sex club owner—but what did Hank know, she was a tough girl, she could handle herself.

"I tell you, the girls choose their own customer!" The owner looked just like Hank had expected him to—a sweaty, balding, fat man with a thick mustache. He couldn't quite place the accent, maybe Middle Eastern, maybe Greek—Hank wasn't too good with accents.

"But you must keep track of who goes where. Who was Mr. Graham with before he was found?"

"I don't know!"

"Bullshit." The man's eyes snapped to Hank. "You must have it on your computer—for your own liability, if nothing else." Connor surprised Hank by stepping forward.

"Even the most run-down hotel keeps track of which housekeeper services a room, and when." Connor's voice was even, neutral, approachable. "We find it hard to believe that you don't keep track of who your men and women are seeing, for their own safety." The owner's mouth tightened and disappeared under his mustache.

"Look—" Hank stepped forward. "We can do this the easy way, or we can charge you with obstruction of justice." The man's eyes snapped up at that part. "You know, it's not uncommon for girls in the sex industry to be victims of trafficking, or in the country illegally."

Connor seemed to pick up what Hank was putting down. "I'm sure if we asked, all the girls would be able to provide documentation." The owner leaned heavily on the desk with his elbow, rubbing his bald head. He squeezed his eyes shut, then made a few mouse clicks.

"... Traci Liu." He was rubbing the wispy hair at the front of his head non-stop. "I have not seen her since an hour ago, more than that." He was shaking his head, his eyes closed. "Probably she ran away."

Connor nodded. "Thank you for your cooperation, sir."

Hank turned to Tina. "How long between the incident and locking down the building?"

"About fifteen minutes." She checked her notepad. "Judging by the CCTV footage, no women left the building, but it's a bit hard to say for certain with the quality of the cameras."

"Got it." He turned to Connor and jerked his head out the door. "Let's go." They left the cramped office and started back towards Ben. "Hey, nice job putting the pressure on that guy, kid—whoops, it's Connor, right?"

"Yes." Connor straightened his tie, although it wasn't actually out of place. "Thank you, Lieutenant." Hank actually enjoyed playing "bad cop" during interrogation—but with that loose canon Gavin, it just turned into "bad cop" and "worse cop". With Connor, Hank at least had somethin' to work off of. "That was quick thinking mentioning human trafficking. Although I sincerely hope all the men and women here are working of their own volition." Yeah, well... we'd all like to think that, Connor. Reality wasn't always so squeaky-clean though, Hank was afraid.

"Ben." The detective was talking to a guy who looked like he worked here—he had a peacoat wrapped tightly around his body, but it looked like he had nothing on underneath, not even shoes. "I want everyone out of these rooms, all doors open. We're looking for a Traci Liu, and she's probably still here." Hank noted peacoat guy's eyes widen slightly at Traci Liu's name.

"Owner says they're still paying customers in the rooms." Ben shrugged tiredly. "We can't interfere with 'em unless we have probable cause."

"You've gotta be fuckin' shittin' me!" Ben merely shook his head.

"Get the owner to tell us who's in what room, and we can narrow it down. If we're looking for the girl, we have probable cause."

"Damnit, a guy's dead and you're telling me we 'can't interfere' with a bunch of jagoffs still wantin' to get their rocks off?!" Hank paced around in unmasked irritation. "And where the fuck is Gavin?"

"He left." Ben sounded out of breath, despite the fact that he had seemingly been standing here the whole time. "Said he had 'better shit to investigate'—I think he got his feelings hurt since none of the girls here wanted to talk to him." Hank laughed loudly.

"Ha! Sounds about right!" Poor girls. "Hah..." For some reason, laughing at that fucker's expense helped Hank calm down a bit. "All right... Connor, go grab Tina and that owner." He pointed back at the far door. "We're opening these doors, whether he likes it or not."

"Right away, Lieutenant." At least the kid did as he was told and didn't fuck around.

"... Excuse me, officer?" The guy who had been lingering around Ben spoke up. He licked his lips nervously, looking to the side. "Did you say you were looking for Traci?"

Hank regarded him with interest—he was as tall as Hank, a pretty well-built black guy. He looked younger than Connor, which was relative since Connor looked younger than Connor—what's a good-looking kid like that doing working at this backwater club?

