Work Text:
Hank’s back protested every single decision he’d made that day.
Sure, that wasn’t saying much. His back hated him pretty much every day regardless of what he had on the docket. Benders and paperwork and falling asleep on the couch— It all added to the stiffness he knew so well. But this? Fucking mowing? God, it just made it all so much harder to ignore. Winter sucked but summer sucked more, and he was pretty damn sure that by it would only get worse from here as he jerked the push mower around a corner to do another row in the lawn that right now seemed far too big to bother with for much longer.
“Why the hell didn’t I make you do this?” he shouted in the direction of his little helper. Pfft. Helper. He peered under the brim of his stupid fucking hat and saw Connor bent over the flower bed under the front window. Playing in the dirt, probably. Goddamnit, why did he even fucking care what the HoA had to say about his yard? He was a fucking cop, for fuck’s sake—
The mower let out a startling lurch, rumbling loudly as it choked, sputtered, and died. Hank’s eyes went wide. He stared at the old piece of shit, baffled, until the realization hit home. In the deafening silence of a quiet summer afternoon, his ears rang. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he spat, kicking the mower in disbelief. “What the fuck?!”
Of course. Of course, this would be his luck. Hank dragged a hand down his sweaty face. That’s what he got for leaving the fucking thing in the garage for a year and expecting the shitty fuel injector to last another season.
“Hank?”
Hank looked up at the sound of his name, fixing his gaze on Connor who was over by the house and watching with curious eyes. Those eyes flicked between Hank and the mower. Even from across the yard he could make out the spiral of the yellow LED, Connor no doubt analyzing the problem and computing how best to fix it. Only, Hank knew what the problem was, and there was no way he was getting a replacement today—
“Your mower has a faulty part,” Connor interjected, blinking before meeting Hank’s gaze once more. “I’ve put in an order for a replacement but deliveries are no longer being made today for this product. I’d suggest leaving the rest of the lawn for tomorrow when it arrives.”
Groaning, Hank rubbed at the back of his neck and nodded. He’d figured as much.
Fuck, that wasn’t what he wanted to do. Shit had been so hectic at the precinct lately and today had been the first day in awhile he’d been able to spend more than a few hours at home for something other than sleeping. He kicked at the clumps of untrimmed grass and moved away from the dead mower, heading towards Connor by the front porch. There was something about the heat that always seemed to bring the crazies and murderers out of the woodwork. He just hoped they’d take the Sunday off too so he could finish mowing his damn lawn. He hardly needed the HoA on his ass too; he dealt with enough lunatics on the job already.
But today was still young and there was more shit to get done in the meantime. He came up to Connor’s side, eager to see what he’d been able to get done on his own.
Hank took the hat off his head and plopped it on Connor’s, squatting down beside him while the android struggled to uncover his eyes. “Let’s see what you’ve got done,” he grumbled, taking a look at the woefully neglected flower beds. Connor hadn’t been idle while Hank mowed. The weeds were neatly pulled and laying in a pile by Connor’s knee, the small spade partially buried in the churned soil.
“Hank, you need to wear this,” Connor complained, pulling the hat off his head. Hank tried to smother the snort that followed but failed when he saw how he’d messed up Connor’s neat hair.
“You need to wear it,” he retorted, taking it from Connor just to shove it back on his head. “You’re already wearing my shirt. Might as well wear my damn hat too.”
Connor pouted. He fixed the brim of the hat and gave Hank a look that Hank summarily ignored in favor of taking in the sight of him as he was now. The android was in fact wearing Hank’s shirt; Connor didn’t have many outfits yet, and with his first paycheck still in the process of being sent, they’d been forced to make do with what they had. Or well, with what Hank had, to be more precise. The shirt dwarfed Connor in a sea of paisley cotton. The sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, but it didn’t do much but show off how slender his arms were in the sleeves. The hat on top of it all just rounded out the strange, mismatched image.
It was cute, though. Not that Hank would ever admit it, of course. Connor had an ego already, and like hell would Hank add to it by admitting he liked the sight of him wearing his things. As much as he might enjoy looking at it, he doubted he’d like sharing his wardrobe for the foreseeable future once Connor got attached to it.
“Skin cancer is a very serious threat to your health, Hank,” Connor rattled off, resting his hands on his folded knees in the way he always did when he sat. “With the temperature as high as it is today, sun stroke and sun sickness are also things you should be worried about.”
Hank raised a brow and picked up the spade, pressing it into Connor’s hands. “The only thing I’m worried about is getting this shit done before you nag me to death,” he drawled, nodding at the half-churned soil. “Dig the holes and I’ll plant.”
