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Connor knew it was going to be a bad week when he got home late to find Hank slumped at the kitchen table, empty whiskey bottle laying on its side and an old family album sitting open. His gun sat on the table, and Connor quickly scanned Hank to ensure he was alive. Warnings flashed before his eyes as his thirium pressure rose to dangerous levels momentarily and dropped again as he sensed Hank’s heartbeat. He dismissed the warnings and the dizziness, his fears all for Hank.
Just yesterday he’d given him back his gun. He’d thought Hank was doing okay. After the anniversary of Cole’s death had passed, he’d been calm, even happy, seeming to bask in their newfound romance.
But of course love wasn’t a cure for grief or depression. It was possible to be euphoric and suicidal at the same time about two completely different things.
He’d known it was a bad call to finish up the last preparations for the Morgan stakeout while Hank went home. He’d made some mumbled apology about resting up for their all-nighter, but Connor knew better. Hank’s excuses had a pattern to them, a way of isolating him from the world so he could be alone to wallow in his sadness for a few hours.
Connor had thought the best thing was to let him have his solitude for a change. They’d spent every waking hour together since they’d made love, and the man needed time to himself. So Connor had let him go.
Connor took the gun and checked the chamber. This time, all the bullets were gone. Perhaps Hank had known better than to keep the gun loaded.
Or, as a quick scan of the kitchen quickly revealed, there was a new bullet hole in the refrigerator. Connor ran his fingers over it, reconstructing the scene. Hank had held his gun to his head, but he’d been trembling, and his grip had slipped at the last moment, ensuring he fired the gun into the kitchen and not at himself.
Connor wanted to take the gun and throw it into the nearest river. Not that it would help. The police department would just issue him a new service weapon. He needed one to do his job. Or he’d use Connor’s gun instead.
All his study on grief and depression hadn’t been enough. Hank needed more than he could give—more than anyone could give. But Connor wasn’t going to give up. He hadn’t gotten this far without a lot of persistence. Hank had opened up a lot. He’d started talking about his grief. He’d been to his son’s grave. Change just wasn’t going to happen overnight. The grieving process would be a lifelong struggle.
Connor wasn’t going to give up loving him just because of the possibility he might end his own life someday. He’d do his best to support him and make Hank’s life one worth living, so that if he gave into his illness, it would be because there was nothing else anybody could have done.
He picked up the album off the table and began to look through it. He’d never seen this photo album before—never even knew it existed. It was full of photos of Hank and Cole together, some featuring a woman who was presumably Hank’s ex-wife. They were smiling, a happy family captured in their prime. Hank looked younger and more vibrant, as yet unbroken by the world, bright blue eyes filled with purpose and satisfaction.
Hank would never be that man again. There was nothing Connor could ever do to bring that man back. Even all the love in the world couldn’t raise the dead, and that part of Hank was buried with his son in the cold earth.
Connor closed the album and put it on the bookshelf in the living room. There were other albums there. He should have known. Hank liked physical books, permanent memories, things he could hold in his hands and touch. He was the kind of man who still printed his digital photos onto paper and pasted them into albums. Connor pulled down some of the others and flipped through. Hank was all smiles as he played with his son, the light of his life.
Before he knew it, tears were rolling down Connor’s face. He didn’t cry often, but he cried for the Hank sleeping at the table, for the perfect life he’d lived and lost.
If the world had been good, just, and fair, they would never have met. Hank would have been able to keep a human partner, would have continued to excel at his job, and he wouldn’t have been assigned a case that nobody else wanted. Connor might have investigated the androids on his own, or with Gavin. That wasn’t a thought that deserved exploration. Gavin wouldn’t have warmed to him like Hank had. Connor would have been treated like a disposable object, and decommissioned once the job was done.
Hank had saved him, fostered his humanity, and welcomed him into his home and heart with open arms. If only he could save Hank like Hank had saved him. But this was no fairytale. This was real life, and Hank was facing demons that frightened the boldest of people. The loss of a child was, according to experts, the worst grief a human being could experience. The absolute loss of hope, of the future, of passing on genes and lessons learned. Hank could still have another child, but he wouldn’t. He’d never be able to get over the fear of losing a child the way he’d lost Cole.
Connor dried his eyes and put the album away. It wouldn’t do for him to wallow, either. As much as he wanted to put Hank to bed and talk about it in the morning, he needed him on this stakeout. Even if he just slept in the passenger seat, Connor wasn’t leaving him home alone to wake up and make more bad decisions.
“Hank,” Connor whispered. He stroked Hank’s hair before giving in and shaking his shoulders. “Hank. We need to go. The stakeout.”
“I’m not up for...” Hank sighed. “‘M in no fit state.”
“I’m not leaving you here by yourself.” Connor was firm. “I just need you to sit with me in the car.”
“Fuck, Connor, why’d you always haveta be such a pain in the ass?”
“You know why.” Connor pointed to the bullet hole in the fridge.
“M’finger slipped,” Hank slurred.
“I know. If it hadn’t, you’d be dead by now.” Connor cut off the part where he detailed how that would make him feel. Hank didn’t need a guilt trip. Making Hank feel like a burden was the wrong move. He didn’t have to tap into his negotiation protocols to know that.
“M’sorry, Connor.”
“Come on, Hank. I know you don’t want to miss this stakeout. We’re one step away from busting this whole operation. Please, come with me and sit in the car. I can do the rest while you sleep it off.”