He was hugging himself tightly, bending his knees nervously. "Look... the guy in that room—honestly he should've been banned. He liked to get a little rough, you know? But 'anything goes' as long as they wear a condom." Hank almost laughed—for some reason that scene in Taxi Driver flashed in his mind, when Harvey Keitel was listing off all the heinous things Travis could do to poor Jodie Foster—but then ended it by saying, "But hey, no rough stuff." It wasn't funny, but that was the place Hank's mind went to sometimes. "I just want... look, I don't know what happened, but if you talk to Traci, I just want you to listen to her. If she did something, it was probably just to defend herself!"

Hank nodded. "Well, the investigation's still active. Thanks for letting me know, kid." He almost clapped him on the shoulder, but thought better of it. The kid nodded, unsure, then went to join the girls who were all clustered on the red velvet couch.

"Lieutenant. We have a list of which employees are occupying which rooms." The owner waddled after Tina and Connor, with a print-out in hand. "There's a possibility she went into an empty room by herself, but if we don't find her, we can start searching occupied rooms."

"All right." Hank stepped up to the owner. "Let's check those unoccupied rooms first." He couldn't imagine a girl who just strangled a guy pounding on an occupied room, begging to be let in.

The owner fumbled with his keyring while scanning down his print-out. "Here..." They stopped in front of a door that said 'Occupied' in a pink heart, very classy. "Supposed to be empty." Hank and Connor looked at each other, then stood at opposite sides of the door while the owner opened it with his keycard. They heard muffled sobs abruptly cut off by a yelp.

"Relax, ladies—Detroit police." Two women were seated on the bed clasping hands, one wrapped in a bedsheet and one in just lingerie. "We just want to talk to you." The two girls clung to each other for dear life, the girl in the bedsheet's face was red and puffy with tears. Based on her eye shape and straight black bob, Hank assumed she must be Traci Liu.

The other girl with the pixie cut stood up abruptly. "We didn't do anything!" Hank put his hands up. "We've—been in this room the whole time!"

"It's all right—like I said, we just want to talk, and figure out what happened." He glanced at Officer Tina, who was approaching the girl in the lingerie. "Tina, could you question her in another room, please?"

"On it." She offered her hand. "Here, come with me—do you want a blanket?" Up close, Hank could see that she was shaking like a leaf.

"Riley—" The alleged Traci Liu jolted forward on the bed. The other woman, Riley, wiped her tears and gave her a pained smile.

"It'll be all right—it'll be okay!—Just tell them what happened." Her voice was shaking. She followed Tina, who put a reassuring hand on her back, and they left the room. The door clicked closed behind them, and now it was just Hank and Connor with a distraught Traci Liu.

Connor knelt down in front of the bed. "Are you Traci? My name is Connor." She wiped her eyes, which had puffy bags underneath. Tears were still spilling out, but she managed a nod.

"Y-yeah."

Connor's voice was very gentle. "Can you tell us what happened? You were with that man in room three before you ran in here, right?" Her whole face scrunched, her lip quivering. She knew she was caught, it was the end of the line.

Hank stepped forward, slowly. "I heard from one of your friends that this guy liked to get rough." Her eyes shot up to him. "That he shoulda been banned a long time ago. Did he get violent with you? Did he ask you to do something you didn't want to do?" She burst into loud, tangled sobs, her face falling into her hands.

"Ngh—!" Her whole body doubled over. "—I didn't mean to!" Her back shook with sobs. "I was so scared...!" Hank saw Connor hesitate for a second, then he meekly touched her bare shoulder.

"It's all right." She just kept sobbing into her hands. "Take your time."

Her crying filled the room, punctuated by loud sniffling. Connor glanced back over his shoulder, a truly wounded look on his face. Hank wished he had just told them he was too drunk to go to the crime scene tonight. Getting lost at the bottom of a bottle with his own bad memories would have been better than this.

After what felt like five minutes but was probably less than one, the girl sat up, wiping her eyes vigorously with one hand. She sniffled, wiping her nose. Connor hadn't moved from the spot, still kneeling in front of the bed. "If you can, we'd like to hear what happened, in your words." She nodded a few times, looking away from them both.

