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?

14. Chapter 14 - Regardez-moi!

There's Something Wrong With Me - Chapter 14

Regardez-moi!

XXX

Connor stood up from his desk without a word, smoothing down his tie. He walked over to a pretty well-dressed lady—damnit, it was Amanda Stern. So she'd be prosecuting this one, huh...

"Amanda. It's been a while." Connor shook her hand. She looked down her nose at him like he was an ant.

"It certainly has, Connor." So they were on a first-name basis, huh? "So, how are you finding yourself among Detroit's finest?" What a bitch... Hank tried not to talk too badly about women, but he couldn't stand this lady. She was so cold and condescending, looking down at all the rubes from her ivory tower. It's like—who do you think does all the hard work on the ground so you can do your job, lady?

"It seems that I've fit right in." He sounded more cheery than when he was talking to Jeffrey, but his speech was still formal—at least to Hank's ears. He noticed Connor had turned to him with a relaxed but genuine smile. "Lieutenant Anderson has taken me under his wing."

"So I've heard." She regarded Hank with a look like he was lower than an ant—a dung beetle pushing a ball of shit. "Well, let's hope the Lieutenant's more eccentric tendencies don't rub off on you."

Hank smiled widely. "Nice seeing ya too, Prosecutor." At this point it was obvious to Hank she was never gonna like him, so he kind of enjoyed just rubbing her the wrong way.

She seemed to stiffen even more, if that was possible, then mimicked Connor's smoothing motion down her pantsuit. "Well, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, I have business with the Captain." She gave a slow, singular nod to Connor, completely ignoring Hank as she turned away.

"I'll see you later, Amanda." She didn't respond, walking smoothly back towards Jeffrey's office.

Connor still had that facetious smile on as he made his way back to his desk, but his eyes flicked up to meet Hank's, crinkling at the corners a bit. Hank couldn't help but roll his eyes, since Amanda was behind him now.

"I don't know how you can stand to pretend to be friendly with that old broad."

"Hank..." Connor sighed a bit. "You shouldn't refer to women as 'that old broad', even if you don't like them."

"Oh what—is that not 'PC' now?"

Connor sat at his desk, giving Hank a bit of a look. "It is rude, and it sounds like something a misogynist would say. You don't want to be perceived that way, do you?"

"Haah. Guess not." He wasn't going to argue the point—he'd just sound like his old man arguing that everyone said "Oriental" or "colored" back in his day. Eugh.

Connor actually smiled, though it still did look facetious. "I think that went well. It seems that she doesn't despise me after all."

"You'd call that going well?"

"I've learned to 'speak Amanda', as it were." His body language was more rigid, his back straight while he leaned his clasped hands on the desk. "If she had completely written me off, she wouldn't have bothered to say, 'Let's hope the Lieutenant's eccentricities don't rub off on you.' I'd call that her attempt at a joke."

Hank rubbed his beard. "I guess."

Connor smiled genuinely, like he was trying to stifle a laugh. "I felt 'the call of the void' a bit, and was tempted to say, 'Oh, it's far too late for that.'" Hank laughed out loud. "But I thought better of it."

"Ha! Well, there's still time before she leaves!" He twisted over his shoulder, watching her and Jeffrey up in the glass palace. She remained standing, clasping her hands behind her back as she talked down to Jeffrey sitting at his desk. He noticed even cranky old Jeffrey had that ramrod-straight posture while talking to her, leaning his clasped hands on his desk almost like Connor. "Hey, what do you mean by 'call of the void', exactly?"

"Oh, it's something people say when they're thinking of doing something really stupid, or self-destructive. It's almost like an intrusive thought, but more sarcastic." He laughed to himself, somewhat bitterly. "I feel it all the time. 'What if I did this right now? What would happen if I did the stupidest thing I could think of in this circumstance?'" He looked up at Hank, his eyes crinkling in that cute way. "Sometimes it helps me relax, and put things in perspective—if I think of what the worst thing I could do in any given situation is, then I can think, 'Well, I'm not going to do that—so no matter what happens, it won't end as badly as it could.'"

Hank scratched his chin through his beard. "I guess whatever helps you, Connor... but I still don't like it." Connor gave him an unreadable look. Hank didn't like hearing about Connor's "coping mechanisms"—he seemed to have a lot of self-destructive tendencies, even if he framed them as ultimately useful—and Hank didn't like it. Maybe Connor found that condescending... but like, what guy would want to see his partner mentally beat himself up like that?

Connor had a smile that was slightly mischievous. "You want to hear something? You asked if my parents had any idea, and my answer is still 'I don't know'... but I've always had a feeling that Amanda could tell." His eyes were watching her up in Jeffrey's office. "It's just because nothing escapes her. I wouldn't be surprised if there were things about me she could tell that my parents have no idea about."

"Hmm." Hank wanted Connor to elaborate, but he knew he wouldn't. "Do you think she went and snitched to your parents?"

Connor had pointed his index fingers, and was tapping them lightly. "I don't think so. She and my dad would like to brag about how well I was doing, but she wouldn't go out of her way to report to them if I was struggling. I don't think she saw that as her business. It's just part of the learning and growing process." He gave Hank a complicated smile. "Our relationship may be strained now, but I did respect her quite a bit for many years. I like to think I've earned a level of respect from her that won't be effaced so easily." That won't be what? Great, Amanda Stern walks in and cute Connor who says "um" a lot starts breaking out the college words...

Hank suddenly got a wicked grin. Well, he had the ultimate one over on Amanda—he got to see the really cute, coquettish side of Connor that nobody else knew, especially not an old—stiff like her. See Connor, Hank could still learn...

"What's so funny?"

Hank felt the "call of the void" a little bit, too. "Ah, nothin'. I was just thinkin' that I know a side of you that she doesn't, so I win." Connor's eyes widened, staring at some point on the desk—then he closed his eyes, shaking his head to himself. He looked up at Hank with a soft, yet playful look.

"I suppose that's true." It was fascinating for Hank to watch—it was like seeing his walls come down and his thought process trying to change in real time. Looks like Connor was serious about trying to be more himself at work—well, Hank was proud of him. He wished he could convey that in words... well, maybe later. But words are boring—maybe when they were on lunch Hank could show and not tell a little, heh heh. "Can I tell you something?"

"Yeah—what is it?"

Connor smiled shyly down at his desk. "It's a little embarrassing, but... After school I would go over to my friend North's house a lot, in high school—and we would watch Law and Order: SVU and CSI and all the spinoffs—eventually I got sick of SVU because the subject matter was so negative, but I really liked the cast and their character dynamics."

"Yeah, I hear ya." Hank rubbed his beard. "I got sick of that shit too—too much stuff involving kids." Hank felt himself grimace. "Not all the Chris Melonis in the world could make up for that shit." Connor looked at him a bit surprised that he said that out loud. Hank was a little surprised, too. Ah, it's not like anyone like nosy Chris Miller would know what he meant if they just happened to be listening in... he hoped.

Connor looked at his clasped hands. "Well, unfortunately, this episode involved kids, but I can keep it vague." He licked his lips out of habit. "Basically, there was a creepy entrepreneur who had a Whacko Jacko-type mansion that he would invite underprivileged kids to, and there was this one lady who brought her granddaughter with cancer there—for the sole purpose of, um, hoping to get a settlement out of it."

Hank was looking up at some corner of the ceiling. "Oh yeah... I think I remember that episode. Wait—that might have been one of the good Munch and Finn lines—they open up the creep's closet and there's a bunch of little dress-up outfits in there—and Finn's all, 'Oh man, this is just wrong'—and Richard Belzer's all, 'This is like lingerie to this sicko.'"

Connor laughed uncomfortably. "Exactly, it was that episode." He was still tapping his fingers, his hands clasped. "Well, anyway—it came out that the granddaughter didn't even have cancer—the grandma had been making her sick, for god knows why." He was staring at his hands. "Her lawyer tried to argue that she had Munchausen by Proxy—but the DA wasn't having any of it. It wasn't the original DA Alex, but the other girl with the dark hair, Casey."

"Yeah, I remember 'em both."