Connor blinked at him, closing his hand around the spade before it fell out of his lap. “I have concerns-”
“Oh, of course you do,” Hank sighed, rubbing at his hot neck and already wincing from the sunburn he could feel forming. “About what, Connor? What could you possibly be concerned about?”
Connor opened his mouth. “I—"
“That isn’t my health,” Hank added, cutting him off before he could begin.
A frown took root on Connor’s face, curling his lips downwards in an expression that was patently unamused. “My concerns are in regards to the plants, Hank,” he said pedantically, gesturing at the holes he’d dug with the tip of the spade. “I’ve run preliminary examinations on the flower bed, and I don’t think we’ve got the proper plant life for this soil type.”
Oh, God help him. “You what?” he asked, because if he didn’t fucking ask he’d never get a straight answer. Hank dragged a hand down his sweaty face, staring at Connor—cool as a cucumber Connor—who lowered his hand and pinched some dirt between his fingers and… and fucking shit.
And stuck the fucking dirt in his mouth.
“What the fuck, Connor,” Hank nearly groaned, wishing he wasn’t so used to this behavior. “Why the fuck are you eating my fucking potting soil?”
“I’m not eating it, Hank,” Connor said calmly, fucking calmly, as if he hadn’t just put dirt in his mouth on purpose. “I’m assessing how alkaline a nature it has and running an analysis on whether or not it’s a good match to the chrysanthemums you’ve purchased for planting.”
“Oh, is that all?” Hank let his hands fall into his lap, glaring hotly at the flower bed. It was its fucking fault this was happening. Fuck, he’d thought doing some lawn work would be cathartic after being cooped up inside for so long. Should’ve known Connor would make it an ordeal no matter what. “What’s the verdict then? Maybe you need to eat a handful of fertilizer to be sure you’ve got it down.”
Connor blinked at him and smiled. “That would be a good idea,” he said, draining Hank of any last faith in this day being normal. “But did you forget? You didn’t buy any while we were out. You said, and I quote, the day I pay money for shit and compost is the day I die and make you bury me in the flower bed instead.”
Ah. Yeah. He had said that, hadn’t he? “Well,” Hank blustered, crossing his arms. “Glad you were paying attention.”
“I always listen to you, Hank,” Connor said, furrowing his brow at the soil. A good thing, too, since it meant he missed how Hank grimaced at that. Always? He always listened? Yeah, that was a bald-faced lie. “The soil isn’t ideal for what you want to do. I suggest we go back to the store and get something different.”
The last thing Hank felt like doing was go out in public again. “What is it good for then?” he asked, rocking back on his haunches with a grunt. He had other seeds in the garage. Shit he hadn’t thought worth the effort when put up against the pre-grown starters he’d found at the local greenhouse.
Connor’s LED flickered yellow. He blinked. “Topiary more than flowers,” he rattled off, prodding the dirt with his fingers. Hank hoped to God he wasn’t about to go in for another taste. “Something hardy.”
“Strawberries?” Hank was fairly sure he had a packet or two of those lying around in the grocery bag. “Those things grow like weeds.”
Connor glanced at him from beneath the brim of the hat. His eyes glistened a little, a smile tugging at his lips. “That’s a very good observation, Hank,” he said pleasantly. “And once they bear fruit you can incorporate them into your diet. Fresh fruit is very good for you.”
Rolling his eyes, Hank tried not to smile. He probably failed, but whatever. It wasn’t like he hadn’t failed before when it came to curtailing Connor’s enthusiasm towards fixing him bit by grueling bit. “You know, they’re also pretty good in tequila,” he drawled, laughing when Connor’s face screwed up in sudden displeasure. He waved him off when Connor looked ready to argue. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Healthy shit only. Don’t go nagging me again.”
“You’re incorrigible, Hank,” Connor observed, reaching out to tangle his fingers in the front of Hank’s sweaty shirt. With a quick tug and a tilt of his chin, he leaned in, intent obvious.
But Hank turned his head at the last second, letting Connor press his kiss to his cheek instead. He could feel his surprise against his beard, the little huff of disappointed confusion that nearly made Hank say fuck it and kiss him regardless.
“You just ate dirt in front of me, Connor,” he chuckled, pushing Connor back so he could look him in the eye. “I’m not gonna let you kiss me.”
“Statistically speaking, I highly doubt that’s the worst thing you’ve ever had in your mouth,” Connor complained.
Hank just rolled his eyes and stood up, shoving the hat down on Connor’s head to cover his eyes once more. “Whine about it all you want,” he said, moving off to go fetch the seeds from the garage. “If you work hard I might change my mind.”
He didn’t need to look back to know Connor had perked up. Hank smiled, rubbing at his sunburn with a little more cheer than he had before. As far as yard work went, maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.