"He—" She swallowed. "—he wanted me to be on top, then he asked me if I like choking—" Her face screwed up as more tears welled. "But he was really choking me, and he wouldn't let go—" She gripped the bedsheet, dragging a twisted corner to her face. "I was so scared, I didn't know what to do—I started scratching him and hitting him as hard as I could, but he wouldn't let go—so—so I, grabbed his neck—" Her throat bubbled, and she shrank into her shoulders. "—I don't know what happened, I just wanted him to let go of me! He wouldn't stop, I just wanted him to let go..." Her voice was strained by tears, and she couldn't speak anymore.

Connor gently put a hand on her back. "I understand." She kept her head in her hands, though her shaking shoulders stilled just a bit. "That must have been terrifying. I'm sorry for asking you to re-live it. Thank you for telling us what happened." Hank noticed that she never flinched when Connor touched her, even though you'd think after what she'd been through, she'd slap away the hand of any man who even got near her.

She finally turned to face Connor. "... what's going to happen to me?"

Connor clasped his hands, holding his bent knee. "Well, you'll be read your rights, and brought to the station for questioning. They'll take your official statement there." She held Connor's gaze. "An examiner will likely swab under your nails, and look for various traces of physical evidence. The process might seem invasive, but it's very important." Her eyes went wide.

"... I'm going to jail?"

Connor stood, and her eyes followed him pleadingly. "Yes, you will be arrested. I can call Officer Chen back in—as long as you're cooperative and don't attempt to flee, we can allow you to change back into your regular clothes. Do you have a change of clothes here?" After a second she nodded, still in numb disbelief. "I can have them brought here."

"—Wait, where's Riley?"

"I'm sorry, you'll have to be brought to the station alone." Connor looked over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "Lieutenant?"

"I'll get her." Hank caught Traci's terrified expression as he went to exit the room. "I'm sorry, honey—lawyer up as soon as you can, okay?" He opened the door before he could see her reaction. "Ben." He wasn't wearing his jacket anymore. "Arrest her. Just don't do it before she can put on some clothes." Hank palmed a heavy hand down his beard. "She said the guy was choking her, so she fought back to get him to stop."

"Jesus."

"Wait!" Pixie girl leapt forward next to Officer Tina, wearing Ben's oversized coat. "He was going to kill her, you can't just arrest her!" Hank didn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart—but we have to." He nodded to Tina. "Do the employees have a locker room? Would you mind going to get her clothes, and helping her out?"

"Of course."

"No—I'll get the clothes, you go in there and read her her rights." Ben walked away with the owner, who looked crestfallen. Tch—bit too late for that, buddy. If you cared so much about protecting your girls, you woulda banned that guy who liked to rough 'em up.

"Haah." Hank felt like all the energy had been sapped out of him. Ben could be a bit jaded just like Hank, but it seemed like this case got to him a bit, too. "Chris, you got things here?"

"Got it, Lieutenant."

"Good—I need some fuckin' fresh air."

XXX

Hank sat in his warmed-up Oldsmobile, blasting his tape of Led Zeppelin IV. The rain washed over his windshield, blurring the neon lights tumbling oppressively out of the building. He loved this record, but it just wasn't doing it for him right now.

Hank flicked on his wipers, but turned the car off when he saw a group exiting the building. Tina was escorting Traci Liu in handcuffs—she had changed into a billowy yellow blouse and what looked like a leather mini-skirt. Someone had also thrown a blanket over her shoulders. Ben followed behind her, then pixie girl, then new kid Connor, then Chris at the back. That fucker Gavin really did leave. Guess they probably had other calls. It's not like homicide and assaults were especially uncommon in Detroit, with the state the world was in.

Hank left the car, actually relishing the cold touch of the rain on his face. He saw Chris stop the new kid, and give him a clap on the back, which he reacted to a little awkwardly. Chris was a good guy—of all the junior officers he worked with, Chris Miller was the one Hank could tolerate the most—but don't tell anyone that.

Hank approached them, and Chris nodded in his direction. "Hell of a way to start the weekend, huh Lieutenant?"

"You're telling me." Hank rubbed the back of his neck. "My kid's supposed to come over tomorrow. I only get the one day with him this week."

"Ah, man. I'm sorry." Chris tipped up his hat. "I got the paperwork covered, so you have a good night, Lieutenant."

"Thanks... Hey, you too." Hank suddenly felt so tired. He wanted to go to the bar and get drunk as shit straight after this, but now he didn't know if he even had the energy. Getting old was hell.

