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?

5. Ch5- Jesus, Connor—Did You Even Like It?

There's Something Wrong With Me - Chapter 5

Well Jesus, Connor—Did You Even Like It?

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[Author's note: This chapter will be switching between Hank and Connor's perspectives. If you see an XXX before a scene change, it's switching to Hank, and if it's an OOO, it's Connor. Hopefully their narrative styles are different enough for that to be apparent even without those XD]

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Hank slowly rotated his coffee cup, holding it up like a golden idol in an Indiana Jones movie, or a fabulous prize in a game show. "Hey Gavin—how many milligrams do you think are in this coffee?"

Gavin didn't even look up. "You know, I don't actually give two shits, Hank."

"Go on, guess." Hank set the cup down on his side of the desk. "Connor?" Connor had been focused on his computer, and hadn't seemed to even notice Hank come in. "Connor."

He snapped up, looking like a deer in the headlights. "—Lieutenant. Good morning." He licked his lips. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you..." He bit the inside of his lips. "How are you feeling?"

"Well, I'm alive." Hank leaned into the side of his desk. "But Gavin's here, so this might actually be hell." Gavin wordlessly flipped Hank the bird, not even looking up from his phone. "Hey, quit fuckin' around on your phone. Do your job."

"I'm looking somethin' up for my case."

"Bullshit. Do it on the computer." Gavin shot Hank a dirty look, but did put his phone away. Hank rolled his eyes. "Hey, your partner's gettin' pretty lonely on the night shift, when are you gonna switch over?"

"I got better shit to do." Gavin pushed up from his desk and stormed over to the break room. Good, now Hank could talk to Connor without that prick eavesdropping. Hank should just complain to Jeffrey, and get Gavin's desk moved to the other side of the room. Or better yet, dump him on the overnight with Ben.

Connor leaned off his chair, scanning around the office. "I noticed that yesterday—Detective Collins isn't here during the day?"

"He is, sometimes. But mostly he's here with a few other guys at night, or he drives around. Too much shit goes down to just have everyone on a nine-to-five." Hank picked up his coffee cup. "Though the front office and all the records ladies go home."

"I see." Connor snapped out his wrists, like he was adjusting the sleeves on his suit jacket. "That makes sense. The Novi station completely closed down at five, and after that we were just considered 'on-call'."

"Hm." Hank sipped his coffee. "Hey Connor, did you hear what I said?"

Connor's expression was unreadable. "When? Sorry, I didn't hear you when you came in."

"Milligrams." Hank made a toast motion with his coffee cup. "How many milligrams in this coffee?"

Connor regarded him with a blank stare. "Do you mean milliliters? Drinks are usually measured in fluid ounces, aren't they?" Connor's eyebrows furrowed. "I have no idea, I don't know the conversion rates off the top of my head."

Hank rolled his eyes. "Milligrams, Connor." He lowered his voice. "How many milligrams do you think I had?" Connor stared at him for a second, then realization dawned on his face.

"Oh." Connor turned back to his computer, resting his chin in his hand, covering his mouth. "I don't know. How many?"

"Three hundred."

Connor nodded slightly. "That's quite a lot." He closed his eyes. "I'm glad you're all right."

"Yeah, well—I didn't wanna leave you high and dry, otherwise I would've just fuckin' called out." Hank twisted to look over his shoulder. "'Course Jeffrey probably woulda shown up at my house and dragged me back in himself." Hank had been even later than yesterday—he didn't even roll in until after ten. He woke up all twisted up on the couch, damp and sweating like a whore in church, his eyes gooey as shit, the living room still feeling like the walls were breathing. Sumo had fallen asleep right next to the couch, and Hank almost tripped over him lumbering his ass to the bathroom. Hank threw his hog body in the shower and stayed in there a good long while, at one point sitting down in the tub letting the hot water beat on his back. He truly felt like shit, and like he was still a little high—but he couldn't just ditch Connor and leave him to the Daniel case by himself, not when they were finally getting somewhere. Also... Hank just needed to see him, to confirm some things. And thank him for looking after his sorry ass.

Hank found himself stroking his beard. The only proof that that night was even real, and Connor had really come to his house, were some texts he woke up to after he finally found his phone under the couch. At 12:29am: 'I'm sorry I had to leave, you fell asleep so I didn't want to wake you up. Please let me know you're all right when you wake up tomorrow.' Then, at 12:32am: 'Also, please get more groceries. Actual food, not just hot dogs and bread.' Then a final text, at 8:00am exactly: 'Lieutenant, are you awake?' He also had a missed call at 8:01am. Hank was still reeling from his trip, but he managed to type out two words, blobbed out like a beached jellyfish on the couch:

9:05am: 'Im alive'

Hank sighed. "Hey, Connor..." He just had to come right out and say it, no point mincing words. "Sorry for callin' you out in the middle of the night, and bein' such a handful. You really helped me out." Connor wasn't looking at him, still hiding his mouth with his hand, but he could tell he was listening. "Thanks for helping out a stupid old man who should've known better."

Connor's eyes closed. "I don't think I did much. But if you think I helped, that's good." An awkward silence fell over the desk. Hank could read the room. Connor was acting... distant. Not cold, exactly—just not chatty like he had been yesterday morning, when he was playing Twenty Questions with Hank, his big brown eyes twinkling when he rattled off about doom metal. Well... that was probably Hank's fault. He could only remember about half the night, mostly what he was seeing and feeling—but he couldn't remember if he said any weird shit out loud. He mostly just remembered apologizing, saying he felt like he was gonna throw up, and float away, and all this other goofy too-high shit... but it's very possible he muttered something else, something he wasn't supposed to. He had been thinking about it before he put on Fellowship, it was possible he just blurted something out about Coach Michael or Chris Meloni, or God knows what else. But there was one really stark memory that Hank had been turning over in his mind, replaying over and over in the shower, trying to figure out if it was real, or just God's idea of a cruel dream.

Hank's eyes followed Connor's slender fingers as they smoothly typed on his keyboard, dancing over the keys like notes on a piano. Hank had this crazy dream that an angel was running her hands through his hair, her cool fingers kissing his sweaty forehead like an arctic wind... he could hardly believe how good it felt. At the time, he was sure he just hallucinated that, too—like when those ethereal fingers descended from on high, placing a crown of white gold atop his sweet head. He woke up with nothing but dried drool crusted down the side of his mouth, so that part must have just been the brownie. But if that other part wasn't a dream—then that angel was sitting across from him.

Connor kept his focus on his monitor, and it almost seemed like he was trying to ignore Hank on purpose. Hank honestly wasn't even sure what could have led up to it—that whole night felt like a dream. He started freakin' out and seeing things pop out of the TV around the Council of Elrond, and everything after that was a blur of moving squares, and colors bleeding into each other... but Hank did recall one powerful sensation—cool gentle fingers delicately combing his hair back, and cryptic words he could only half-remember: "I'm not here. It's just another hallucination." Hank almost shivered recalling it. He remembered thinking something like, "You're not really here? Damn, that's too bad"—but he was pretty sure that's when he fell asleep, so he might've dreamed that, too. But if Hank didn't just imagine or dream it... why would Connor say that? Why would he do that?

Connor sighed. "Is there something you want to ask me, Lieutenant?" Hank snapped back to reality. "You're burning a hole in the side of my head."