Connor snickered to himself. "Anyway, she goes to the lady in jail and tells her, 'We found the scrapbook'—basically she made her poor granddaughter rehearse all the lines of what to say in court so they could get a fat settlement out of this guy for, um, something he didn't actually do—not to her, anyway—" Connor looked as uncomfortable explaining it as Hank was hearing it. "—but anyway, after she says 'We found the scrapbook, so we know you're full of shit, lady'—the grandma starts losing it and going, 'You heard my lawyer, I'm sick!'" Connor turned to Hank, tilting his face back with this wide-eyed expression of disgust and disbelief—almost like that devil guy in the clip Connor showed him last night. "And she just stared at her like this and went, 'Oh, you're sick all right. But not with what you think—all I see is pure, unadulterated greed.' And she just stares her down for a second, then leaves." Connor chuckled. "My friend North was like, 'What a baddie!' And I remember thinking, 'Yeah—that's the kind of prosecutor I want to be. I don't want to let these kinds of people get away with this shit. I want to be a baddie, too.'" He laughed at himself. "So I suppose that's why I gravitated towards Amanda—say what you want about her, but she takes her job very seriously. We feel the same way, in that regard."

Hank felt like he got a window into Connor's world—he understood exactly why a guy like him would feel that way. It was very "Connor". "Yeah? Well, I think you're doing great down here too, Connor." Hank gave him a wide smile. "I think it's pretty 'bad' to show the whole SWAT team up." Connor gave him a shy smile, his eyes wandering to the desk.

"Thanks." Hey, he gets to see cute shy Connor at work too—what a treat. Unfortunately, Hank had noticed that Chris had turned towards them at some point during Connor's recap of the episode, as enraptured in listening as Hank had been—but Connor was on such a roll he didn't have the heart to interrupt him.

"Damn, Connor—maybe I'm in the wrong profession." Connor whipped over his shoulder at Chris' warm, but sarcastic tone. "Shit—I wanna be a baddie prosecutor, too."

Hank laughed. "Hey, what am I supposed to do if you go fuck off to the DA's office?"

Chris laughed back. "Well, I'm not going anywhere anytime soon." He sipped his coffee, wandering away to wherever else he was supposed to be.

Connor watched him go, then hid his face in his hands. "Haah. Well, there goes that." He leaned over the desk, his soft voice muffled by his hands. "I'm pretty sure I just outed myself to Chris."

Hank chuckled. "Why do you think that?" He didn't mean to laugh—it was just Connor's reaction. He didn't seem genuinely distressed—more like a comedic overreaction.

Connor sat up straight, his face a little flushed from pressing into his palms. "Well... there's just certain phrases that aren't really said by anyone besides 'the girls and the gays'—it's hard to explain." He watched Chris on the other side of the station talking to Wilson, his hands clasped on the desk again. "It's like him saying 'I wanna be a baddie, too' was his way of saying, 'I clocked you for saying that, Connor.'"

"Geez. Why does this stuff have to be so complicated? I feel so out of touch."

Connor rolled his eyes. "It's okay. I'm out of touch, too. I'd be completely under a rock if it wasn't for North and Markus, and occasionally seeing videos from TickTock popping up on my feed."

"Ah geez—is that where all the—" He almost blurted out "gay stuff". "—all the 'trendy' stuff like that is?" Connor laughed, picking up Hank's meaning.

"I'd say so, honestly. I don't have an account, so I just see stuff weeks later when it's cross-posted. But I still find it funny." He rolled his eyes. "Why, are you afraid of Cole growing up too fast with all the stuff on the internet these days?"

"Hah? No, Cole's not on that shit—least as far as I know." Hank rubbed his beard. "Me an' Andrea are in agreement that we didn't want Cole being raised as an ePad baby—he doesn't even have a cell phone."

"Really?" Connor's brows knit together. "Not even a basic one for safety reasons?"

Hank shrugged. "Well, it's not like he's ever gonna be somewhere without at least one adult with a cell. I'm not too worried about him playin' around the neighborhood with his little friend Alice—I grew up runnin' around outside without a cell phone or anything, and I turned out fine."

"I guess." Connor's brows were still furrowed. "Well—you should consider getting him a basic phone with internet restrictions when he enters junior high. Maybe even sixth grade."

Hank rolled his eyes. "Me and Andrea already discussed it, don't you worry about that, Connor." If Connor had suggested something like that the first day they met, when Hank showed him his picture with Cole, he would have been pretty annoyed and told this nosy kid to mind his own business—but now it gave Hank an almost fuzzy feeling, imagining down the line that Connor might have a seat at the table when it came to parenting decisions concerning Cole... hoo boy.

"What?"

Hank realized he had this silly grin. "Ah—nothin'." His eyes flicked around the room, making damn sure Chris or Gavin or whoever wasn't eavesdropping. "Well, he's already in third grade—if you're around by the time he gets into junior high, you can buy him whatever little cell phone you think is best." Hank relished the look on Connor's face—his usual shy little smile, but with a warmth in his eyes as he managed to maintain eye contact with Hank, for once.

"... Okay." Heh, smooth, Hank—still got it!

There was a slightly awkward vibe over the desk—not bad awkward, but awkward like at prom. Like when you're slow-dancing to some cheesy song, and not sure when the right moment to lean in for a kiss is, because you're surrounded by all your friends.

Hank's desk phone rang, again. "Ah, what now?" He picked up the receiver. "Hank."

"Lieutenant, it's Jerry!" A cheery voice on the other line that he wasn't expecting piped up. "Come down to the lab—I want to show you something interesting!"

"Oh, yeah?" He grinned at Connor. "We'll be right there."

"All right, see you soon!" Hank hung up, and Connor gave him a curious look.

"Who was that? I'd rather not go too far, we only have half an hour..."

"Ah, that was just Jerry down in the lab. He wants us to pop by real quick to see somethin'." Hank stood from his desk, pulling up his waistband a bit. With any luck, he'd be able to get back in shape and fit into all his old pants he stubbornly kept around again. He'd never be a skinny guy like Connor, but he cold at least look like a square instead of a pear. He hoped he could look like a triangle again, like that photo from his twenties he sent Connor—but he wouldn't hold his breath.

"I see, I don't believe I've had the chance to meet him yet." Connor followed Hank back out the front entrance, down another side hall from the records office.

"I think you'll like him—he's a bit eccentric, but he's a good guy." Hank opened the heavy door down to the lab in the basement, holding it open behind him. "He does a lot of fuckin' work around here, I don't know how he manages it all."

"Interesting... I did hear that our lab technician is also the forensic examiner, and the coroner."

"Yep—that's Jerry." [Author's Note: For the sake of not adding unnecessary characters, just go with it XD It's almost like there's a bunch of Jerrys running around doing all the work ;)]

The basement got colder as they went down the steps. Brr—Hank didn't know how Jerry worked in this cold-ass lab all day, even with his crazy custom parka lab coat.

"Hm, hm, hm~" He could hear someone humming to himself, standing up at a terminal with his back facing them.

"Jerry!" He turned over his shoulder with a smile. "What you got for me, buddy!"

"Lieutenant! I'm glad we got these results before Daniel Lambert comes in for questioning." He walked over, looking between them with his silly signature smile. "Oh, you must be Detective Sullivan! I'm delighted to meet you!" He held out his hand. "Oh, don't worry—I was just wearing gloves!"

Connor shook his hand, returning his smile. "Likewise, it's good to meet you...?"

"Oh, just call me Jerry!" He turned on his heel, tapping back to his computer. "Take a look at this!" He brought up a scan of a patient chart from St. Mary's. If Hank remembered right, that was the other hospital they sent the dad to. "This is from John Phillips' chart. It appears he's out of critical condition, and is just recovering after life-saving surgery."

He could hear Connor relax. "Well, that's a relief to hear."

Jerry stepped back so they could view the chart. "Notice anything interesting?"

Hank squinted to even read the screen. Jerry noticed and helpfully zoomed in. "Methyl... ah geez." It was a bunch of incomprehensible numbers. "Octane-2-carboxylate...?" Then someone from the hospital helpfully wrote in parenthesis afterwards'(cocaine)'. "Oh shit!" Hank and Connor exchanged a look. "The guy had coke in his system?"

"Yes—and not only that, but he had other signs of being a habitual user." Jerry tapped the side of his nose.

Hank's eyebrows went up. "Wow. This guy's snortin' booger sugar and gets on Daniel's case for having a prescribed anti-psychotic?" He shook his head. "Unbelievable."

Connor folded his arm, his hand at his chin. "I suppose I'm not shocked. Controlling and distrustful people often have things to hide, themselves."

Hank snorted. "What a fuckin' hypocrite."