It was just him and the new kid now, standing under the overhang of the building, the rain plunking noisily on the metal roof. Hank couldn't help but wonder how many perverts were still in there getting their dicks wet when that young woman just went through the most traumatic experience of her life.

"Detective Collins said he could give her a ride to the station." Connor's voice sounded different, almost like he had a frog in his throat. "Riley—Traci Liu's girlfriend." He was rubbing his hands together. He opened his mouth to say something else, then stopped. "—depending on the time of death, there would have been a window of at least half an hour before the body was discovered, and the building was cordoned off." Connor licked his lips. "I wonder why she didn't just run away?"

Hank crossed his arms and shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe she didn't want to leave her lady behind." Connor turned to face him, with an almost soft expression Hank couldn't place. Up close, he could see that Connor had a few faint moles, and a generally Irish-looking complexion. "... Maybe she knew there was no running from what she'd done. No use delaying the inevitable." Connor nodded after a second. Hank shoved his hands in his coat pockets. "Well, if she gets a good lawyer, they can plead it down to involuntary manslaughter as self-defense." He soundlessly fingered his keys. "Who knows, she might even get out after a few years, if she behaves herself."

Connor nodded, watching as they helped Traci Liu into the back of the squad car. "I certainly hope so."

The rain beat heavily against the metal overhang. "Yeah, well. It's out of our hands, now." Hank raked back his hair, which had gotten damp again. "Our job is done, for now. No use agonizing over it—" He clapped Connor on the shoulder, who flinched a bit. "Take it from an old guy who's seen it all."

Connor straightened his sleeves, pulling them down at his wrists. So, he was quick to give that girl a reassuring pat, but flinched when someone else touched him. Interesting. "I'll try to keep that in mind."

Maybe the kid wasn't quite ready for this, coming in from his cozy suburbs where the worst thing they had to deal with was the college kid neighbors playing their music too loud. "Hey—this is what it's like in the big city. I've seen shit a lot worse than this." Connor looked up at him over his shoulder. "Trust me—you just gotta detach yourself from it. And another thing—" Connor's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "No matter what happened, or how bad you feel for that girl—ya can't just go and kill someone." Connor's expression hardened to neutral, unreadable. "Even if she was defending herself, the fact is that she killed a man—no use babying her by pretending it wasn't a big deal." Hank didn't know anything about Michael Graham, and he didn't care to—but for all they knew he had a wife, and children, and he was somebody's son—but whatever he was just disappeared into the ether that night. Hank could judge him for being a pervert and a scumbag who beats up on women—but now only whatever God was up there was fit to judge him. Hank certainly wasn't perfect, he could be a bit of a bastard himself—but if someone just offed him one day, and he never got to say goodbye to Cole or play fetch with his dog one last time—well, Hank would be pretty pissed sitting up there in Heaven, or Hell, or wherever he was headed to after his time was up.

Connor turned away from him. "I'm well aware of that, Lieutenant."

The rain continued to pound on the overhang of the sex club, and the squad car with Traci Liu in the back drove off into the dark.

XXX

Hank collapsed heavily onto the couch, not even bothering to take his coat off. Fuck—he was so exhausted he didn't even want to get back up. Maybe if he crashed out now, he wouldn't be a useless mess when Cole's mother dropped him off tomorrow.

'Boof'. Sumo approached Hank on the couch, licking the back of his hand that was hanging limply off the edge.

"Hey, boy." He roughly ruffled the dog's jowly face, which made Sumo lick the air in enjoyment. "Ah, shit—you're lucky you're a dog, you know? Not a care in the world..." Hank let his eyes fall closed, continuing to massage the folds of the old dog's face. He knew he should get up off the couch and at least fall back into his bed... but he just couldn't muster it. Just five minutes with his eyes closed, and then he'd get up, take his coat off, take his pants off... take his shirt off... and then...

XXX

The doorbell made Hank jerk awake, his sore body all twisted up on the couch. Ah fuck—what time is it?! His bleary eyes strained to read the clock on the wall. Both hands were past the eleven, it was practically noon. Goddamnit—they just had to come on time, and not call him to say they'd be an hour late to wake his ass up.

Hank pushed himself off the couch with a groan. Maybe he could pretend he was in the shower, and give himself five minutes to put himself together. Sumo 'boofed' from his spot in the corner, and he heard Cole's excited voice through the door.