"—Sorry there, Connor." Hank fidgeted with his coffee cup. "Honestly I'm just trying to remember what dumbass shit I said last night." Connor stiffened, despite probably trying his best to not react. "I'm sorry if I said anything weird to you." Hank rubbed the back of his neck. "Man, I was off my tits, huh? My buddy Luther said a guy at work made it for him, but he's gonna press him today about it. For all I know, the guy threw a little somethin' extra in there." Hank dropped his arm. "Maybe I'm just getting old, and my tolerance isn't what it used to be."

Connor stopped typing, clasping his hands. "You did say that last night."

Hank felt himself swallow. "... I say anything else? Anything weird?"

Connor looked up at him, finally. "Define 'weird'."

"Ah, shit. You know what—I don't wanna know." Hank sank heavily into his chair. "Whatever it was, Connor—I'm sorry." Hank raked back his hair. "I was traveling through time and space—I was probably dosed, now that I think about it. Even at three hundred milligrams, that thing was way too powerful." Hank's eyes scrunched closed. "Ah, geez—you ever heard of 'dabs', Connor? It's the new way the kids are doin' it—you put the concentrated oil in the thing and heat it up with a blowtorch. Shit's fuckin' gnarly. Maybe the whole thing was swimmin' with like—dab juice." Connor failed to stifle a laugh. "Oh, it's funny, huh?"

"Sorry." He covered his mouth. "It was just a funny sentence." He bit the inside of his lips to stop himself from laughing again. "Have you ever seen that picture of Steve Buscemi with the skateboard going, 'How do you do, fellow kids?'"

Hank snorted. "No, what's that?"

"Oh... it's nothing." His face was getting a little red, he was desperately trying to will himself not to laugh. "It's just when you said, 'Have you ever heard of "dabs", Connor?'—" He lost it and started giggling into his hand.

"So I'm out of touch, so sue me!" Connor was laughing quietly, almost curling into himself. Then Hank remembered that Simpsons quote—"No, it's the children who are wrong!"

"Ah..." Connor wiped the corner of his eye. "That's what they all say." Then he started giggling again. "'Have you ever heard of "dabs", Connor?'"

"Hey, are you sure you didn't have a magic brownie this morning?" Hank had never seen Connor laugh like that, uninhibited and trying but failing to contain it. It was really—fuck it, it was really cute. Hank couldn't think of any other word for it.

"How could I? You didn't leave anything left, Hank—not even crumbs." Hank felt himself smile a little when he heard his name instead of "Lieutenant". Well, he was glad he could still make the kid laugh—that seemed to dissipate the awkward vibe a little.

Connor's eyes snapped up when Gavin strolled back around to his desk. Connor coughed into his fist, settling his hands back on his keyboard.

Gavin huffed. "What's your problem?" He turned his chair around. "What, I interrupt your little lovers' quarrel?"

"Very creative, Gavin." Hank clasped his hands on his desk. "According to you, I'm having lovers' spats with Ben, Fowler, Chris—I didn't know I was such a cheating bastard."

"Bite me, Hank."

"Whoa there, at least buy me a drink first!"

Gavin scoffed at him in disbelief, then fucked off back to his desk. Connor and Hank exchanged a look, and Hank rolled his eyes. He thought he caught a fleeting, small smile in Connor's expression, as if he was saying, "Thanks."

Hank smiled to himself, turning on his computer. He meant what he said—he didn't intend to treat Connor any different. And Gavin could stuff his comments up his ass—though he always said shit like that, and it probably wasn't directed specifically at Connor. At least, he hoped not. Maybe if Gavin kept pushing his luck and called Connor a faggot or something they could get him suspended for discrimination and sexual harassment. Hey, a guy could dream—although they were pretty low on manpower as it was, and Hank hated to admit that even though Gavin was a bastard, he got the job done and wasn't afraid of getting into shootouts or life-or-death situations—something that came into clutch in Detroit more often than Hank would like. In all seriousness, he'd probably be way better served on the night shift with Ben, when the real freaks came out.

Hank threw back his head and downed the last of his coffee. "—Hah." He chucked the empty cup in the trash beneath his desk. "Oh—I should probably tell you, I did wake up in the middle of the night and puked my guts out. So thanks for putting that trash can next to the couch—at least I assume it was you." Hank didn't remember getting up off the couch the whole night—he was convinced that somebody else took over his body and put his Rush record on.

Connor gave a little nod. "You're welcome. I hope that helped you feel better."

"Yeah—I'm glad I got whatever it was out of my system." Hank's eyes wandered around the high ceiling of the precinct. "I still feel a little weird, though. You know, like when you drink so fuckin' much you still feel a little drunk the next morning?"

Connor had gone back into all-business mode. "I wouldn't know." He looked up from his monitor. "Are you going to be fine if we go out in the field?"

"Yeah, yeah—I'm here, aren't I?" Hank made a gesture like he was slapping both sides of his face. "I got it together. Oh hey—what's the progress on Daniel? Those warrants come through yet?"

Connor's eyes closed. "Unfortunately not. I asked Captain Fowler, and he said the judge is backed up as it is, and they typically don't get their warrants the same day." He tapped his finger, staring at his monitor. "I've been considering going down to the school anyway. It's worth giving it a shot without a warrant. I was just waiting for you to come in." He said that last part with bitter flatness.

"Sorry... I got myself ready as soon as I woke up. When I woke up for real, that is." Hank felt a twinge of that same guilt as when Andrea reamed him out on the porch. He knew Connor was right to be annoyed, or mad, whatever he was. Disappointed, probably, Hank was loathe to think.

"Your alarm didn't even wake you up?"

"Ah, well, it was all the way in the bedroom." Connor raised an eyebrow. "I don't do the alarms on the phone thing—I prefer my clock radio. That's how I've always done it."

"Well. Let's hope you never have a power outage when it's important." Connor was treating him coldly again. Damnit—he shouldn't have mentioned the trash can thing, it just popped into Hank's brain, and he wanted to thank Connor for being so thorough.

He let out a loud exhale. "Well, how about you show me later how to set that shit up on my phone, and I'll do that too, okay?" Connor didn't respond, just kept working on his computer. Maybe Hank should just drop it, and move on to what they had to do today.

He raked his hand back through his hair, and the action made him think of that cold angel's fingers. Hank was starting to feel like a whipped boyfriend, apologizing to his pissy girlfriend for forgetting their anniversary—and he and Connor weren't even dating. Unless Hank confessed his guts out last night, telling Connor he was really cute when he laughed and all that other shit—no, there was no fucking way. Hank would have remembered that.

Hank's eyes searched Connor's face for any tells. Since Connor had laid it out on the table and all but said he was gay yesterday, if Hank had blurted out, "I had a crush on my substitute football coach, and Chris Meloni, and John Winters at the police academy, and Andrea invited him and his wife over for dinner and it was the worst night of my life before Andrea said she was leaving me, and I like your smile and think you're really cute Connor, even though you're half my age"—he would have said something, right? Right? Shit—maybe Hank's the one who was on his way out the door for sexual harassment. No—that was impossible. Hank had a hard enough time even acknowledging it to himself until like two days ago—there's no way he actually said it out loud with his own mouth, edible from hell be damned.