Connor looked up at him. "Honestly, I'm curious to see Daniel's reaction if we tell him this during his interview."

"No doubt. I won't stop ya—whatever you want to say in there, I trust you."

"Whew!" Jerry went to print out the chart. "I'm happy I could help, gentleman!" His brows furrowed uncharacteristically while the printer whirred up. "Honestly—I know this is a pretty serious case, but from reading your reports, I can't help but feel bad for that young man."

Connor's eyes closed briefly, then he gave Jerry a genuine yet somewhat tired smile. "Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Jerry—I'm glad they discovered this at the hospital, it may prove to be an invaluable piece of the puzzle."

"I'm happy to help!" Jerry carefully pulled the paper off the printer, sliding it into a clear sleeve from a stack nearby. "Here—take this. Best of luck in your questioning!"

"Thank you, we appreciate that." Connor held the sheet with both hands. Hank must be getting a bit soft about this whole "boyfriends" thing, because even though Connor said it so casually, it gave him a fuzzy feeling hearing him say "we". Geez.

"Thanks, Jerry—you're a lifesaver, as always."

"Any time!" He turned back to his computer, humming to himself. Connor looked a little awkward, like he wanted to give Jerry a proper goodbye, but caught the vibe that Jerry was just like that.

"Take care, Jerry." He couldn't help it as he left with Hank.

"You as well, thank you!"

Connor followed Hank back up the steps through the heavy-ass door, back into relative warmth. "Brr." Connor shuddered involuntarily. "It sure was cold down there, I couldn't stand it for an entire work day."

"Did you notice his lab coat?"

Connor's brows furrowed in contemplation. "I suppose—it was rather thick, wasn't it?"

Hank smirked. "He actually engineered it himself, and Kara passed it to her friends to make it. Oh—Kara's my neighbor, don't know if I mentioned that."

"You did—your neighbor's names are Kara and Luther, right?" Connor smiled at being able to recall their names.

"You got it. Anyway, Kara has some friends that were in fashion design—Jerry gave her these detailed blueprints for a thick parka he wanted that could still be easily cleaned, and looked like a lab coat on the outside—and her friends made it for their final in fashion design school." Hank liked that he was able to show off some cool obscure thing friends of his were involved with, for once. "I think they got an article written about it—someone came down here to interview Jerry about it for some magazine. I can't remember now if it was a science or fashion magazine."

"That's interesting." Connor looked genuinely intrigued as he followed Hank back around to the station. "It's fascinating how they could translate blueprints into patterns for clothing—oh, how does your neighbor know Jerry?"

"Oh, he's her uncle!" Hank hugged the wall to head for the break room instead of his desk. "Well—if you ever meet her, it's okay to talk about Jerry, but don't ask too much about the rest of the family."

"I see. I'm glad you told me that."

Hank got out his cash. "I need somethin' to keep me sharp. I didn't sleep too well." He eyed the foofy canned coffees in the cold drink machine—four bucks?! What a ripoff...

"... is that so?" Connor's voice sounded a little meek, and when Hank looked at him, he had turned to the side with this shy expression.

Hank smirked. "Well, yeah, who could sleep after that?" He decided to spare Connor further embarrassment by looking away to smooth out his dollars—but he could imagine Connor's expression, and that was good enough. Actually, it wasn't all because Hank was laying in bed wide awake thinkin' about Connor, although he was doing that a bit too—after being in Connor's apartment he could see just how messy his own place was, so he started doing some preliminary cleaning—starting with the bathroom. His tub right under where the water came out had this odd reddish rust stain—he had to spray the shit out of it to get it to come off. He wasn't sure what the hell it was—maybe just a few years of hard water built up. Lord knows Hank wasn't good at cleaning up after himself after Andrea left... He was glad he already thought to throw all the trash in his car in a plastic bag that night he first noticed it, so the next time he drove Connor to lunch it was at least clean—Connor actually noticed, so it was worth it. Cole might not be able to tell the place was cleaner, since he was a kid and a messy boy and all—but Hank still wanted him to have a clean home when he came over. He almost wanted to invite Andrea in and show her how clean the place was—but then he predicted she would give him a suspicious look, asking why he was so motivated to clean the place up all the sudden. Hank wanted to meet Connor's little friends and get the ball rolling and all... but it was still a bit too soon for him to sit down and have that conversation with Andrea. Plus, if she found out about Connor she'd probably be pissed that Hank casually introduced him to Cole like that. But—he was his work partner, and that was how he planned to introduce him to Kara and everyone else—so she couldn't really complain about that, could she? Nah—of course not. Well... it's not like they were married anymore, so it's not like Hank owed her an explanation or needed her permission for every little thing. It was sobering to think about.

The foofy coffee clanged at the bottom of the well. "Do all these machines only take cash?"

"Huh? Yeah—why, did you have those fancy ones that take cards at Novi?"

"Well, I've just seen them popping up more and more." Connor had taken out his wallet. "I never have cash on me, so I'll have to keep that in mind."

"What you want?"

Connor gave him a neutral smile. "I'm fine, thanks."

Hank rolled his eyes. "What do you want?"

Connor looked a little shy. "... well, I'll take one of those coffees, too. If you insist." Uh-huh. He just wanted Hank to ask again, so he didn't look too insistent. Hank was wise to your tricks, Connor...

Hank got out four more bucks. "You can just say what you want, Connor. What are you worried about—looking greedy?" Connor looked over his shoulder, then up at Hank.

"You know, I've been thinking about that myself." He gave Hank that facetious smile, his voice quieter. "I think it's been hard for me to advocate for myself, because my parents basically treated my wants and needs like it was a burden to them."

Hank smoothed out his dollar against the edge of the machine a little too hard, and ripped one of the ends. "—shit." He pinched the rip, then got another one out from his wallet. "These parents of yours... if I ever meet 'em, I'm givin' 'em a piece of my mind."

Connor laughed softly. "Honestly... I'm fine if you never meet them." His voice was so neutral, it was almost unnerving. "I'm almost at the point where I'm just working up the courage to burn the bridge myself."

"Really?" Hank fed the new dollar into the machine. "Well, if that's your decision, Connor, I'll support you. However much I can." He pressed the letter and number combination for the plain-flavored iced coffee.

"... really? You won't try to talk me out of it, as a parent?" The drink fell loudly to the bottom of the machine.

Hank shrugged. "Why should I? It sounds like your parents did a shitty job—I think you turned out pretty damn well for the way it sounds like they were raisin' you." Connor had an odd expression—he was looking to the side with that facetious smile—he almost looked vindicated, like he was telling some invisible person, "I told you so."

"Well—I appreciate that." Hank had a feeling there was a lot more to the story than that—forgetting or not caring that your kid didn't eat meat was one thing—hell, even Connor expecting his folks to react badly to him being gay was bad enough—but to be prepared to just burn the bridge with them entirely, when he was still so young? There must be more to it. Hank supposed he'd hear all about it someday... he just hoped it wasn't bad enough to make Hank want to punch their heads off, too. At least he could actually find Connor's parents.

Hank clapped him on the shoulder. "Hey—enough heavy stuff. You still gotta do your interview." He handed Connor the coffee. "Once we're on lunch, we can go wherever you want and unwind—no serious conversations or bullshit allowed."

Connor actually laughed. "Sounds good to me."

XXX

Connor was intensely watching the front entrance from outside the interview room. Hank still thought this was a dicey idea... but he would trust Connor with this one. Daniel was brought through by two officers, his hands cuffed in the front to minimize the strain on his shoulder. Apparently they made him change into an orange jumpsuit at the hospital.

The boyfriend's eyes went wide, and he jumped up as Daniel passed. They couldn't hear him from here, but it looked like he mouthed, "Hey—!"

Daniel's head swiveled hard over his shoulder as he passed, then he whipped back, his entire face scrunched into itself. Looks like he didn't want the guy to see him like this...

The boyfriend stared after him, his eyes visibly getting red from here. Hank turned away, feeling like he was seeing something that was meant to be private.

Connor moved out of the way, and Hank opened the door so they could step inside. One officer brought Daniel inside, and pulled out the chair for him. They chose the room that looked more like a normal room, and not the concrete one. Connor thought Daniel would react better to it. It was just Hank and the remaining officer outside for now—they thought it would intimidate Daniel too much to see the crowd of people outside the one-way mirror who were actually going to be watching the interview up front. The first officer took up post in the corner of the room, but Connor dismissed him, thanking him. No one actually thought Daniel would be a threat, to Connor or anyone else besides the Phillips. He still looked a little dead inside, when he passed by Hank. He had that Fullmetal Jacket thousand-yard stare, with dark circles under his eyes.