“‘Kay. Guess I owe ya that.” Hank held on to the kitchen table for support as he got to his feet. Connor locked arms with him and guided him outside. It was cold, but Hank wore his Detroit Police hoodie and it would keep him warm enough. There were blankets in the car if he really needed them. Connor hoped the cool air might sober him up a bit.
“I’m a bad cop, Connor. Jus’ some old drunk shit who can’t keep his personal business personal.” Hank leaned on the car as Connor opened the passenger side door and guided him into the seat. Connor walked around to the driver’s side and got in.
“That’s not true, Hank. You brought down red ice operations across Detroit and saved lives. You got killers off the streets.” Connor brushed some stray hair out of Hank’s eyes. “You’re a good person, Hank. And a great police officer.”
“You’re just biased,” Hank complained. “Always brown-nosing your way into my affections...” He grinned. “Just ‘cause it works on me, don’t think everyone else don’t see me for what I am.”
“Their opinion carries no weight with me,” Connor replied. “You’ve reduced your alcohol consumption by 25% in the last six months. You’ve been showing up for work on time most days, and we’ve solved more cases in the last quarter than anyone else. If they can’t see how hard you’ve worked, they’re just not looking hard enough.” Connor blasted the cold air in the car until Hank’s teeth chattered.
He leaned over and shut the AC off. “Fuck, Connor, you may not be able to feel the cold but I sure can!”
“I apologize, Lieutenant, but I think you would prefer to be moderately sober for our stakeout. If anything happens, I may need your help.”
“Sorry, Connor. I really dropped the ball on this one,” Hank admitted. He reached over and touched Connor’s arm. “I never wanted to put you in danger. I just started lookin’ in those albums and it was all brand new again.” He closed his eyes. “Perhaps we should call this off.”
“If the deal happens tonight we may lose our only lead,” Connor explained. “I’ll be okay, Hank.”
“I know you’re capable,” Hank said. “There’s just... only one of you now. If anything happens to you I’d—“
“I’m a state of the art prototype,” Connor reassured him. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.” He pulled the car into the spot across the street from the meeting place and killed the engine. “Take a nap, Hank. I’ll wake you if something happens.”
***
Connor watched Hank sleep as he kept one eye on the meeting place. The meeting could happen any time this week, if their intel was right, and Connor was hoping it wouldn’t be tonight. If he wound up in a firefight with two armed drug dealers, things could go south long before backup arrived. He wasn’t going to wake up a drunken Hank to have him stumble into battle. Depressed, inebriated Hank made bad decisions like putting his body in front of that of a tough, replaceable android partner like he had on the deviant case. Connor wasn’t going to let Hank take a bullet for him so he could commit suicide and consider it a good death.
Hank stirred and wiped the drool from around his mouth. He seemed confused.
“The fuck are we?”
“The stakeout,” Connor reminded him. “The Morgan case.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Hank nursed a headache, rubbing his temples. “Don’t suppose you brought any aspirin along. Or anything to eat.”
“I’m afraid not, Lieutenant. It took long enough to get you in the car.”
“Figures.” Hank looked at the clock on the dashboard. “Don’t suppose they’re coming tonight, Connor.”
“Let’s give it one more hour,” Connor said. “If they don’t arrive, we’ll give up and go to a drive-thru of your choice.”
“Thank fuck for twenty-four hour fast food,” Hank said. “That still leaves an hour to burn, though.” Hank shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “I’m sorry you had to do this alone, Connor. I put you at risk because I was so absorbed in my own pain.”
“You shot the refrigerator,” Connor pointed out. “Why didn’t you call me? I would have come home.”
“You’re always puttin’ your career on the line for me, Connor. Leaving work early, going in late, fixing my mistakes and covering for my drinking problem. I ask too much of you already.”
“You could never ask too much,” Connor said. “I want to be there for you. That’s my mission. My prime directive. To make Hank Anderson’s life as good as I possibly can. I can’t do that if you’re dead.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
“Too bad, because you’ve got me.” Connor pulled Hank into his arms. “I know you’re having a really bad time right now, and I’m sorry we have to do this. I wish I could make drug dealers meet at more sociable hours, but they won’t wait for us to feel like it.” He ran his fingers through Hank’s messy hair, planting kisses on his head. “Sometimes, I don’t know if I’m helping or hurting you. I get so scared, Hank—scared I’m going to come home and you’ll be dead at the kitchen table.”
“You’re helping, Connor, more than you could ever know. That’s why my hand trembled. I thought of you and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave you behind. My shot went wide and hit the fridge.” Hank choked up. “I used to think about dying every single day. I thought I could go at any time. I believed I was ready to see my son again. But now I’m not so sure. When you look at me, I see a reason for being. A point to this pointless existence. I feel needed and loved and wanted. It doesn’t take the pain away, but it helps. It helps.” He drew back and looked at Connor for a long moment before drawing close for a kiss. Connor held Hank’s face in his hands and kissed Hank, long and slow. He loved to kiss Hank for hours like this, just plant evidence of his love all over his body in places people would never find.
Connor finally drew away. “I don’t think the meeting’s happening tonight. Let’s go get you something to eat and return home.”
“Okay, but I want dessert,” Hank teased.
“I don’t understand what you mean, Lieutenant.”
“Oh, you know exactly what I mean,” Hank said. Connor could almost believe for a moment that the glint of wickedness he saw in Hank’s eyes wouldn’t fade to reveal the sorrow buried beneath.
But it did.