Then Hank found that last part echoing in his mind—He couldn't even acknowledge it to himself until two days ago. What felt like a lifetime of stuffing it down and drinking away the bad thoughts was just like... not a big deal anymore. Well, it was—he still didn't want Connor to know about it and make their working relationship weird—but Hank found that he was getting more used to these thoughts drifting across his mind, and not feeling the immediate need to bang his head into the wall, or drink them away. Well—he still had plenty of other bad thoughts to drink away, like fighting with his even crustier old man about who was supposed to take care of his old lady when he died, and all his weird guilt about not going to church anymore, and Andrea leaving him, and whether he was a good enough father, and the fact that he was getting older and fatter and slower and his best years were behind him—none of that was going anywhere... but at least whether he thought another guy was attractive wasn't one of those thousand things eating him up every day. At least, not as much. But maybe he was still just fuckin' high, and he'd feel guilty again by tomorrow.

Oh, speaking of guilty... "Hey, Connor—I'm sorry I rolled in so late. I fucked up." Hank's eyes scrunched closed in embarrassment, and a little shame. "It was stupid to even take that last night, even just a little. I just wanted to relax and watch Lord of the Rings. I didn't think it'd hit me like a fuckin' truck, but that's no excuse." Hank braced himself, feeling like Connor was going to interrupt him, but he didn't. "Sorry—but, you know..." Hank finally opened his eyes, and Connor was looking at him with a neutral expression, his hands clasped, like he was one of Cole's teachers at those awkward parent meetings. Hank swallowed. He almost forgot what he was planning to say. "—I just want you to know you don't have to wait for me to do anything. I'm your partner, but we're not glued at the hip. I trust you to make your own decisions, and Fowler does, too." He exhaled a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, raking his hair back again. "I'm trying to get my shit together, but if you need to do something and I'm not there, just do it. I trust your judgment."

Connor's gaze was unfocused, as if he was considering Hank's words. He tapped his thumbs together, hands still clasped. "I'll accept your apology." Connor turned his chair back towards his monitor. "If you treat for lunch. I actually didn't bring anything today."

"Shit, that's all?" Hank's shoulders relaxed. "Hell, I'll buy you lunch every day if it means you won't give me that withering look." Connor looked up, his eyes slightly narrowed. "Ah, stop! You're gonna burn a hole through me, now."

Connor smirked to himself, fucking smirked, poising his hands back on his keyboard. "Don't make me wait for you, then." Damn. Connor really was workin' him like a pissy girlfriend. But... Hank found himself kinda likin' it. Uh oh... that probably wasn't a good thought to acknowledge in the middle of the precinct.

Hank dragged a hand down his beard, looking around at all the folks milling around the station, as if any of them could hear his internal monologue. Phones ringed. Voices echoed off the high ceiling. No one even looked at him. No one gave a shit. No one gave a shit. Not even that fucker Gavin, and Hank and Connor even were having something resembling a lovers' spat.

For some reason, Hank found himself feeling oddly... giddy? That wasn't the right word—he just felt a little lighter, for some reason. Maybe it was just the after-effects of all that Mary Jane in his system—but right now, Hank wasn't feeling half-bad, all things considered, so he didn't give a shit what it was.

Hank pecked his keys one at a time, typing in his fuckingpassword. Since Connor forgave him and all, maybe it was okay to test the waters and fish for answers a little. "Hey, how long did you stick around for? Did you finish the end of the movie then take off?"

Connor's brows were furrowed. "Movie? Hank, the TV was off when I got there. You were just listening to Rush."

"Oh."

Connor's eyebrow raised. "You were really out of it, huh?"

"I keep telling you that." Hank stroked his beard. "Jesus... guess my mind was fillin' in the blanks. Hey, you know they have a song about Lord of the Rings, right?"

"What, 'Rivendell'?" Connor shifted in his chair. "Even I know that much." Holy cow—Connor even knows about Rush, too? Could he be any more of a catch? No, no—stop it, bad Hank! Just because you're not beating yourself up for the gay thoughts, doesn't mean you should just have them willy-nilly.

Hank rubbed his beard. Guess it wasn't "gay", but what? Bisexual? Nah, that sounded like a "young person" word—too trendy for Hank. He didn't know how to describe it. Maybe he was just "an appreciator of male hotness". Yeah, an AMH for short. Nothing gay about that! Was it gay to judge a bodybuilding competition? Well, actually yeah—Hank had always thought all that hyper-macho stuff was pretty gay. He even got gay vibes from professional wrestling—but maybe it was just all that oil and tiny little spandex undies. Eighties action movies could be pretty gay, too... Holy shit, was everything Hank liked gay, and he just never noticed?! Dear God...

"Oh, man..."

"Hm? Something wrong, Lieutenant?" Ah shit—did he say that out loud?

"—nothin'." Hank pushed his hair out of his face. He couldn't wait until it was longer again, and he could tie it back. Wait—did Connor like guys with long hair? Gah, stop, Hank!

Hank opened his email, his thoughts wandering, his eyes flicking up to Connor's unreadable expression as he worked. What kind of guys were Connor's type? Hank couldn't help but be curious—he kind of imagined Connor sitting in a chair across from a clean-cut skinny guy who looked just like him, sharing fun facts with each other going, "Fascinating" and "I see, interesting". Hank almost laughed at the image of it. But, who knows—maybe Connor had a freaky side, and he liked guys with big muscles who could snap him like a twig. All the other "twinks" from those videos seemed to love it. Gah—Hank felt really guilty for even imagining it. Just stop this train of thought—whatever Connor's type was, as much as Hank was curious—it wasn't his business. Connor didn't mention he had a boyfriend or anything—for all Hank knew, he was too busy with work to keep a relationship going, like what'd happened with Hank's marriage. For all Hank knew, Connor was a huge slut who slept around—but he kinda seriously doubted that. He just didn't seem like the type.

Hank realized he was tapping his fingers kinda hard on his desk. For some reason the thought of it really annoyed him—but it's not like it was any of his fuckin' business. Just forget it—you got work to do, Hank.

"Hey—" Hank's voice sounded froggy, like something was stuck in his throat. "Hoo—" He coughed into his fist. "'Scuse me. Hey, what were you working on before I got here?"

Connor's finger rapidly tapped his mouse, without actually clicking it. "I was looking some more into Daniel's socials, and weighing my options." He licked his lips. "I was even doing some digging on Professor Abelman. But I think he's completely uninvolved." He almost smiled to himself. "Actually, I found out that he knows a friend of mine's father—they exhibited some pieces at a show together, I saw the photos." He met Hank's eyes. "But I'm not letting that bias color my judgment."

"I believe you. I think the professor's on the up and up, too."

Connor looked away at nothing on his desk. "I think Professor Abelman is one of the few allies Daniel actually has. And it got me thinking..." An audible breath escaped his nose. "That friend of mine, if I passed him Daniel and Jason's photo, he could circulate it among certain groups, see if anyone knows him or has seen him out..."

Hank caught his meaning. "Ah." But that would essentially be outing them.

"... I'd prefer to only do it as a last resort. If we can't find Jason, or he's not the guy in this photo, or we get stonewalled in some other way."

Hank rested his hands on his knees. "Connor... I understand you wanna protect the guy's privacy, but we don't know if he's even alive or dead." Connor's eyes snapped open. "His photo's already gone up on the news, people know he's missing. We're gonna put the posters up at his school." Hank leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs. "If you think circulating that photo might help us find him, I'd say do it." Connor was nervously tapping his mouse again. Hank exhaled. "But, we still haven't found out where the boyfriend lives. That's our best lead—and if we don't find him then, we can play our other cards."