Hank nodded up to the group in Jeffrey's office, and Ben opened the door for Amanda, who was followed by Gavin, and finally Jeffrey. If Hank had his way, Gavin would just be over in his seat unless they needed him—but Jeffrey wanted him to be up to speed on what Connor had discussed with Daniel before stepping in. Hank had a bit of a bargaining chip—he'd play it if he needed to.

Connor sat across from Daniel at the table, setting his binder to the side, while the group took their place outside around the mirror.

"This should prove interesting." Amanda folded her arms. "From what I understand, Connor was very instrumental in talking this young man down from claiming another victim." Hank thought he understood what Connor meant by "speaking Amanda", hearing that.

"That's correct, Ma'am." Jeffrey stood beside her. "I don't think anyone else on that rooftop could have deescalated that situation better." Hank expected Gavin to scoff, but with the DA and the Captain here even he knew better.

Ben was standing behind all of them near the wall. "It's a little crowded with me here, isn't it?"

"Just stay, Ben." Hank leaned against the wall at the edge of the glass, so he had a good view of Connor from the front. "You're part of this, too." Connor had gestured to the two glasses of water on the table. Jeffrey wordlessly flipped the intercom, so they could hear what they were saying.

"—for speaking with me today." Connor smiled, not too big, but more casually. Hank couldn't see Daniel too well, so he decided to stand in the dead center of the mirror, which made Amanda bristle a bit and take a step away from him. Connor wanted Hank to watch him—so that's what he'd do. He was the only one here besides maybe Ben who knew how Connor was feeling about this case—Connor didn't want to lose his empathy because Amanda and the confession demanded it, so Hank would be there to be a witness to that empathy. It's what Connor wanted. "Please—if there's anything else we can get you to eat or drink, just let me know." Daniel didn't respond.

"Tch." Gavin finally spoke up. "The kid's too soft—he's not gonna get anywhere like that."

"You just stand back and watch." Hank didn't take his eyes off Connor for a second.

OOO

OOO

Daniel didn't look much better than he had in the hospital yesterday. He still had a vacant look in his eyes, with heavy dark circles—but something was different. Seeing Jason probably shook him a bit—and reminded him that he was a real person who had done this thing, not just a walking husk.

Connor had his hands clasped on the table. "I'm sorry if it was jarring to see Jason here." Daniel's eyes scrunched closed. "He showed up today on his own, and insisted that he wanted to see you."

"Why?" Daniel propped his elbows on the table, his cuffed hands gathered at the bridge of his nose. He winced a bit, then brought his left elbow off the table to relax. "—what's the point?" His eyes were still pressed closed.

Connor gave a small smile, even though he couldn't see him. "Well, you probably don't need me to answer that." He spoke gently, knowingly—like he was talking to an acquaintance. That's how Connor decided to treat this—like he was talking to a younger parallel dimension version of himself who made different choices. Or rather, who was thrust into different circumstances.

Daniel sighed loudly, dropping his hands, the cuffs clanking on the table. "I just want to get this over with." This was the first time Connor had heard him with what was probably his normal speaking voice. His accent was prominent, but he spoke English quite well, he had probably been learning it for several years before he came over here. [Author's Note: It would be too distracting to stylize Daniel's written dialogue too much, so it'll only be when he slips into French, or the pronunciation is noticeably different. I'm also not intimately familiar with French, so forgive me if it's a little off.]

"I understand. I just want to give you your chance to tell us what happened, in your own words." Connor scooted in his chair, making sure the timestamp was moving on the digital recorder on the desk. "Especially if you decide to plead 'guilty', this will be your only chance." Daniel opened his eyes at that. Connor opened his binder. "Mr. Phillips had told us that he and his family left to go see a movie, and when they returned Thursday night, you were gone." He clicked his pen. "But I know that's not true, because I was told that they didn't want you in their apartment while they weren't there."

"Tch." Daniel looked to the side, his brows creased. That he even reacted at all was a good sign. "That's right. Sometimes they just t'rew me out, if they went out doing something I wasn't invited to."

"I'm sorry. That's quite an inappropriate way to treat someone who also lives there." Daniel closed his eyes. Connor had debated whether he should simplify his speech or ask for an interpreter, but Daniel seemed to understand him perfectly. Connor moved his pen to the line of paragraphs he marked 'Thursday'. "It seemed like you left in a hurry, since there was still paint on your palette, and your brushes hadn't been cleaned."

Daniel was looking unfocused at the wall. "I took a photo." His eyes scrunched. "It was stupid. I should have known better."

Connor held his pen tip to the paper. "Are you referring to the photo with Jason, or the cute ones with Emma?" Daniel actually scoffed, softly.

"Both." He propped his elbow again, leaving his left arm off the table, half-hiding his face behind his cuffed hands. "It was stupid. I t'ought... I don't know. I didn't think anyone would see." His eyes closed, his forehead resting on his clutched hands. "I enjoyed sharing my art, but I didn't want to be, em... anonymous, anymore. I wanted people to see me."

"I understand that. It looked like those two photos with you in them were the most recent." He was glad he already told Daniel that Emma got her photo strip back. He wouldn't want to blurt out something like that with Amanda and whoever else watching. Although he wondered if Captain Fowler would "give two shits" about something like that, in Hank's words.

Connor couldn't help but glance at the mirror, even knowing he would only see him and Daniel sitting at the table. Knowing that Hank was watching him did help keep him grounded.

Connor decided to keep asking questions—Daniel seemed to be more willing to answer if prompted, rather than giving information cold himself. He was a bit like Connor, in that way. "Is that what Mr. Phillips confronted you about?"

"Yes." He scoffed again. "He had someone watching my posts. Or, maybe they were just watching, and they told him about it. I don't know."

"I see." Connor wrote'someone watching posts'. "And that's when he kicked you out."

"... Yes." Daniel's voice sounded cold. Connor had no need to ask him to elaborate—he could imagine how that conversation went. Especially given what Daniel repeated Mrs. Phillips said up on the balcony.

"And that's when you withdrew the cash, and you went to stay with Jason for the weekend?"

"Yes. Well—I wanted to go to school, but..."

Connor found himself soundlessly tapping his pen, moving it almost imperceptibly. "... Did you feel like you couldn't trust anyone after that?"

Daniel's eyes pressed closed. "Yes."

"I see." Connor relaxed his arms, he realized he was clenching a bit. "I can understand how you would feel that way, after that—but I would like you to know that when we spoke to Professor Abelman, he was very worried about you." Daniel's eyes got a little red. "He's actually the one who reported you missing." Daniel hung his head, covering his forehead with his hands. Connor debated whether to mention this part. "He actually has your painting right now." Daniel's shoulders tensed up. "I spoke with him about it, a bit, when I brought it to him."

"Why." It was more of a flat statement than a question. Daniel ducked into himself, his dewy eyes staring to the side at the wall. "I wish you had just burned it."

Connor quickly wrote 'ashamed/regret painting'. It might not mean anything, but he wanted to write down anything that stuck him. "If that's what you really want, I can go back to the professor and ask that he dispose of it." Daniel didn't respond. Connor decided to move on. "Were you at Jason's house the whole time?"

"... yes." Daniel's eyes closed, probably willing himself not to get emotional. "His 'ousemates..." He breathed out. "I didn't want to stay there, either."

"Were they rude? Or made comments?"

Daniel shook his head slightly. "I didn't want to be there." Connor wanted to leave it alone, but it might be important. Daniel's medication was slowly leeching out of his system while he was there, and whatever the vibe was with Jason's roommates could have contributed negatively to his mental state.

"I'm sorry, but I have to ask. Did they say anything negative, or homophobic?" Part of Connor hoped Daniel didn't know that word in English... but he probably did.

"Tch. They said all sorts of things. 'We don't want overnight guests, how long is he staying here, is your boyfriend going to pay for the water that he uses?'" The tone in which he said "boyfriend" was very familiar to Connor—like the punchline on a '90s sitcom, that annoying eyeroll tone. "So bizarre—who cares about overnight guests when you're an adult?"

Connor almost laughed. "Yes—unfortunately the culture in the States is based on religious puritanical values." Daniel scoffed.

