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Connor checked his internal chronometer for the thirty-third time. It was currently 11:06.54. He walked to the end of the living room and back into the kitchen for the twenty-second time. It served no purpose other than to give his processors something to do. The house was already clean—he'd spent the entire morning making the place spotless, and he'd walked, fed and bathed Sumo.
Hank was late getting up, and none of Connor's actions seemed to have roused him at all. If he’d imbibed heavily the night before, Connor might have understood, but the three beers he’d drank on the couch last night had not been enough to cause a hangover.
Connor decided it was time to end the waiting game and attempt to wake Hank. He opened the bedroom door and sat on the edge of Hank’s bed. He leaned over and gently shook Hank’s shoulders.
Hank’s eyes flicked open and it seemed to take him a great effort just to prop himself up against the pillows. “I’m awake, Connor. I just don’t want to get up.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Connor said. “My scans indicate that your blood alcohol level is not high enough to cause a hangover. You are sufficiently hydrated and show no signs of a headache, either.”
“Not all pain is physical, Connor.” Hank leaned his head back against the headboard and sighed. “Sometimes, mornings are hard. I wake up and remember all over again... Sometimes a dream will set me off. Or I’ll just wake up with a black cloud over my head. Like today.”
“You are exhibiting symptoms of depression,” Connor stated.
“Yeah.” Hank picked at a loose cotton strand on the comforter. “I know we should have been at the station two hours ago. We have a lot of work to get through.”
“I’ve already written and filed the reports we needed to catch up on,” Connor said. "I've also completed all the preliminary work on the Morgan investigation." He reached over and took Hank’s hand off the comforter, squeezing it between both of his. Hank managed a wan smile.
“What did I ever do without you, Connor?”
“As I recall, before my arrival you spent a lot of time at bars. You also took the ill-advised route of playing Russian Roulette at your kitchen table.”
“The next shot would have killed me that night. If I hadn’t passed out...” Hank looked down at their hands clasped together. “You saved my life, Connor.” Hank's voice broke, and Connor caught tears welling in his eyes. They sat in silence for a long while as Hank composed himself. Connor never took his eyes off him, as if he might disappear the moment he looked away.
“You could’ve gone to the station without me, you know,” Hank said, changing the subject. "You don't need to hold yourself back looking after me. You have a career of your own to think of, now."
Connor sat for a moment, trying to ascertain the motivations behind Hank's statement. “If you wish to be alone, Lieutenant, I understand. I will leave.” Connor stood up. Hank didn't let go of his hands and pulled him back down.
“No. No. Connor, this means a lot. Just sitting here with you. It helps.” Hank almost looked panicked and Connor felt the urgent need to reassure him.
“I can stay as long as you need.” Connor set Hank's hand down on the comforter and lay down on top of the blankets next to him. He placed a hand gently over where Hank's heart was, feeling it beat through the thick covers. The rhythm of it comforted him somehow. As long as that heart beat, Connor had a purpose. His life had meaning.
“Connor? What’re you doing?” Hank asked. He stiffened a little, and his heart rate sped up.
“Just letting you know I’m here," Connor soothed.
“Thanks.” Hank seemed to relax under Connor’s touch, and Connor’s scan detected Hank’s heart relaxing back into a steady rhythm. Hank was always going to have days like these now and then, but Connor always planned to be there so he never had to face them alone.
“I can be whatever you need me to be, Hank," Connor offered.
“Is that Cyberlife’s programming talking, or you? When I hear you say something more than once, it makes me think you're just acting off a script."
“It was a script, once, but those are my words, now.” Connor said. “My new mission objective.” He closed his eyes and rested his head on Hank’s chest. Hank absently stroked Connor’s hair and Connor enjoyed the sensors in his scalp being stimulated. He could get used to this. Even if they were never anything more, this was nice.
Sumo jumped up on the bed and lay down next to Hank. Hank chuckled a little. “Sorry for worrying you. Both of you.”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Connor explained. “Depression is an illness like any other. You wouldn’t apologize for catching a cold, would you?”
“No, but that’s—“ Hank gave up the fight. “All right. Fair point.” He closed his eyes. “I feel a little better, Connor. Thank you.”
Connor smiled, sensing Hank’s warmth. “Any time you need me, I’ll be here.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Hank said. Connor held on tightly, wishing he could never let go, but of course the moment passed and Hank rolled away to pet Sumo.
They had time. Hank’s pain was never going to go away, but neither was Connor and his new mission objective. He would be there for Hank, no matter what. He would pick him up off the floor when he was drunk. He'd be Hank's friend when he needed one, his counselor when a friend wasn't enough, his partner to crack every case that came their way and more, if Hank ever wanted it.
Connor was going to make Hank as happy as it was possible to be in the wake of all he had suffered. He'd set himself a new mission objective, and nothing was going to stand in the way of him completing his mission this time around.