Connor nodded slowly. "I suppose that's fair enough." He looked to the side. "I just don't want him to be put in a worse position when we do find him."

"Connor, anything's better than being dead."

Connor didn't look at him. "You think so?"

Hank wasn't even going to touch that. It made his heart hurt to even hear Connor say that, and he hoped to God he wasn't speaking from personal experience.

Hank turned his attention back to his computer. He hadn't even looked at his emails yet, he just kept getting distracted. "Hey... I was wondering about this at the college." He dragged a poorly-worded email that was obviously spam to his Junk folder. "If he was so afraid of being found out, why'd he post that photo?"

Connor didn't answer right away. "Well... they're just standing next to each other. I imagine that it wouldn't come across as a couple's photo, to most people."

"But you could tell." Hank said it before he could think.

Connor's eyes scrunched, then relaxed. "I don't know why he would post it, honestly. The account looks like it was mostly for sharing his paintings, and some photography. The photos of him and Emma and the one with 'Jason' are the only two with his face in them, and they're both pretty recent." Connor leaned back in his chair, staring unfocused at the middle distance. "Maybe he was trying to be more open. Maybe he was trying to be less afraid." Connor said it with an odd tone, running a hand back through his hair. "I don't know. Maybe he was trying to feel more like himself, like a normal person who could post a photo together with his partner like it was no big deal." Huh. "It feels rude to keep speculating, so I'm going to stop." Connor swiveled his chair, glancing at Gavin over at his desk.

"Hey, Gavin can't hear us from there, don't even worry."

Connor peered up at him. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Watch." Hank raised his voice a bit. "Gavin Reed's a small-dicked prick who fucks his mom in the ass." Hank didn't know why he improvised that particular sentence, he just wanted to say the most shocking thing he could. Gavin didn't react at all, he was focused on his computer, and checking his phone on his desk. Connor, however, did react—he was covering his face with both hands, bent into his desk. "See? You're good."

Connor was evidently too stunned to speak. "—Hank, why did you have to say that?"

Hank laughed. "Sorry, kid—it just came out, I don't know why either." Then Hank locked eyes with Chris, who was staring at him from the other side of the glass framing his desk, an eyebrow cocked to the ceiling. "Whoops. Hey, you didn't hear that, Chris." Connor twisted over his shoulder, mortified. "Well, no one can hear us unless they happen to be walking on the other side of this glass—which they never do, since the break room and all that shit's on the other side." Hank raised his voice again. "What the hell you doin' back there anyway, Chris?"

"Just on my way to talk to Captain Fowler, Lieutenant." Chris shook his head. "Damn, I hope you don't talk about me like that."

"What, you? Never." Chris grinned to himself, walking away. Connor looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. "Hey, I'm sorry! Look, Chris is a cool guy—I doubt he heard anything else, but even if he did, he doesn't care." Connor was neurotically smoothing back his hair, which hadn't actually fallen out of place. "Hey, the guy's got a newborn son at home, he doesn't give a shit about office drama."

"Really?" Connor seemed to compose himself, somewhat. "You don't have paternity leave here?"

"—Well, he's not a newborn anymore—the kid's a couple months old now, I think."

"I see." Connor watched Chris as he entered Fowler's office. For some reason, it conjured Hank's ridiculous mental image of Connor talking with a look-alike going, "I see, interesting."

"Pft."

"What?"

"Nothin'." Hank smoothed down his beard. His stomach suddenly rumbled, pretty loudly. "Ah, shit—I didn't eat anythin' this morning. Hey Connor, you hungry yet?"

Connor thought for a second. "I could eat."

"You wanna wait? I just need to grab something from the vending machine, then."

Connor tapped his fingers together. "No, let's just go now. I don't want to have to stop for anything once we head for the college. We might get lucky." He stood up, taking off his suit jacket, and throwing on a heavy coat. Hank thought he got lucky, with that brief view of Connor's white tucked-in shirt stretching over his slim body, as he peeled off his jacket, languishing through Hank's brain in slow-motion.

"—All right, let's go." Hank stood up, willing the thought away. "You good with walking? I got a place in mind, it's not far."

"That's fine by me." Hank led the way out through the office. Whoops—he was too embarrassed to walk his late ass in through the front doors, he had just snuck in the back. He hoped Wanda wouldn't notice.

"Oh Lieutenant, you are here!" Her voice was unmistakable.

Hank gave her a sheepish smile, slowing to stop in front of the glass. "Mornin', Wanda. Sorry I missed you, I just slipped in the back."

"Mm-hm." She pursed her lips. "Well, Connor here asked me if you'd come in, and I told him I hadn't seen you." Well, Hank's goose was cooked. Time to turn in his badge. "Making your juniors wait for you when they're here early..."

"Hey Wanda, go a little easy on me, okay?" Hank rubbed his neck. "I wasn't feeling well last night." She gave him a flat look. "It's true!"

Connor piped up from behind him. "That is true. That's why I was worried." Connor sounded a bit sheepish, too.

Wanda gave Hank the side-eye. "Well, you just try to set a better example, Lieutenant." Hank wasn't sure who could make him feel worse—Andrea, Wanda, or Connor. Why was everyone busting his balls lately?! Well—he knew exactly why.

"Haah." Hank palmed down his beard. "Well—we're headin' off to lunch, I already apologized to this guy for making him wait—and I'm even payin' for his lunch!"

Connor smiled next to him. "That's true, too."

Wanda gave Connor a wide grin. "Well! Maybe if the Lieutenant has to buy lunch every time he's late, he'll get his butt in gear!"

"That's a wonderful idea."

"—I don't think so!" Hank cut in. "I'm not made of money, here!"

"Well, Lieutenant." Wanda folded her hands. "You show your team the same respect they show you, and it won't be a problem." She smiled sweetly. Hank wanted to say, "You think these jokers show me respect?!" But that would have only furthered her point. Wanda was a sharp one.

"Haah." Hank was hungry, and now he was feeling tired, too. "Yes, ma'am."

Her eyes crinkled in a genuine smile. "You boys enjoy your lunch." She turned to Connor. "You keep him in line—and don't let this one's bad habits rub off on you, okay, baby?"

"Don't worry, I won't." Connor waved, turning to leave. "Thank you, Wanda."

"Bye, baby."

Hank followed Connor out the door, which Connor held open behind him. Hank couldn't believe it. "Hey, what's up with that?" Connor gave him a curious look. "She calls you 'baby'?"

"Um..." Connor laughed uncomfortably. "I guess so, doesn't she call everybody that?"

"Not me! She just calls me 'Lieutenant'!"

"Oh." Connor pulled down his large coat sleeves. He made a small laugh again. "I'm sorry."

"Bah, some guys have all the luck—" Shit—Hank almost blurted out, "It's just because you're so cute." He'd have to be pretty careful.

Hank shoved his hands in his pockets, and the two of them strode down the sidewalk. There weren't too many people out today—there was a chance of slush tonight, which probably wouldn't stick to the roads, but it was gettin' colder, for sure. At least the spot they were headed to had those giant torches above every table.

Hank noticed that Connor was hanging back a few inches behind him, even though they were walking next to each other. "Where are we going, Lieutenant?"

"You'll see, it's not far." He could feel Connor staring at him. "Hey, I'm not taking you to some greasetrap hot dog stand, so don't worry. You like that healthy shit, right?" Connor's expression became one of intrigue.

"I do try to eat healthy, yes. I want to live a long life, after all." Hank rolled his eyes at the pointed comment.