"... It was a mistake coming here." He pressed his hands into his eyes. "I didn't know it was like this." Connor wasn't sure how to respond to that statement.

"How were you able to get access to your medication?"

He sighed. "I 'ad to receive it by courier." Ah, so it was mailed in, he mentioned being diagnosed before he moved here. "Your country is 'orrible about hospital and medicine—so confusing, and greedy."

"I won't disagree with you there." Connor wrote 'foreign prescription'. "So, since you left in such a hurry, you weren't able to grab your medication, and you wouldn't have been able to refill your prescription, anyway." Daniel didn't respond—Connor had asked it more rhetorically, anyway. "What about your passport?"

Daniel scoffed. "They kept it locked up."

"That's illegal for them to do—but you thought if you pushed back against them, they would kick you out and you'd have nowhere else to go?"

Daniel's eyes closed. "Yes."

"I see." Connor wrote'locked up passport'. Hank had been right on the money. So far, everything Jason had told them was adding up, too. Unless they had conspired all weekend to make sure they had their scripts right, with what to say to the police—but Connor kind of doubted that. He wanted to see how Daniel would react to a curveball. "Why do you think Mr. and Mrs. Phillips were so controlling?"

He scoffed again. "I 'ave no idea."

Connor flipped to the laminated page Jerry had given them, unclipping it out of the binder. "You should know that Mr. Phillips is no longer in critical condition. He's just been released from surgery to repair his abdomen." Daniel looked up at Connor, finally. "If all goes well, he'll survive." Connor turned the page on the table so Daniel could read it. "I thought you might be interested to see this." Daniel's eyes went down the page, his brows knitting. It was probably as incomprehensible to him as it was to Hank. "Did you have any suspicion that Mr. Phillips was using cocaine recreationally?" Daniel's eyes shot up.

"... Are you serious? Tch." He collapsed back in his chair, his cuffed hands falling to his lap. He shook his head slowly, irritated amusement evident in his expression. "Faux cul. No. I didn't know." He pushed his fingers up into his hair partway. "Although, maybe I should 'ave." Connor wasn't sure what he said that sounded like "focu" meant, but he could guess by the context that he was probably calling Mr. Phillips a hypocrite, like they had done down in the lab. "What do you mean, em, 'recreationally'?"

"Oh—I mean, apparently he had a habit. They found signs while examining him that he used it frequently."

"Tch." Daniel shook his head again, then finally looked up at Connor. "You know—when they found my medicine in my room—they went crazy."

"I heard that, yes. Did they frequently snoop through your room?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I didn't keep anything there."

Connor would have to ask eventually, so now was as good a time as he'd get. "Can I ask how you knew Mr. Phillips had a gun?" Daniel's expression hardened, and he kept his hands in his lap.

"I saw him with it. I went to the toilet in the middle of the night, and he was up cleaning it, or taking it apart, something. Tch." He gave Connor a knowing look. "He was probably on cocaine, doing weird things at midnight."

"You might be right." Connor had only done one bump his entire life, because it was offered to him for free by one of Markus' friends at a house party—but he didn't like the way it made him feel. He kept wringing his hands all night, feeling restless—afterwards North said it was probably cut with all kinds of shit. The Phillips seemed wealthy enough, but from what Connor understood pure cocaine was quite rare on the streets in the modern era, it was almost always cut with something. It was his understanding that the cartels and extremely wealthy people had all the pure shit, and your average person had no access to it. But he wasn't in Narcotics, so he'd have to confirm that with someone who knew what they were talking about.

"He said, 'You can never be too careful.' Then put it away." Daniel leaned on the table again. "It frightened me, I didn't like that it was in the house. What if Emma found it?" His brows were creased together. Connor couldn't help but look at the one-way mirror.

"I understand. Gun culture is much less prevalent in Europe, isn't it?" Connor underlined'scared by gun in house'." Connor supposed that was quite a broad statement, but he just wanted to keep the conversation moving.

"In France, there are many, em, illegal guns. Not where I am from." He closed his eyes. "Only, em, chasseurs had them. To shoot animals."

"I see." Connor lightly tapped his pen. "Had you ever held a gun before?"

Daniel's eyes closed. "Yes."

Connor was a bit surprised to hear that. Although, he had shot two people with only two bullets, and one of them while holding a hostage with one arm. "When was that?"

He looked to the side, his eyes getting red again. "Em... I could not stay at home, and I lived in hostels, and, em... I was scared, so I... bought one." His eyes squeezed shut. "It was illegal."

"I see. Had you ever actually fired it?"

"No." Connor wrote 'illegal gun for self-defense, never fired'.

"I'm sorry. It sounds like things were difficult for you then." Daniel's eyes were still closed. "I can only imagine how that felt—feeling unsafe on the streets, and then thinking things would be easier here." He actually heard Daniel sniff. Daniel wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "I'll get you some tissues, I'm sorry." Why hadn't Connor thought of that... A few seconds later, Ben came in with a tissue box.

"Here, kid." He set it in the table. Daniel took one without looking at him, wiping his eyes and nose, facing away from the mirror. Ben wordlessly left the room again.

Connor gave him a second. He hated to ask, but it would be important to building Daniel's case. "Had you been assaulted on the streets, after your family kicked you out?"

"Ngh—!" Daniel's face scrunched up. "—yes." He sounded like he was trying to control his sobs, and he ended up hiccupping. Connor wanted to put his hand on his shoulder, anything—but he had a feeling that Daniel might not react well to that. He didn't even react well to seeing Jason.

He gave Daniel another second. "I'm sorry. No one should have to go through that." Daniel wiped the inside of his nose. He was sure he knew that, to some extent, but hearing it out loud from someone else made it sink in more, in Connor's experience. "So you knew what it was like to be afraid, living on the streets and in hostels. And you put up with whatever weird controlling things the Phillips wanted, because you didn't want to end up that way again."

Daniel cried quietly, not looking at Connor. He dropped the crumpled tissue on the table, grabbing another. He pressed the tissue to his eyes more delicately, having rubbed them a little hard earlier. "... yes. But there's no excuse." His eyes squeezed shut. "It doesn't change what I have done."

"No, it doesn't. But I'd still like to know what led up to it."

Daniel had composed himself somewhat, holding the tissue loosely in front of his nose and mouth. "... I don't remember very well."

"I understand. I don't know if you've heard the term 'lizard brain', but when we're in a crisis situation or panicking, the outer layers of our brain shut down one by one." Connor was demonstrating, shrinking an invisible bubble on the sides of his head. "The parts of your brain responsible for making rational decisions and forming memories are literally inactive." He smiled facetiously. "It's happened to me." Daniel's eyes flicked up to Connor's. They shared a silent moment of understanding. "So I understand if it's a little difficult to remember exactly. You were also without your medication for five days." Connor tucked Mr. Phillips' chart back in his folder, wanting to give Daniel more space on the table. "Can you describe it to me as if you were watching someone else?"

Daniel closed his eyes, lowering the tissue. He was still clutching it in his hand. "I had to leave. His 'ousemates had seen a poster of me at school." He spoke flatly. "He wanted me to go back and get my passport and my medicine, but I couldn't go back." Connor noticed that Daniel was avoiding saying Jason's name. "I don't know what I did. I walked around. I was so angry." He was staring vacantly at the wall. "I wasn't checking my messages. But I saw one that said, 'Police are going to be at the apartment...'" Great—that's why Daniel was so panicked, he didn't read the whole thing, just the first line that popped in on his notifications. "I was scared. I didn't know what to do." He turned partway, his eyes straining towards the window. "I saw that policier waiting at the apartment. I could tell." He closed his eyes. Damnit... Connor should have just gone down there himself. Well—they were far past the point of "would have, should have".

"I'm sorry that scared you—we were actually trying to help you." Daniel's eyes flicked up. "I know it doesn't mean much now... but Detective Collins was there to help escort you to the apartment, so you could get your medication and your passport without the Phillips interfering."

Daniel closed his eyes, and Connor thought he heard him scoff softly. "Est-ce ainsi?" He muttered it more to himself, whatever it meant. He sat back up against the chair, still facing the wall, away from the mirror. "Well. Anyway. My key would not work. When he left. I used the interphone in the elevator." He opened his eyes again. His expression was very vacant, distant. He scoffed bitterly. "I told them I was sorry. Please let me in."

This was the important question. "What did you plan on doing when you got up to the apartment?"