"Sumo!" Hank's heart sank.

He made a beeline for the bedroom, throwing his coat off onto the bed. His shoes squeaked on the wood floors—damnit, he didn't even remember to kick his shoes off. He raked his hair back with both hands in the mirror, smoothing his shirt down. He didn't have time to change it. He smelled a bit like wet dog—his clothes were probably still damp when he passed out on the couch. Fuck—he should have just gotten his lazy ass up when he thought it! Ah well—too late now. Cole's already here, and Cole's all that matters—it's showtime.

"Come on, boy." Hank beckoned to Sumo, and the dog unfolded his huge paws and stood up. "We're comin'!" He checked himself in the hallway mirror one last time, prayed, and opened the door. "Hey, kiddo!" He bent down, Cole bodying him with a hug.

"Hey, Dad!" Sumo tried nudging his way between them. "Ohh, Sumo!" Cole roughly rubbed the side of Sumo's head with one hand.

"Hey now, Sumo—wait your turn." He ruffled Cole's hair before letting him go, glancing up to face his ex-wife. "Hey, Andrea." Thank God it was just her, and she didn't drag that boyfriend of hers along.

Cole darted past Hank into the living room. Andrea regarded Hank with a flat look. "Hey, yourself." She looked past Hank, calling over his shoulder. "Honey, take your shoes off before coming inside, remember?"

"What?" Cole whined, like it was the worst thing he'd ever been asked to do. "But Dad still has his shoes on!" Hank and Andrea's gazes both dropped to Hank's shoes simultaneously—one of which was discolored by a film of dried gutter water.

"I see that." She rolled her eyes, her arms folding. "Did you just wake up from a nap, or something?"

"Ah—I got called in last night." Hank coughed, before he could stop himself. He could smell his morning breath, and cursed himself internally. "Bit of a rough case, actually." It didn't make him feel much better that that was the truth. "Guess I just needed a bit more sleep... sorry, Andrea."

She closed her eyes. "Well, Cole's happy to see you, so don't mention that to him."

"I won't." Hank was feeling shitty already. Andrea looked over his shoulder, and he followed her gaze back to Cole on the couch, with Sumo sitting up trying to lick him. He had actually kicked his shoes off in front of the couch.

"Hey, Dad—gah!" Cole flung his head back, wiping his mouth on his arm. "He got my teeth!" Hank laughed.

"Well, that's what you get for letting him get up in your face! You know he'll always lick ya if you let him!" When he turned back to Andrea, even she had a tired smile on her face. She was still as beautiful as the day they met, in Hank's eyes—but even she had crow's feet, and Hank could tell she was dying her hair darker—probably to keep the greys out, unlike Hank, who just let it happen. She was only forty-five, and could give girls ten years younger a run for their money—up until she left, Hank couldn't wait to see what she would look like as an old lady with grey hair, like a cool old witch with tattoos.

Andrea met his gaze, which surprised him a bit. "Can I talk to you?"

"Oh, uh, sure." He closed the door partway. "Hey, buddy! Be right back, you can turn the TV on if you want!"

"Okay, Dad!" Hank closed the door a little more, having an inkling what Andrea wanted to say to him.

They stepped away from the door. Andrea looked him up and down. "Are those the clothes you were wearing last night?" Great—he shouldn't have married a woman who was so good at seeing through his bullshit. If she was any less good at it, she wouldn't have left him.

"You got me—and before you ask, no, I didn't have anything to drink." He raked his hair. She folded her arms. "I told you, it was a rough case—I just passed out as soon as I got home. I didn't even make it to the bed."

She closed her eyes, looking truly done. "I see."

"I'm sorry, okay? Look—I'm gonna change and brush my teeth right now, and the whole day's just gonna be all about Cole."

"I know that." She signed in exasperation. "I know you can 'turn it on' when Cole's right in front of you, but what about before, and after?" Hank swallowed before he could help it. "Cole's not a little kid anymore, okay? You'd be surprised what he's able to pick up on." Hank turned back towards the door, but the couch was eclipsed on the other side. "If you're falling apart whenever Cole's not here, it's going to catch up to you."

"I'm not falling apart." Hank said it quietly, because some part of him didn't believe it, either. He heard Andrea sigh, again.