"Yeah, yeah." People streamed in both directions on the sidewalk as they got farther into downtown. Connor found himself walking closer to Hank to avoid being shoulder-checked. Hank thought he smelled something nice again, really clean... "Hey, Connor—don't think I'm weird for sayin' this, but you smell nice."

"Oh, thank you." Connor gave a small, shy smile. "I try not to use too much. Hopefully it doesn't bother you, Lieutenant."

"Not at all." Great, Hank gives the guy a compliment, and he's still stuck at "Lieutenant". "What is it?"

"Ah, I couldn't tell you what brand it is—although I remember 'Aqua' is in the name."

"Yeah? What's it supposed to smell like, rain water?"

Connor flipped his coat collar up. "I can see that." He gave a small laugh, which definitely didn't flash through Hank's brain as "cute". "Well... truth be told, it's an elusive scent I've been chasing since I was younger. You might find it strange."

Hank held out his hands in what he hoped was an inviting gesture, like the Buddha or somethin'. "Try me, Connor. I already said it was nice, didn't I?"

Connor licked his lips, his apparent habit. "Well, when I was in fourth or fifth grade, we would go to the school computer lab for typing lessons every day—the computer lab always smelled really cold, and clean." Connor's gaze was focused ahead as they walked. "It's hard to describe. I always associate that smell with cold metal, and computers. Maybe they had the A/C cranked up to keep them all cool. Or maybe it was just a cleaning spray." His eyes dropped to the sidewalk. "I've just always liked things that smell 'cold', like cucumber, or melon—" He turned to face Hank. "Or rainwater, like you said."

Hank stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I think I see what you mean. Guess there's things I associate with bein' cold. Like blueberries."

Connor almost laughed. "Blueberries?"

Hank kept smoothing down his beard with his thumb and forefinger, his apparent habit. "Yeah—well, I guess that's 'cause I used to buy 'em frozen. They're only in season for like a fuckin' day." Connor made another small laugh. Hank hadn't bought frozen blueberries or used his blender in a while—Andrea was the one who liked to make smoothies, and Cole loved 'em when he was little. Maybe Hank should look up some recipes when he got home, and surprise Cole with a smoothie when he came over on Saturday. If he even knew what Cole liked anymore... he was pretty sure he still liked blueberries, and strawberries—but not bananas. Ah shit—the thought made Hank sad. Maybe he should just ask Cole to help him make a big list of what he likes and doesn't like now, and keep it up on the fridge.

Hank found himself hit by a twinge of nerves. He hoped Connor liked the place they were going to—it was the best "healthy" food he could think of, being "organic" and all that—even greasy old Hank liked it. Ah, shit—Hank's house was probably a fuckin' mess when Connor came over, and it probably smelled like flat soda and old pizza like it always does. Hank was holding himself to cleaning the place up before Cole came over again, after feeling self-conscious about his messy-ass car... but all that stuff with Daniel had been such a downer, and then that whole swirl of emotions after Connor's accidental coming out—Hank just had too much on his mind to remember to clean his house. And he still hadn't—but he would. That much he swore to himself.

"Oh, shoot—" Hank stopped short, looking for the street sign. "Alright, two more blocks to go."

"I'm surprised there are so many restaurants this close to the precinct." Connor was surveying the street around them, still huddled relatively close to Hank. That "Aqua" stuff did smell pretty nice, Hank had to keep it in mind. "I haven't had the chance to explore this side of downtown."

"Yeah? Well there's all kinds of good grub around here. And cheap, too." They crossed the street at the light, then turned into a pod of food trucks. "Here we are! Check it out." Hank led them to a large hand-written sign leaned against the side of a bright red cart. "All organic. Right up your alley, right?"

Connor scanned the sign, which had two simple lists: 'Tacos', and 'Arepas'. At the top in bold letters read 'Organic & Local'. "Interesting. How did you find this place?"

"I was just walkin' 'round the pod, and something smelled pretty good." The two took their place in a disorganized line crowded around the open window. "I couldn't give less of a shit if the stuff's organic or local—but it's pretty damn tasty."

Connor couldn't help but laugh. "I'll take your word for it." His eyes went down the menu. "Lieutenant, what is an arepa, exactly?"

"Connor…" Hank let out a sigh. "Come on. Just 'Hank'. Please." Connor looked a bit put-out. "You already called me 'Hank' at the station, why'd you switch back?"

"Well…" Connor trailed off. He licked his lips. "We're working."

"No, we're on lunch." Hank clapped him on the back. He hadn't done so all morning, and he noticed that Connor flinched, just a bit. "I'm on my own time, so I'm not yours or anybody else's Lieutenant."

Connor hid his hands in the pockets of his giant overcoat. "I didn't realize it bothered you so much."

"I wouldn't say that—it's just so stiff. Ya know?" They inched closer as the line moved. "Nobody calls me 'Lieutenant' but Wanda, and Chris when he's being a smartass."

Connor rubbed his chin. "I suppose that is true."

"Good, so we're on the same page. Just call me 'Hank' all the time." Hank realized that he was raising up on the balls of his feet, rocking back onto his heels. "If I want to introduce myself to somebody as Lieutenant Hank Anderson, I will."

"All right, then." Connor rubbed his hands together, trying to blow some warmth into them. "What exactly is an arepa, Hank?" Hank smiled to himself.

"Huh? Dunno—never had it." Connor gave him a blank stare. Hank laughed. "I'm just kiddin', geez. It's kinda like if a taco became a sandwich… It's like a soft pocket they stuff meat into." Connor scanned down the menu once more, his hand under his chin. Hank definitely didn't purposefully make an innuendo there, and he definitely wasn't disappointed that Connor didn't react at all. All his jokes were wasted on this guy, Hank swears... Well, at least he laughed more than Ben, and he was definitely, definitely easier on the eyes.

OOO

OOO

OOO

Hank jut his chin at Connor's arepa sitting in its wrapper. "That's all you're gonna eat? How are you gonna get through the day just runnin' on veggies?"

Connor dabbed his lips with his napkin before speaking. "Actually, I don't eat meat. Although I do have fish, occasionally."

Hank shook his head, muttering to himself. "Jesus, Connor. You don't eat meat, you live alone with a cat…" He grumbled something else under his breath. Connor wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean.

"I'm sorry that directly affects you so much, Hank." He almost called him "Lieutenant" just to be spiteful, but Connor figured it would just end up being more annoying for him. Did he actually tell Hank he lived alone? Well, he must have—how else would he know?

He took a sip of his sweet passion fruit drink—parchita, he believed it was called. It tasted like juice, refreshingly, and not just corn syrup and sugar. The subtle sweetness reminded him of cactus fruit.

"Connor, you're too skinny." Hank scarfed half of his second arepa in one bite, chewing noisily. "—You gotta put some meat in you if you want some meat on your bones."

Connor had heard that many times before, sometimes pointedly, sometimes mockingly, sometimes— although rare—out of genuine concern; and sometimes sarcastically, for which he was willing to give Hank the benefit of the doubt. "I'm perfectly content the way I am, thanks."

Hank regarded him with that grilling detective look, eyes narrowed, almost looking down his nose at him. "How come you don't eat meat?"

Connor finished another small sip of his drink. "It's just a personal choice I've made." He wiped the tips of his fingers off on his napkin. "I don't mind telling you, since you asked—but it might sound a bit like I'm trying to convert you, which I have no intention of doing."