Daniel blinked. "I don't know." His eyes fell closed. "That me... I don't know. I feel like that me, isn't me."

Connor held his pen still. He knew exactly what he meant by that. "Can you describe it as if it's a movie, or a video game? Like you're watching what that 'you' is doing?"

Daniel actually turned towards the mirror. He stared right at his own reflection. He knew there were people watching behind the glass. His mouth moved oddly, as if the reflection in the mirror was speaking first, and he was trying to match it. "I said, 'Give me my passport.' They said,'That's all you have to say?! How could you show your face here again, and that's all you have to say?!' They were crazy." His brow furrowed in a pained expression, still staring himself down in the mirror from his chair. "Emma was looking out—I told her to stay in her room. She asked me before why her father was yelling at me—I didn't want her to 'ear." His eyes pressed shut, then he opened them wide, staring into the mirror. "I said, 'Give me my passport, now.' 'Where are you going, after everything we've given you!' 'After what? I can't spend my own money without you watching, you treat me like a servant—I'm leaving, I'm not coming back here, I need my passport and my medicine, right now.'" His blue eyes were reflected wildly in the mirror, which Connor was now watching. He knew Hank and Ben and everyone else was just on the other side. "They said,'Apologize! Apologize for lying, for keeping secrets, how can we trust you?! How can we let some pervert around our child?!'" He winced strongly, like he had done on the balcony. Connor even saw his own reflection flinch. "I don't know why. I knew they would never listen. I went to the closet, I grabbed his gun. I pointed it at them and said, 'Give me my passport. Now.'" Connor wasn't writing anything, he could only listen, his eyes flicking down to make sure the device was still recording. "My hands were shaking, I never fired the gun I had. They said, 'What are you doing?! How could you do this to us! Calm down, you can still stay here!' Tch." His eyes were narrowed in the mirror. "They said,'We'll pay you more! You can't leave, what about Emma?!' I said, 'Get away from me—' I don't remember what else—Emma's father ran towards me, and I shot him." His pupils were so wide, his eyes looked dark. "Emma's mother started screaming—I didn't know what to do, I screamed at her where's my passport, I just wanted to leave, I wanted to get out of there—I don't remember. Then, I heard the elevator." His eyes scrunched, getting red again. "I don't know—I grabbed Emma's mother. That policier pointed his gun at me—I took Emma's mother out to the balcony. He went in Emma's room and took her away." His eyes were wet with tears. "She looked so scared." He covered his face with his hands, his handcuffs clinking together. "I don't know! I think I shot someone else who came close... I don't remember. Then you showed up." He folded down into himself, his back shaking. "I don't know! I wish I could go back. What's wrong with me?" Connor couldn't help but wince. "I don't know!" He was very familiar with those words.

He stood up, moving to Daniel's side of the table, kneeling down next to him. "I'm sorry." He hesitantly touched his back, and Daniel expectedly flinched. He was sobbing now, a painful sound in his throat. Connor was suddenly feeling self-conscious and anxious, but he kept his hand on Daniel's back. He thought it might feel worse if he was so awkward and hesitant, so he tried to rub Daniel's back reassuringly. The door beside the mirror opened.

"All right. That's enough for now." Hank was standing in the doorway. "Come on—give the kid some space." Connor stood up slowly, his hand slinking off Daniel's back. He wished there wouldn't be anyone else outside the door, so he could throw himself into Hank's arms.

"Daniel? I'll be outside, if you have anything else you want to say." Daniel didn't respond. His whole body was doubled over. Connor imagined that even though his arms were cuffed in the front, it was still painful to have to move his left shoulder the same way as his right.

Hank put his hand neutrally on Connor's back, ushering him out of the room. The door was closed behind him. Only Amanda and Captain Fowler were still there. Captain Fowler was wearing an expression Connor had never seen—he was rubbing his hand over his mouth, and his eyes were a bit red. He was looking through the glass at nothing. Amanda turned from the window to look at Connor, her head tilted just a bit.

"That was just what we needed, Connor." She spoke evenly, as always. She turned to Captain Fowler. "I'd like that recording as soon as possible." Captain Fowler's eyes flicked to her after a second, and he nodded.

"Of course, Ma'am."

Connor stood straight. "I'd like to echo what I wrote in my report, Amanda—Daniel had the opportunity to shoot Caroline Phillips at any time." Amanda was regarding him flatly, but with her version of "interest". "Especially if he planned to take his own life afterwards—there would be no material difference between that and being shot by police." None of this needed to be said, but he couldn't stop himself. "However, he let her go."

Amanda gave Connor her version of a smile, probably indecipherable to anyone else. "I hope you'll be prepared to state all of that, and more, if you're called as a witness to trial."

"I will."

She shifted her weight to her other heel. "Although, from what I've heard, Daniel still refuses the counsel of his public defender, and plans to plead 'guilty'." She spoke slowly, knowingly.

"That's what was indicated to me at the hospital, but..." Connor couldn't think of how to finish that sentence. He still had one last resort, but he didn't want to reveal it to Amanda.

"Well. I think I've seen all there is to see here." She turned away from them. "I'd like a transcript of that recording on my desk as soon as possible, Captain."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Amanda strolled away evenly, her heel clicks echoing across the floor.

Captain Fowler rubbed the space above his chin. "Well, if the kid doesn't have anything else to say, we'll ready him for transport." He turned, motioning the two officers who brought him in to leave. Hank must have already ran by their proposal to walk him out. The two officers would wait at the car and still ultimately transport him to jail, but Connor only had this once chance to walk him by Jason—even if Daniel really didn't want to see him.

"Excuse me?" Daniel's voice was meek through the intercom. Connor slid by Hank, going back through the door.

"Yes, what is it?" He crouched down again, but Daniel sat up, wiping his eyes with his bare hands.

"Em... what was your name again? I'm sorry, I don't remember." Daniel almost laughed. It was similar to his hollow laugh up on the balcony.

Connor smiled, but not too widely, not too brightly. "It's Connor. Connor Sullivan." He stood up, stepping back to give Daniel some room. He offered Daniel his hand, but he didn't take it. Daniel stood up from the chair, his arms slack in front of him.

"... thank you for listening." It was so quiet, Connor thought he misheard it. "I'm done. I want to go, now." His voice sounded tired.

"Very well." Connor lightly placed his hand on Daniel's back, leading him through the door. "Lieutenant Anderson and I will be escorting you back to the transport vehicle."

Daniel stopped short when he saw Jason was still sitting in the same spot. He was looking this way—he must have seen Connor come out of the interview room, or seen Amanda leave.

Daniel turned his head to the side. "I don't want to go out that way."

Connor felt himself swallow. "I'm sorry, this is the only exit." Sorry for lying...

Hank stood behind Daniel, but without touching him. "Come on, kid. I don't wanna have to push ya."

Connor gently touched Daniel's good shoulder with his other hand. "Let's go." He led Daniel around the outer walkway of the office, and he felt his heartrate pick up a bit as they approached Jason. This was their best chance, but Connor was feeling secondhand anxiety coming off of Daniel. It was for the best, this was for his own good...

Jason stood up. "Hey—" He licked his lips. "I'm going to visit you in jail, okay? So don't refuse."

Daniel was turned as much away from him as he could, with Connor holding his shoulder. "I don't want you to see me."

"What are you saying? Ugh!" He sounded so frustrated. "Whatever—" He bent down and swiped up his backpack. "Even if you refuse at the jail, I'm going to be at the trial, too!"

"There is no trial." Daniel's voice was cold. "I'm 'guilty'."

Jason's eyebrows shot up, then his eyes narrowed. "Are you serious? Are you fucking kidding me?! Hey—you better plead 'not guilty'! I'm serious!" Connor felt like they couldn't get away with stalling much longer, especially now that Jason was making a scene, so he gently nudged Daniel forward. "Hey! I'm fucking serious here—Daniel, if you don't plead 'not guilty', I'll never forgive you!" Connor saw Daniel wince.

"Let's go." He gently led Daniel away, while Hank stood interference behind them.

"All right kid—settle down."

"Hey! Daniel!" Their voices and all the other noise from the station slowly faded as they made their way past the records office and out through the front of the station. Connor pressed the button to open the automatic door, and led Daniel through. It was cold outside, and looked like it could rain at any second.

