Chapter Text
Connor was getting tired of this scene.
He'd hoped his finding Lieutenant Anderson slumped over a table in a drunken stupor was a thing of the past. Perhaps it was naïve of him to believe the Lieutenant's alcoholism would magically disappear after all this time. Trauma and liver damage could not be undone by a few kind words from a friend. Still, Connor wished his presence would at least lessen this familiar scene.
"Lieutenant," Connor said, placing a gentle hand on Hank's back. "It's well after midnight. It's time to get you home."
Hank said something unintelligible in the curve of his arms. On the table was only a single empty shot glass. That's strange; this wasn't enough alcohol to incapacitate him like this. Hank could down five shots before feeling a buzz.
Connor lifted up the shot glass and poured the leftover droplets onto his tongue.
Analyzing...
Vodka
Lemon Juice
Simple Syrup
Lime
Rohypnol
Connor blinked.
"You've been roofied," he said out loud. No wonder Hank was physically and mentally out of it. "Who did this to you, Lieutenant?"
"He's been what?"
The bartender overheard him and walked over, irritated. "Did I hear you right, android?"
Connor stood up straight and nodded. "Yes. I detect rohypnol in the droplets of his shot glass. Rohypnol is also known as the date rape drug."
"I know what it is. Damn, I hate the fuckers who pull this shit. I thought your friend was just a light weight."
"Did you see who did this to him?"
"I think a woman may have been hanging around him."
Worried, Connor did a full body scan over Hank. Connor detected no bodily fluids, no bruises, nor was a single button or zip was out of place.
"He has not been assaulted," Connor said, relieved. "But I don't understand. Why would someone slip him the drug if they didn't have intentions of assaulting him?"
The bartender quirked his eyebrow. "Does your friend have his wallet?"
Connor searched. "It's gone."
"That's your answer. You should probably call the police."
"We are the police."
"Well then, you're halfway there. Come back with a warrant and I'll allow you to look on the cameras. In the meantime, you should probably take your friend home."
Connor sighed, his lips thinning. His LED blinked rapidly as he submitted a formal report and requested for a warrant. Though he didn't have the authority to, he also went ahead and cancelled Hank's credit cards. He'd hoped Hank wouldn't mind.
"C'mon, Lieutenant," Connor said, bending down. He grasped Hank by the arm and lifted him up. Hank swore and awkwardly got to his feet, his head rolling back. He stumbled, forcing Connor to take most of his weight.
"Let's get you home."
Two taxis refused to take them. The drivers took one look at Hank, believed he was blind drunk and on the verge on vomiting, and drove off. There was nothing Connor could do except write an angry review on their website.
It was a cold, late November. A light powdering of snow dusted the streets, turning into slush as the hours passed. More was coming down and the weather predicted to snow all night. Thankfully Hank's home was not that far away.
Half-way there Hank's steps became more pronounced. He stumbled less and less, and though he was clearly still quite out of it, it was a major improvement. Maybe it was the shock of the cold weather, maybe his body was finally neutralizing the drug. Either way, Connor was grateful.
"We're almost there."
Hank mumbled. He took a deep breath, and for the first time since they left the bar, stood up straight.
"Lieutenant," Connor said, surprised. "Are you feeling better-"
Hank suddenly turned, grabbing Connor by the shoulders, forcing him back. Connor took several stumbling steps back, slamming into the brick wall behind him. "Lieutenant! What is the matter? What is-?"
That's all he got as Hank moved in close, pressing his lips to him.
Connor froze.
He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what choices to take, what choices he could take. He didn't want to hurt Hank, not physically, not emotionally, not-
Hank kissed him again, more deeply this time, grasping Connor by the chin to adjust the angle better.
Heart beat rate: 56%
Heart beat rate: 68%
Heart beat rate: 89%
Just as quickly as it started, Hank grunted and groggily stepped back. He shook his head, his long hair glittered with droplets of snow.
"Fuck, it's cold..." he muttered softly.
Did Hank mean the snow? The temperature? Or the feel of Connor's lips on his?
Whatever he meant, Hank was clearly still under the influence and would most likely not remember any of this in the morning.
"Then..." Connor swallowed. His heart rate was not slowing down. "Let's get you home."
He pushed off the brick wall, taking Hank's arm again.
Hank grunted. "You're a good friend, Connor."
Connor had no idea what to say to that. He chose to keep quiet.