"Well, you couldn't even if you fuckin' tried."

Connor rolled his eyes. "I just know that vegetarians and vegans have a reputation for being over-zealous, so I just wanted to get that out of the way." North had an annoying vegan friend like that, and even Connor found her exhausting. "Although technically, I'd be a pescetarian, since I still eat fish."

"Alright, alright—just get on with it, Connor."

Connor swirled his plastic cup, watching the ice gently bounce around. "It's a simple reason, really. I made the mistake of watching a documentary about factory farming, and it made me feel so bad for the animals, I decided it wasn't something I wanted to contribute to anymore." Hank regarded him with what Connor perceived as a contemplative look. "I actually quit cold turkey and tried going vegan, and went out and bought new groceries, seeing if I could cook satisfying meals for myself that didn't rely on animal products." Hank nodded, as if he was actually listening. "That lasted about a month, but then I started noticing that I was tired all the time, and I hardly had any energy. I thought just taking a multivitamin every day was enough to supplement the nutrient gap, but apparently it wasn't." Connor realized his fingers felt clammy, but that was probably from the cold drink. "I finally went to the doctor, and she told me I was iron-deficient, among other things. She recommended I go back to eating meat, but if I really didn't want to do that, I should incorporate more beans, seeds, and nuts into my diet. So I did, and I started eating eggs and dairy again—then I decided to just eat fish for the omega-3, as a special treat." He set down his drink, wiping his wet fingers on his napkin. "I just try to be more aware of where my food is coming from now, that's all."

Hank sat there, silently nodding his head. "So after all that, you kept at it because you felt bad for the animals." Connor laughed softly.

"I suppose that's a more succinct way of putting it, yes."

"But not the fish." Connor knew that was coming.

"Well..." He picked up his half-eaten veggie arepa. "To be honest, I even feel guilty about that too, sometimes." He rolled his eyes at himself. "I'm sure you're familiar with the Nirvana song—'It's okay to eat fish, 'cause they don't have any feelings'?"

"Yeah, I know that one—'Underneath the Bridge'?" Connor was pretty sure the song was called 'Something in the Way', and Hank was probably confusing it with 'Under the Bridge' by the Red Hot Chili Peppers—but Connor didn't feel like being pedantic.

"Right. Well, that's how I justify it to myself, anyway." Connor turned his arepa in his hands, but it was looking less-appetizing by the second.

"Jesus—well Connor, you're just trying to stay alive, what's there to feel so guilty about?" Hank took another bite of his own food. "That's just nature. Everything's gotta eat somethin' to survive, that's just how things work."

Connor set his arepa down. "Do you mind if I give you an example? It's a bit disturbing."

Hank let out a loud sigh. "Sure, go ahead."

Connor rested his hands in his lap, so hopefully he would stop fidgeting. "Well, one of the scenes from the documentary that stuck with me was when they went through the chicken cages. Just rows and rows of cages all in this huge warehouse, to maximize egg production." Connor licked his lips subconsciously. "The cages were basically so small that the chickens couldn't stand up or turn around. They were just meant to sit there their whole lives, eating from a trough and laying eggs." He realized he was squeezing his knuckles together. "When one of the crew went to lift them up, the chicken's feet had fused to the bottom of the cage, and their legs came right off their body." Hank had leaned his chin in his hand.

"Damn. That's pretty gnarly."

Connor didn't know what to do with his hands, so he picked up his drink again. "Well, those are my reasons." He moved his straw around through the perforated hole in the lid. "Going with that example, I try to only buy eggs that say 'free range' on them now." Even though Connor knew what the FDA could consider "free range" was pretty loose and vague, it was better than nothing. "... I just try to minimize my contribution to what I see as a harmful industry, that's all." He said that last part quietly, since at this point Connor felt like he was ranting and trying to convert Hank. He hoped Hank at least understood where he came from, even if he didn't agree.

"I see." Hank licked some sauce off his thumb. "Well, I'm a dog lover, so if tomorrow everyone decided it was normal to eat dogs, I wouldn't be on board with that, either." Connor made a small laugh, despite himself. "But sorry, Connor—" Hank took another bite of his arepa. "I'm never gonna stop eatin' meat. I love it too much, plus I've been eating it my whole life." Connor nodded. Of course, he hadn't expected a Midwestern man of Hank's age to say anything else. The fact that he had listened all the way through was kind of him, at least.

"Of course, Hank." Connor swirled his straw in his passion fruit drink, now that most of the ice had melted. Outwardly, Connor was a man who never had strong opinions about anything, and was a perpetual people-pleaser and peace-keeper. In truth, though, this was something Connor felt quite strongly about—but he usually just kept it to himself. His frustration was aimed at the meat industry at large, not so much at the individual meat-eater—and he knew being an obnoxious soap-boxer was never going to change anyone's mind, anyway. He just couldn't help but feel terrible for the animals when he watched that stupid documentary—and if he couldn't stop it, he at least didn't want to contribute to it. Honestly, that documentary kind of ruined his life—it created an irreconcilable rift inside of him between something he did everyday and took for granted, and his sense of empathy. It was like finding out that the metals in your smartphone were mined by impoverished children in third world countries, or that all the clothes you wear came from sweatshops—to exist in the modern world, there are just products and practices that you can't avoid relying on. It was almost a morbid parallel to what Hank had said—"Everything's gotta eat something to survive." Connor had had many philosophical debates with North and Markus and Josh about wage inequality, and exploitation of labor, and ethical consumption under capitalism, and many other heavy topics—well, it was more accurate to say that Connor mostly sat there and listened while they ranted about it—but he had absorbed it, and tried to minimize his contribution to harm and exploitation wherever he could. But it was just like Hank said once again, "Well Connor, you're just trying to stay alive." Hank wasn't wrong at all—and that's why Connor usually just kept his mouth shut. It was difficult enough just to rationalize it to himself, and on any given day he just had to shelve it to not drive himself crazy. That was kind of Connor's M.O.

Connor didn't think he could finish his arepa. The soft cornmeal part had gotten cold, and he had lost his appetite thinking about all this. Connor was self-assured when it came to the way he led his own life—but by that same token, the argument could be made that his choosing to not eat meat was a first-world privilege, and that it wasn't feasible for many people in other parts of the world. Even just coming from an Irish-American family, he understood that traditional dishes with meat were very important culturally, some being passed down from times in human history where you either hunted or farmed livestock, or you died by winter. His own parents didn't know what to do when they invited him to their last St. Patrick's dinner a few years back, Connor had to eat beforehand and just picked at sides liked mashed potatoes and his aunt's macaroni salad. Connor remembered an episode of a less-traumatizing docuseries he watched about modern nomadic tribes in snowbound Eastern Russia, and their diets consisted of like 85% animal products, because that's all they had to eat out there, and they would just wither away and die without it. And there were many hardline vegans like North's annoying friend who would still criticize Connor for eating eggs and cheese, and enjoying honey in his coffee, and wearing wool sweaters. The dilemma of ethical consumption truly was a slippery slope.

"Connor, you doing all right?" Hank's voice sounded more gentle than normal. "Why don't you wrap that up and take it with you. It'll still be good if you heat it up later."