Connor felt guilty for what he was about to say—but he had learned recently that sometimes a little "tough love" was necessary. "You heard him. You have to plead 'not guilty', or else he'll never forgive you." Daniel tried to stop short, but Connor kept him walking. He was tensed all over, not looking at Connor. He said nothing, but Connor could hear him try to stifle a sniff.

Connor handed him over to the officers who were waiting at the transport vehicle. Daniel shot him a look with red, watery eyes—it reminded Connor of that famous painting, he couldn't recall the name of it. The officers gently helped him into the back of the transport by his good arm. "Easy does it. We'll take it from here, thanks."

"Thank you." He nodded to Daniel, even though Daniel probably hated him to some extent in this moment. "Stay strong." Daniel stared at him until the door was closed. Connor turned away, his hands feeling a little shaky, as he walked back through the glass double doors. He suddenly felt drained—almost like he had on the balcony, but to a lesser extent. The adrenaline had all run out of his body.

He noticed Wanda look up at him while she was on the phone, and he gave her a tired smile. She returned it with a bright smile, pulsing her hand in a wave.

Jason was looking at the floor as he dragged out of the station, Connor almost bumped into him. "Whoa—" He almost reached out and grabbed Jason's shoulders, but stopped himself. "Hey—" Connor licked his lips before he could help it. Jason looked up at him tentatively. "I think you made all the difference."

He didn't respond for a second. "Yeah?"

Connor smiled, again tiredly. "Yes. At least, I sincerely hope so."

Jason scoffed to himself. "Well. I hope so, too." He moved past Connor, muttering to himself. "Stubborn fucking..." For some reason, it reminded Connor of his phone call with Markus yesterday. It was obvious Jason cared about Daniel a lot.

Hank was still standing by the chairs, waiting for him. "Hey, Connor—" He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. "Can you help me with my car real quick?"

Connor smirked before he could help it. "Sure."

XXX

XXX

Hank pushed open the heavy door, and Connor slipped through wordlessly. Hank had barely let his arm off the door, and Connor had wrapped his arms around him while the thing fell closed. Whelp—there goes that last shred of subtlety.

Hank lightly crushed Connor in one of those big bear hugs he liked so much. The door latch clicked shut behind them. Hank rubbed up and down his back. "You did good. Really good. Even Jeffrey was stunned into silence."

He thought he heard Connor laugh uncomfortably. "That's probably just because of what Daniel was saying."

"I dunno about that." He scratched the base of Connor's hair and neck with his fingertips, careful not to touch the overly-gelled up part. "Even that—even Amanda got a little affected." Connor did actually laugh at that. "Hey, I'm learning!"

Connor's hands traveled up to Hank's shoulders, squeezing the tensed-up muscle. "Do you want to leave right now? I'm ready."

"Ah, yeah—do you want to get your coat first?"

"I'm fine." Connor's arms slunk back, but he didn't let Hank go all the way. Hank decided not to let go of him, either. "We can just drive around with the heat on. Can we just grab something real quick and eat in the car?"

"Sure. Whatever you want, baby." Whoops. Connor looked up at him with tired admonishment.

"Haah." He closed his eyes, sighing loudly. "Maybe you should just stick to my name so you don't slip up like that."

"Aw, c'mon—that's no fun!"

Connor looked to the side. "Fine. But you can only call me something lame and old-fashioned, like 'dear' or 'honey'."

"Shit, is that all?" Hank dug out his car keys. "That'll be easy. Let's go, honey." Ugh. Connor knew that would be effective—it felt so wrong as soon as Hank said it.

"Pft." Connor followed behind him, while Hank quick-walked to his car. "I guess 'babe' is fine..." Hank had to strain his ears... he was pretty sure Connor said "babe is fine", right? Right?

Hank unlocked his door, pushing the button on the inside. "You have a spot you like to drive around in?"

XXX

Connor was staring out the window again, his leg leaned up against the passenger door. The seatbelt was hooked around his shoulder. "Hey, do you have a problem with seatbelts?"

"Hm?" Connor turned to him after a second. "Oh—well, to be honest, this one is a little high for me." He suddenly got a look of embarrassment. "Actually, in my car I have a little scrunchie that goes around my seatbelt, to keep it down off my neck—otherwise it makes me anxious when I'm driving around."

"Really?" Hank twisted over his shoulder, merging onto the off-ramp. "Sorry—I guess I noticed you wore your seatbelt kinda weird, I should have asked. Cole usually likes to sit in the back with the lap belts—that might be why."

"Do the lap belts also have a shoulder part that hooks on?"

"Uh—not the middle one, no. That's where he usually sits—" Hank braked a bit hard—the line of cars waiting on the off-ramp was longer than it usually is this time of day. Connor sighed loudly.

"Well, I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that he could fly right through the windshield like that."

"I get it." Hank rolled his eyes. "Hey—I've never been in an accident, believe it or not."

"I don't believe that, with how much you gun it and cut people off."

"Hey!"

Connor hid his smirk, turning to face out the window. "You should ask Cole if the seatbelt bothers him, so he can sit in a safer spot and still be comfortable."

Hank sighed quietly to himself. "You said you just use a 'scrunchie', right? Well shit—we can pick up a couple cheap ones from the dollar store." Hank tried to mentally conjure up his map of the city. They might not be particularly close to one, he might have to shell out a couple more bucks at the Shmarget. "Let's stop there before we go anywhere else."

"That's fine. Honestly, if you want to stop at one of those stores that has a coffee place in it, I'll be fine with just a tea and a pastry, or something."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm not really that hungry." Connor was practically folded up into the door. Well no wonder the seatbelt reached up so high on him—he sat all weirdly like one of those eccentric old timers who rode the recumbents through the park.

"All right—let's just do that, then." Hank could probably pick himself up one of those cheapy pizzas at the little food court.

XXX

The heat was blasting, Def Leppard's mellow "Hysteria" flowing out from the radio. Connor was holding up the folded bag his pastry came in under his chin, trying to catch the crumbs. "Connor—don't worry about that. I can clean it up later."

He lowered the bag, hiding his mouth behind the back of his hand. "—it's just a habit."

"You don't gotta apologize—just relax, okay?" Connor hadn't literally apologized, but it was implied.

Connor set his blueberry-thing on the brown bag in his lap. He took a sip of his tea, still looking absently out the window. Then he started doing something on his phone. Hank tried to drive them to a spot with a little bit of a view at least—a larger neighborhood park that had a little duck pond—no ducks right now, though. "Oh, it was 'The Fallen Angel'." Connor turned his phone, showing Hank a classical painting of a naked dude with wings, tear-stained red eyes glaring over his arm. "That's how Daniel looked at me when they put him in the transport." His hand slunk away. "'L'Ange déchu'. Interesting." He turned off his screen, pocketing his phone. "Did you hear what Daniel said to me, before he was ready to leave?"

"Oh—I guess not."

"He said, 'Thank you for listening.'"

Hank nodded. "He probably needed it."

Connor was still looking out the window, up at the clouds. It would probably start raining by the end of the day. "I'm sure Jason really cares about Daniel... but I don't know if he could be the right type of listener he needed."

Hank wasn't sure what to say. He tried to smile, even though Connor wasn't looking. "Well, it's a good thing you were there to talk to him."

Connor didn't respond right away. Then he turned to Hank with a small, insecure smile. "It's kind of an odd comparison to make, but—there's this Japanese show I really liked..."

"What, like a real show or one of those cartoons?"

Connor rolled his eyes a bit. "They're not called 'cartoons', but yes, it was animated, even though it was a mature show. I guess I'd describe it as a psychological crime drama."

"Oh. So it's not like one of those ones Cole watches on the TV."

Connor laughed lightly. "I'd hope not." Hank would sit down and watch an episode or two with Cole, just to try to understand why he liked it so much—don't ask Hank what the names of any of that shit was, though. One of them was about a ninja who wore fuckin' orange for some reason and sounded like he smoked a pack a day.

Connor was looking out the window again. "Well, anyway... The show was called 'Monster'. I actually think you'd like it—it's a complex narrative about the value of life, and who's to blame when adults become all fucked up. It challenges you to feel empathy for a serial killer, by showing how easily children can be manipulated and molded." His finger lightly brushed away the condensation on the outside of his drink. "Anyway—there was this line that kept repeating throughout the show—it's something like, 'Look at me—the monster inside me is getting bigger.'" The ice in Connor's tea clunked. "I just couldn't help but be reminded of that, listening to Daniel." Hank was looking out the windshield, at some kids sliding down the plastic slide holding their little dog in their lap. He wasn't sure what to say. "I think Daniel felt 'the call of the void'—but in the real way. I think he stared into the abyss, and it stared back at him—or so the expression goes."