"Look... you know I'm never going to stop Cole from seeing you. He loves you, you'll always be his Dad." It surprised Hank when she gently touched his arm. Her nails were bare, she always painted them some funky color when they were together. "That's never going to change. But you have to try to get your shit together for his sake."

"I know." He finally looked up to meet her eyes.

Andrea gave him a stone-cold look of admonishment, sympathy, and pity. "He loves you so much. Don't disappoint him." Hank had never felt more embarrassed, more like a deadbeat dad, and less of a man.

He couldn't even look at her. "I got it."

She walked past him. "I hope so." She pushed the door open gently. "Sweetie, I'm gonna go, so have fun with your Dad, okay?"

"Okay, Mom!" Cole scrambled off the couch, sprinting out the door to hug his mom goodbye. "Bye!"

"Bye, sweetie." She rubbed Cole's back, then looked up at Hank. "See you at eight."

"Right. See you." He couldn't bear to watch her go, and ushered Cole back inside, closing the door behind him.

Cole bounced back on the couch, completely oblivious to the verbal gutting Hank had just experienced. "Hey Dad, can we take Sumo for a walk?"

"Good idea." He glanced at Sumo's bowl, which was empty. Fuck—he hadn't even fed the dog last night. "Hey, you go top up Sumo's bowl, I'm gonna change into some lighter clothes for the park, okay?"

"Yeah!" Cole hopped off the couch, going straight to the cabinet where he knew Sumo's food was kept. If Cole had noticed his Dad looked like shit and had stinky morning breath like he just passed out in his clothes, he wasn't letting on. Since he turned nine, Hank liked to think he was showing more of his Dad's sarcastic sense of humor, with Andrea's emotional intelligence. At least, he hoped that was the case.

Hank stalked off to his bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt from last night. Speaking of emotional intelligence... now that Hank was thinking about their call last night, he did feel bad for lecturing the new kid outside the club, after everything was over—he told himself in the moment he was just trying to toughen him up, prepare him for what it'd be like being a homicide detective in the big city—but it was probably unnecessary. If anything... the older Hank got, and the more he was surrounded by grumpy old fucks all pretending they were too tough to cry, and had their shit all together when they didn't—he thought it showed a lot more strength for a guy like Connor to tell a distraught girl, "I'm sorry, that must have been terrible. Thank you for telling me."

Hank found himself staring into his reflection as he brushed his teeth. Maybe he should just man up and apologize for busting his balls on Monday—or at least buy him a coffee, something. Connor seemed bright-eyed, and a little too eager to please and prove himself—but he wasn't stupid. He'd been spot-on with every assertion he'd made, he can see why Jeffrey was so keen on bringing him in. It'd be a shame to lose him because Hank scared him off. Hell, Hank thought that Detroit could use more cops like Connor, with basic human empathy.

Hank left the bedroom, greeted by the soul-soothing sight of Cole sitting on the ground, rubbing Sumo's huge belly while the dog's tongue lolled out happily. Right now, none of that mattered, that was tomorrow Hank's problem—this was his one precious custody day with Cole, and he was going to make the most of it.

XXX

Cole walked on Sumo's other side while Hank held the leash. Sumo was gettin' old, but he could still tug pretty hard if he got excited by a squirrel. Gettin' old, just like Hank... "Hey Dad, are you gonna get remarried?"

"Huh?" He glanced sideways down at Cole. "Where'd that come from, bud?"

Cole shrugged, in that exaggerated way kids do. "I dunno." That can't be all there is to it. "Mom just asked me what I thought if she married Ethan." Ah. [Author's note: No relation to Ethan from Heavy Rain, although a certain other character will appear later ;)]

"I see." Hank rubbed his beard. "What do you think of that?"

Cole shrugged again. "Ethan's okay. He's nice to me, and Mom really likes him." Cole scratched the back of Sumo's neck, right above his collar. "He has a big house, and Mom says we'll move in with him if they get married." Hank laughed.

"Well, you got your priorities straight!" Cole grinned at him. Hopefully that wasn't a bad sign—Hank didn't want his jaded view of the world to rub off on Cole too much.

"... Hey, Dad? I'll still get to come over if Mom and Ethan get married, right?"