Connor nodded. "I think I'll do that. Thanks." He actually laughed. "I was just thinking about all the food I used to love, especially on St. Patrick's Day." He started wrapping up his cold arepa. "Breaded pork chops, corned beef and cabbage, polish sausages with lots of sauerkraut... and a nice steamy chicken breast." Hank nodded along, and the two of them sat in silence while Hank quickly finished his food, the noise of the cars whipping by and the jumbled voices echoing through the food cart pod suddenly deafening.

XXX

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XXX

Connor was staring at his monitor, his hands not even moving. Hank had had enough. "Well Jesus, Connor—did you even like it?"

"—Yes, sorry, Hank. The food was pretty good. Thank you for treating." He licked his lips nervously. "The veggies were seared well and tasted fresh, and I liked how soft the outer corn shell was. The actual arepa part."

"Haah." Hank sighed, shaking his head. "Well, sorry to ruin the mood by asking you about the poor chickens. Jesus."

"No..." Connor let out a frustrated sigh. "I'm sorry for going on a bit of a rant." He clasped his hands in front of him, leaning his forehead against his thumbs in an almost tired prayer. "I guess I just feel strongly about it. I feel the same way that people normally feel about cats and dogs being mistreated."

"Hmm, well when you put it that way, I can kinda see your point." Hank stroked his beard, which was starting to grow back in on the sides, just a bit. His hair always grew kinda fast for a white guy, his barber had told him. Connor was laying it on pretty thick with the meat stuff—and Hank did understand where a soft-hearted guy like Connor was coming from, but goddamn if Hank was ever going to give up his delicious cheeseburgers, or pepperoni pizza, or hot dogs with a bunch of shit dumped on top, or Taco Saturday with Cole. Ah damnit—Hank forgot to call Cole last night. Well, he still had all week to call him, and see if he wanted to do anything special this weekend. Hank was just feeling low after seeing poor little Emma cry, but his brain had been inundated with a hurricane of other thoughts since then. Now that he thought about it, Emma reminded him of Alice a bit, even though little Alice was even more shy. Maybe he should give Kara and Luther a break and invite her over to spend the weekend with them. As long as anything crazy didn't go down over the weekend—Hank was placing his faith in Ben to handle it.

Hank turned back to the shared document Connor showed him how to access. Connor's notes were thorough, although he identified "Jason (last name unknown)" as "a possible friend". That was fair enough—it didn't matter a lick whether they were friends or fucking, it just mattered whether Daniel was holed up there or not.

Hoo boy... speaking of, Hank was feeling a bit too comfortable with his horny old man thoughts lately. When Connor mentioned St. Patrick's Day, something sprung into Hank's mind without his permission, "Hey Connor—you got some Irish in you? You want some?" Not that that joke would really work, since Hank was only maybe 10% Irish, and mostly Scottish and English, and German—no, that wasn't the point, he just shouldn't have thought it in the first place! Not when Connor was pouring his heart out about something important to him. Jesus. Maybe Hank should drag his ass back to church, and have the pastor throw Holy Water on him, or something. Not for the gay stuff... just for being an old pervert in general. Shit, maybe he should go down to the Eden Club and get his rocks off so he could calm down—it had been a while. Well, maybe someplace a little less skeevy than the Eden Club. Ugh—he should have just rubbed one out in that long shower he took this morning, but he just felt so gross and unattractive after that pathetic display the night before, he didn't even feel like it.

Hank wanted to slap his own face, but he didn't want to draw any attention to himself. Actually... maybe this was a good opportunity. He could change the subject and lighten the mood, while also asking Connor about himself. It was a win-win.

"So, you're Irish, Connor?" Hank plunked on his keyboard. Can't appear too interested. It's just a casual conversation.

"Yes, as well as some other things." Connor was typing fast. Damn—all those computer classes in fifth grade must have paid off. "Mostly German. Although, the family members who migrated over were generations ago. They're practically ancestors." Hank snorted a laugh. "My family likes to pretend we're more Irish than we actually are."

"Yeah, me too. My family's mostly Scottish and English, with some German on my mother's side. Just a smidge of Irish, too. And about ten other things." Hank had to squint to read the small font on the screen. Damn these computers... "We're true European mutts. Just boring old white people." Connor laughed lightly.

"My family's the same."

"Hah." Hank tried to close the document, but it asked him if he wanted to Save Changes. Uhh, Hank didn't think he made any changes... Guess he should just hit 'No'. "Is your family religious, Connor? You guys Catholic?"

Connor kept typing. "My family is all Catholic, except one of my grandparents. She's actually Jewish." He folded his hands on his desk. "I was raised Catholic, but I'm not, anymore."

"Ah." Well, Hank wasn't exactly surprised to hear that. "Well, my old man's a Methodist. I don't do the church stuff anymore, either." Hank hesitated for a second, but thought it was only fair to be honest. "But I still have my own beliefs. About what's out there."

"That's fair." Connor's voice was even, but a little soft. "Everyone's entitled to their own personal beliefs. I have mine."

Hank wanted to ask, in a roundabout way. "Are your parents, uh, pretty strict, if you don't mind me asking?"

Connor smiled at Hank. "My family told my grandmother that she wouldn't be buried in the family plot, because she's not Catholic." His smile was completely empty, sarcastic. "Just to give you an idea."

"I see." Hank kind of regretted asking. He opened the next document, careful not to accidentally click something inside and make changes.

Connor sighed. "I can tell you want to ask. It's fine, I don't mind telling you." Connor pushed his chair back. "At a certain point in my adulthood, I just didn't feel the need to update my parents about what was going on in my personal life." He shrugged. "They know I transferred to Detroit. They know I moved into a new apartment. But they don't know much about my friends, or my interests, or my relationships, or my cat, or me." He smiled that empty smile again. "But it goes both ways—they don't care to know about me." He laughed bitterly. "I was just thinking about this at lunch—they didn't even bother to make a vegetarian dish for me at their last St. Patrick's Day party. I think they just forgot, or assumed it was a phase, or they could just pressure me into eating whatever they made." He shrugged again. "I just had to make due with mashed potatoes. I ate beforehand, because I knew they would do this." He turned back to his computer. "Sorry, I got a little carried away."

"—don't apologize, Connor." Hank dragged a palm down his face. "I'm sorry. That sounds shitty." It was too late to un-ask, so the least he could do was listen. "I can't imagine treating my kid like that... Do you have siblings?"

Silence. "No." Okay... that was a bit of an ominous answer. Hank really thought it better not to ask about that one.

Hank adjusted his waistband, scooting off his chair a bit. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don't think my folks like me much, either." He sat back down with a grunt. "Every time they call me, it's just to complain. Or try to pressure me into taking care of my old lady when my old man kicks the bucket. 'Course my folks are old, they're in their eighties." Hank let his curiosity get the better of him. "How old are your folks?"

"They're in their sixties." Connor kept typing. "My parents were older than me when they had me."

"Ah." Well, that's good—Hank secretly dreaded that he'd be the same age as Connor's old man, but he was relieved that wasn't the case. Hank liked to joke that he was an old fart, but he really didn't feel that old—it was probably because he had such a young kid. Although Hank was visibly older than most of Cole's friends' other parents. He had just started turning grey early, it ran in the family. Andrea didn't mind it, though—she said it made him look distinguished, and his blue eyes really popped. Damn—what a great woman, what did Hank ever do to deserve her? He really fucked that one up, didn't he?

Hank raked his hair back. He tried to remember what it felt like—before Connor's ghostly fingers, nobody'd touched Hank's hair like that besides Andrea, when it was long and blonde and he could put it in a ponytail. He still remembered when they'd be sitting on the couch or in bed after Cole went to sleep, just looking into each other's eyes, and she'd push his hair back behind his ear, and they'd share such a deep a kiss...