The little dog jumped up happily around the kids when they landed, and they picked it back up for another ride. "Yeah. The world can be pretty fucked up." Hank noticed the music had stopped, and it was some local commercial. He turned the volume down. "You like some weird shit, Connor."

He actually laughed. "It was actually a really well-done show. Even I was moved by it."

"Hah. Well, the next time you come over, let's watch something normal. No 'Insomnia', no weird—goth music from Iceland. Just something that makes you feel good."

"What if weird music does make me feel good?"

"I'm sure it does, Connor—but don't you have a favorite comedy, or something?"

Connor had turned to him, crossing his other leg. "Actually, I've been thinking about it since you asked me—I suppose if I had to call one movie my 'favorite', it would be 'Little Miss Sunshine'. It's one of the few movies that I immediately rewatched a second time, with the director commentary on."

Hank was rubbing his beard. "I've never heard of it. What's it about?"

"Um... well, it's partly a heartwarming family drama, but it's also a black comedy, in some ways." He was biting his lips. "It's about this dysfunctional family coming together to try to get their little girl to a beauty pageant in California." Hank must have gotten a look. "But—it's not like, creepy. The girl's a little—homely, and it's something that makes her happy, so they want to do it for her."

"Okay." Hank was rubbing his beard. "And this is a comedy, you said?"

"Well—it has a kind of weird sense of humor." Oh, great. What did that mean, by Connor's metrics. "Like the grampa got kicked out of the nursing home for doing heroin, and he's saying, 'What's the big deal? I'm old, who gives a shit—you gotta be stupid to do that stuff when you're young!'" Connor actually threw up his arms emphatically, as much as he could in the car.

"Wait—is that Alan Arkin as the grampa?"

"—yeah, I think so!"

"Oh, I think I've seen part of it. Andrea might have been watching it, or it was on TV or something."

"... I hope it wasn't on TV."

Hank gave him a flat look. "Why, Connor?"

Connor bit his lips. "Well... it opens on kind of a negative premise, because Steve Carell is just getting out of the hospital after a suicide attempt..." Hank was already sighing. "So that's why I don't watch it that often..."

"Connor..."

"But it's really good! It's hard to explain—it's cozy, even though it's about a dysfunctional family."

"All right. I'll take your word for it. We'll watch it next time." Hank sipped his plain lemonade, after Connor side-eyed him at the soda machine. "Oh—but not today. I gotta clean my place up, and do some other shit to get ready for Cole."

"That's fine—I planned on taking some time for myself today."

"That's good—you deserve it." Hank smirked to himself, remembering his half-baked plan. "Hey, uh, what you got going on this weekend?"

"Nothing, really. I just planned on seeing my friends on Friday, but I have nothing planned the rest of the weekend."

"All right... well, nothing's set in stone yet, but—I was thinkin' of inviting my neighbors over for dinner, maybe order something nice and then cook a little somethin' on the side."

"Oh, really?" Connor smiled. "You feel confident enough to cook for them already?"

"Uh—that's why it's just gonna be on the side." Hank was rubbing under his chin. His beard was getting a little longer, he could probably stand to trim it up a bit. Seeing that old photo when his beard was short and his jaw was more defined reminded him that he can be good-looking, if he tried. "Anyway—if I invite my neighbors over, you wanna come over and meet 'em?"

Connor's eyes widened just a bit. "And meet your son, too?"

Hank smiled. "Sure, why not? You'd just be meeting him as my work partner, after all."

Connor's brows furrowed. "... Do you think that's a good idea? What about your neighbors?" He looked up at Hank. "Will I just be meeting them as your 'work' partner, too?"

Hank shrugged. "That's totally up to you. Whatever you're comfortable with."

Connor exhaled audibly. "Well, it needs to be either one or the other. It's going to be messy if we're trying to have a conversation among the adults while tip-toeing around the kids."

"Ah. I see what you mean." Hank rubbed his beard. Maybe it would be best for Connor to just be his "work partner" for Kara and Luther too, just to gauge where they're at—but Hank felt a little bad suggesting that after Connor's impassioned speech about wanting to be himself more.

"Well—we can talk about this more later. I want to think about it more." Connor shifted his sitting position. "But, yes—as long as there's a solid plan and expectations are set, I would like to meet your neighbors... and Cole." He smiled up a little shyly.

"Ah, well—unfortunately you do have to meet Cole as my work partner first, because me an' Andrea agreed on 'no introducing partners until six months in'." Connor's smile fell flat. "So, uh, sorry—I'm just trying to skirt the line a little."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Well it's all I got—it's gonna drive me fuckin' crazy if I have to keep sneaking you around for six months! It's not fair." Connor almost laughed. "But—if you're someone Cole already knows, then I can say to Andrea, 'Look—Cole already knows the guy, so it's not a big deal if I just tell him it's like that, right?'" Hank tapped his brain through his skull conspiratorially. "You see what I'm gettin' at?"

Connor sighed quietly. "I guess... but that means you can't even think of doing that until you talk to Andrea, right?"

Hank raked his hand back over his hair. "I'm workin' up to doin' that." Connor didn't look satisfied by that answer. "Look—I'm plannin' on it." He clapped Connor's shoulder warmly. "As soon as I think I'm ready, I'm sitting down and layin' it all out to her. Trust me." Connor looked like he could accept that answer.

"Okay. Well, let me know when you're planning on doing that, and I can give you a little encouragement."

Hank raised an eyebrow, smirking obnoxiously. "Oh, yeah? Like what?"

"God." Connor turned away towards the window. Hank laughed.

"All right, I'm sorry—I appreciate the offer, babe. I'm just kiddin' around." Connor looked like he squirmed a bit—obviously he wasn't used to being called pet names, let alone in semi-public. It just rolled off of Hank's tongue easily—he called Andrea "baby" and "babe" for so many years, so he hoped Connor wouldn't ask him about that—then he really would have to switch to something lame like "honey" or "darling"... Well, maybe "darling" wasn't so bad, it was kind of cute, kind of classy, kind of stuffy, just like Connor.

Connor was resolutely folded up against the window. "... would you dislike it if I called you something lame like 'honey'?"

"What? No, of course not." He tried to turn on his smooth voice, but Connor was so far away in the other seat—dang it, he wished they were having this conversation in the garage earlier.

"All right." Connor shifted his cup in his hand, and the ice collapsed. An awkward silence hung in the car. "—well, I'm not going to do it right now."

"Haah." Hank turned the key back to neutral so he could start the engine. "Connor... You're such a strange lil dude." Hank flipped back over his shoulder to look out the rear windshield while he backed up. "But I guess I'm strange, too." He caught Connor's eyes when he turned back, and gave him a wink. Connor pulled his seatbelt on with a tiny shy smile, adjusting the little black scrunchie with stars on it they grabbed from Shmarget. "How's that, better?"

The seatbelt came right across his chest, but went more over his armpit area than his shoulder. "Much better, thank you."

"Good." Hank flipped a bitch in the parking lot—well, he supposed Connor probably wouldn't like that term, so Hank "pulled a really tight U-turn" in the parking lot. He set his lemonade in the cup holder and turned the radio back up. "Oh hey—weren't we just talking about this song?" It was Peter Gabriel's "In Your Eyes".

"Yeah—I'll have to show you that mashup I found with The Cure's 'Lullaby', it was an interesting interpretation."

The clouds had darkened into a graphite grey, Hank would be surprised if it didn't dump rain on them on the way back to the station. Ah well—after all that, Jeffrey would probably just fudge their time sheets to say they took the regular amount of time for lunch.

Hank kept looking at Connor out of the corner of his eye, but it seemed like he was thinking to himself again. Well... that was fine. He'd be here whenever he wanted to talk again.

'I look to the time with you to keep me awake and alive...'

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Thanks for reading, sorry for the cliffhanger last time. For some reason I was dreading this chapter a little, I almost wanted to skip it and write Connor's sleepover with North first, or something more light-hearted—but the more I thought about it, I just wanted to do right by Daniel. And don't worry, I haven't forgotten about Traci...

Next time Connor will take an evening to himself to fuck around at the mall, I'm sure it will be very relatable and awkward and gay XD See ya~