"Of course, kiddo." He rubbed Cole's back reassuringly. "Your Mom wants it that way, too." Thankfully that was one thing Andrea assured Hank of many times. Looking back at their talk on the porch, that might have been what she was getting at when she said "that will never change."

"Okay, good." They stopped at a crosswalk, and Cole bent down to hug Sumo's neck. "Because I like coming over. And Sumo would be lonely."

"Yeah, he would be."

Cole looked up at his father. "Dad, you really don't have a girlfriend or anything?" Hank laughed a bit at himself. Cole was a sharp one.

"Nah. I don't." Hank had gone to the bar a few times with the intention of taking someone home after the divorce was finalized, but he only succeeded once. He didn't know why, but it made him feel... bad. It just felt wrong. He had always been faithful when he and Andrea were married, but now that they were divorced... Hank didn't know why, it just didn't feel good. Which didn't matter anyway, because that chick never called him again after that.

"Oh." The 'WALK' sign lit up, and Hank looked both ways before he and Cole stepped off the sidewalk, Sumo keeping pace between them. "Well, maybe you should start dating again."

"Hey, now!" He made a grab for Cole, but he squirmed out of the way, giggling. "I'll have you know your Dad can get a date any time he wants!" He pinched Cole's arm, extremely lightly.

"Ow!"

"Oh come on, that didn't hurt." He pulled Cole to his side, ruffling his hair. Cole laughed, and Hank let him go. Then suddenly Cole got quiet, and he wrapped his arms around his Dad's waist.

"... I just don't want you to be lonely, Dad." Ah, damnit. Hank had hoped that part would have been left merely implied.

He thoughtfully pat Cole's head. "Don't you worry about your Dad. I've got you and Sumo, don't I?" Cole didn't say anything, but Hank felt him nod his head. It was true, dating again just wasn't a high priority on Hank's list—he thought he was going to grow old and die with Andrea, now he didn't know what the hell he was supposed to do. And if Hank had to be honest with himself, he still had too much shit going on inside his own head—the love of his life got sick of him, what did a crusty old fuck like Hank even have to offer anyone else? Once the anger wore off at Andrea leaving him, and "taking his son away"—he had time to reflect, and see how little he had been there for them, how much he let himself get drowned in his work and in booze—how from her perspective it just seemed like he wasn't... there. Like he was a worn-out shell of the man she fell in love with twenty years ago—and Hank had to agree with her. No... even if he wanted to, he felt like all that getting back out there and dating again would do was shatter his already low confidence, and remind him of just how out of it he'd let himself become. And he'd rather be alone, than that.

They rounded the corner to the off-leash park, and Hank knelt down to unhook Sumo. "All right, you ready, boy?" Cole rolled the mini basketball eagerly between his hands.

The second Sumo's leash was off, Cole wound his arm back and threw. "Go get it, boy!" Sumo dashed off heavily after the ball, bounding his large body across the patchy grass. Hank smiled. No, this was enough for him, for now—Andrea was already thinkin' of marrying that guy, Hank didn't want to complicate things for Cole any more. Not that anyone was even interested in Hank's old ass, anyway—and even if there was someone Hank thought was kinda cute recently, that was just another intrusive thought he'd have to drink away later.

XXX

Hank sank into his lumpy old couch, tipping a cold beer to his lips. Cole had hugged him around the waist again when he dropped him off at Andrea and her sister's, something he was always worried Cole would outgrow and be "too cool" for someday—so Hank was counting his blessings for that.

Hank watched the commentators speculate on the Gears' upcoming lineup with half-interest, trying to will his thoughts not to spin down that nagging little thread. Cole just had to ask if he was dating again, huh... no, it wasn't Cole's fault—he was just asking an innocent question like kids do. A question about his Dad's well-being that broke Hank's heart a little.

Hank let out a long, noisy breath through is nose, pressing his palm over his eyes. Nah, Hank was havin' none of that—it wasn't even a possibility, it wasn't even on Hank's radar. What the fuck is wrong with you Hank, since when did you become such a skeevy old man? Damnit... they just had to send a cute one, huh? Why couldn't they have sent over some awkward kid from some Mormon commune? Well, Connor was kind of awkward, but even that was cu—

Hank slapped the arm of his couch. 'Boof!' Sumo's head jerked up in the corner of the room.

"—whoops, sorry, boy." Hank swore he heard Sumo snort in annoyance, then lay his heavy head back down on his paws. Goddamnit... Hank needed another beer.