"—Heugh!" Hank coughed wetly into his hand.

"Are you all right, Hank?"

"—Yeah, I'm fine." He cleared his throat with a hock into his trash can. He caught a glimpse of pure disgust on Connor's face. "Sorry, kid. Pardon my shitty manners."

"... Can I get you some water?" Connor stood mechanically from his desk. "I'm going to get myself some coffee."

"Please." Hank wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Thanks."

Connor had already rounded his desk. "Hey." Gavin looked up from fucking around on his phone, leaning back in his chair. "Get me some coffee, too." Hank couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Get your own damn coffee, Gavin." Gavin made a little huff, then kept messing with his phone. Hank found the stash of tissues he'd taken from fast food joints in his desk, and wiped his mouth and beard. He watched Connor go towards the break room, stopping in front of the water cooler to fill a wax cup. Connor had taken off his coat since they got back inside, since the heat had finally filled the cavernous building—Hank had to acknowledge that he had a pretty good silhouette, it would be rude not to. Connor seemed to favor form-fitting black slacks with a thin belt, and a solid color dress shirt—white today. He also sported a tie that seemed solid black at first, but when Hank got a closer look during lunch, he could make out that the tie was actually dark green, with an intricately stitched pattern. Hank didn't really have fancy ties anymore—he dumped all the ties and shirts Andrea got him off at the thrift store in his "anger" and "denial" stages of grief—something he regretted immensely. At least he didn't throw out the photo albums, although Andrea took most of those with her.

Hank had been absently watching Connor fill a cup of coffee. He took it black, apparently—no wait, he was looking in the cupboards, in the fridge—he must be looking for some of that fancy veggie-head milk. Well, they didn't have that shit here—just those room-temperature little things of creamers, and the nasty powdered stuff. Damn—just seeing him walk back across the room, he was the best-looking guy in the precinct by far, except maybe Chris—the kid looked slim and trim, and knew how to dress well to capitalize on it—unlike Hank, who was built like a fridge with food spilling out the front. But that was the German side, he had always told himself.

Hank threw his wadded-up napkin in the trash. There was point denying it—Connor was pretty damn attractive, in every way. Especially now that Hank got to see a wider range of expressions on him other than "trying to look professional". At first, Hank assumed he was just some self-important upstart kid, trying to kiss ass while also thinking he was better than the other corn-fed officers—but now he knew that Connor was just a little awkward. I mean, he looked like a fuckin' model—but he also had that shy, boy-next-door thing that made him imperfect, and more approachable. And he was smart, and kind—well, maybe a little too kind, and a little too bleeding-heart from Hank's perspective—but he meant well. He was a good kid. If Hank was twenty years younger—no, just stop it Hank, don't even kid yourself.

Connor approached holding two cups, and Hank held out his hand. "Thanks."

Connor seemed to hesitate for a split second, then set Hank's water on his desk. "You're welcome." Hank had noticed Connor wiping his hands a lot while they were out eating, and he even pulled a little bottle of hand sanitizer out afterwards. He had a little fuckin' travel size thing on his keyring. And don't even mention the weird thing with the gloves and the little baggies—Connor seemed to have a problem with germs, or at least cleanliness. So Hank shouldn't be all that surprised that Connor wouldn't want to touch his hand after he just hacked into it, and wiped his spit on it. Hank resigned himself to the fact that he could be pretty disgusting—but he never really thought about it before.

Hank stood up with a heavy grunt, striding over to the little hand sanitizer stand they set up by the office entrance. He met Connor's eyes as he walked back to his desk, and he looked almost—guilty? He had this doe-eyed look, but he focused back on his monitor without saying anything. Hank sank into his chair, and pulled up that godforsaken report he'd read through at least three times without retaining any of it.

"Hey, where's my coffee?" Gavin, just shut up—

"Sorry, Detective Reed." Connor's tone was flat as a frozen-over lake. "The Lieutenant actually said 'please'."

"Hah!" Hank spied Connor trying not to smile, a sight that prick Gavin would never have the privilege of. "Yeah, Gavin—didn't your mama ever teach ya to say 'please' when you want your snackie?"

"Go fuck yourself off a cliff, Hank."

"Hey, that sounds pretty exciting—wouldn't be a bad way to go." He heard Connor trying to stifle a laugh. Hey, the morning wasn't a total wash, after all.

Suddenly Hank's desk phone started ringing. No, wait—it was Connor's phone. Connor looked at Hank with equal surprise, then picked up the receiver. "Detective Sullivan speaking. Yes." He met Hank's eyes. "Thank you for calling me, Professor." He licked his lips. "I see. Well, I'm glad to hear that, at least. Oh... I see. Yes. Lieutenant Anderson and I will be here... All right. Thank you very much. Goodbye." He hung up the phone after what felt like ages, then turned to Hank, his eyebrows raised. "Jason came to his classroom. He said he's on his way to come talk to us."

"Holy shit, really?"

"Apparently." Connor licked his lips. "He told the professor who he was, and said that Daniel had been staying with him for the last few days."

"I knew it."

Connor started collecting the files that were on his desk, neatly tucking them in the folder. "Professor Abelman told him to contact us, and gave him your card."

"Well, he called you, Connor." Hank smiled. "I think you earned his trust." Connor didn't say anything. "Hey, you're allowed to acknowledge it, you know."

Connor made his silent prayer motion again, smooshing his nose with his fingers. "I'm just concerned... he said Daniel was staying with Jason, but he ran away."

Hank got a heavy feeling. "He ran away? Why?"

Connor turned to look at Hank. "Apparently, Jason told him he was trying to encourage Daniel to go back to his host family and talk to them, and get his medication and his passport... but he just 'freaked out' and ran away." Connor's brows were really furrowed, and he opened one of his drawers. "Shit—we'll need to get that medication out of evidence."

"I'll get it." Hank stood up. "Anything else?"

Connor leaned his head in his hand, tapping his forehead. "Not that I can think of." He closed his eyes. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"Hey—we won't know anything until we talk to Jason." Hank pushed back his chair. "Who knows—Daniel might decide to go back home on his own, and badda boom, case closed."

Connor peered up at Hank. "I don't know if that's such a good thing, either."

An uncomfortable silence settled on the desk. Hank could hear the other phones ringing, and people talking farther away. Deep down, Hank had the same bad feeling as Connor—but if he started showing it too, he wouldn't be being a very good partner. One of them had to be the rock.

Hank stalked off towards the evidence locker without another word. Hopefully, the kid got here sooner than later—Lord knows it would fuckin' feel like forever until he walked through those precinct doors.

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Thanks for reading! So um—CONTENT WARNING for the next chapters. If you've played "The Hostage" opening a million times, you know it's probably not gonna end well :(

On a lighter note, I'm sure it's obvious I played soft boy Connor as a radical Deviant who chose all the Hank ^ options XD The more I thought about what Deviant Connor would be like as a real person, the more softboi leftie I made him XD woke, in my gay fanfic? i never

Hoo boy—I usually can't stand the "misunderstanding" trope, but the tension 0_0 My man Hank really out here with no idea, huh

(Psst... just between you and me... I have the most fun writing from crusty old Hank's perspective XD Connor's stuff comes more easily, but there's just something special about grumpy fuck Hank 3)