He pushed himself off the couch with an old man grunt, bending down to scratch Sumo's head as he made his way to the fridge. Whelp, looks like he'd be drinking down the bad thoughts again, just like he'd been doing for over thirty years. It's all good, it's cool... it's nothing, Hank's going to roll up late and hungover tomorrow like always, and everything's going to be exactly the same as it ever was. Hank will still be the same grumpy old fuck he was on Friday night, before he responded to that godforsaken homicide call at the Eden Club. Everything was cool.

XXX

Hank breathed heavily into his hands, rubbing them together to warm them up. He brushed his teeth pretty good, so all he could smell was mouthwash. He checked his watch again, even though he had just checked the time in his car. Hey, rolling in at 9:17am was actually pretty good, for Hank.

He cupped his mouth and checked his breath again—for no particular reason. He smoothed down the sides of his beard, which felt just a little breezier on his face. He had taken a hard look at himself in the mirror this morning, and he just looked... scraggly, so he decided to take down the sides of his beard a bit with a 5 guard, and trimmed the mustache hairs poking down over his lips. Nothing too crazy—hey, after the way Andrea chewed him out, he owed it to himself to take care of himself a little. He was curious if his hair could fit back in a ponytail, but it was just too short for that. He thought he was getting too old to still be sporting the hippie rocker kid look—but hey, maybe it was time to start bringing it back. If he kept his hair off his neck, he wouldn't need to keep cutting it in summer anymore.

He strolled through the front doors, past the ladies in records behind the bulletproof glass. "Mornin'."

Wanda, one of the ladies who always greeted him, smiled up from her desk. "Good morning, Lieutenant." Same as it ever was, same as it ever was.

Tapping his fingers on his leg, now that that Talking Heads song was in his head, Hank rounded the corner to the back of the precinct. There, at the previously-unoccupied desk attached to Hank's, reading a newspaper with a contemplative look, one leg crossed over the other, in a sharp little suit with a red tie, was Connor. Whelp, looks like the kid hadn't been scared off, after all.

Hank strode towards his desk, suddenly at a loss for what to do with his hands.

Chris laughed from over by the water cooler. "Hey, is it noon already?"

"Yeah, yeah." Hank raked a hand back through his hair. "Hey, 'good morning' to you, too."

Chris grinned, shaking his head. "Mornin', Lieutenant."

Connor looked up from his paper. He gave a small smile, which made Hank slow a step before he realized it. Connor stood up, folding his paper neatly and setting it on the desk.

"Good morning, Lieutenant." He extended his hand as Hank approached.

Hank shook his hand, and he noted that Connor's handshake was slightly more self-assured. "Mornin' kid—whoops, it's Connor, right?" He hoped to God Connor had a good read on his sense of humor.

Unexpectedly, Connor laughed—a quiet, short, inexplicably cute laugh, that crinkled his eyes. "I'm glad you remembered." Ah, damnit. He was so cute and freckly in normal indoor lighting, with his hair all coifed back with just that little piece falling out of place. Whelp, Hank had lost that bet with himself, so it looked like he would be buying Connor that coffee.

XXX

XXX

XXX

Connor: *exists*

Hank: ^ [This has unlocked additional dialogue, often beneficial.]

Thanks for reading, everybody! I appreciate you giving this one a chance, I know my summary was a little chaotic XD I'm so late to the party, but I just played DBH recently, and fell in love with Hank and Connor 3 I'm always that girlie drawing and looking up doujinshi/fanart as soon as I finish a game, but I don't think I've actually sat down to write fanfic since like 2010—the boys just pulled me back in XD This will be a slow burn crime drama for sure, switching perspectives between Hank and Connor, with lots of introspection and personal conflicts—so I hope you enjoy the ride :)

More notes: I try to research the more specific aspects of police procedural when I can, but in the end narrative flow is more important (RIP my search history). Some headcanons are also necessary (Connor's last name, Hank's ex-wife, etc.), so hope y'all don't mind mine. This style is actually pretty unusual for me—I write almost exclusively in first-person using "I" for everything, so it was pretty fun writing as this omniscient presence inside Hank's head XD

If you had a favorite line or something made you laugh, please let me know—it encourages me c:

See you in Connor's Chapter 2!