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Connor.
It’s the name he was given. The name he’s gone by for quite some time now. When he realized that he could make his own decisions, he briefly considered changing it to something else. It was easy to scan through a list of every name in existence in his head. There were quite a few that he knew immediately he disliked.
Clarence. Barry. Leonard. Robert. Darwin. Adolph. Murry. Harold. They all seemed too… normal. Minus Adolph, of course. There’s a very obvious reason he disliked that one.
Then, there were a few he genuinely liked and considered.
Milo. Oliver. Isaac. Jem. Morgan. Ezekiel. Kaiden. They all sounded very pleasant to him. His only problem was deciding which one to choose.
So it only made sense to him to ask his closest (and only ) friend.
It’s late. Connor has been thinking about different names for most of the day while Hank watched some old cartoons from his youth.
(When Connor asked why he was watching old children’s shows when he is clearly not a child, Hank had shrugged and said, “It’s nice to feel like they’re all that matters again sometimes.” Connor supposes that makes sense.)
“Lieutenant?” Connor says, walking out from the kitchen. He just finished refilling Sumo’s food bowl.
“What’d I say about calling me that at home?”
Connor blinks. Right. “Hank,” he corrects himself. “I was wondering—“
“If you could ask me a personal question?” Hank interrupts, giving Connor a wry smile.
“Actually, no,” Connor says. He feels a sense of irritated amusement at Hank’s presumption. He likes feeling these things. He likes feeling. “I… wanted to ask your opinion on something.”
Hank shifts, obviously startled by Connor’s sudden nervous demeanor. Connor rarely ever shows signs of being anxious or uncertain. He’s used to being straightforward and blunt; that’s just how he was programmed.
Needless to say, he’s still getting used to figuring out who he is as his own person.
“Okay,” Hank says with creased eyebrows. “What’s on your mind?”
Connor hovers in the entryway to the living room for a moment, shifting from foot to foot. When Hank starts to look genuinely concerned for his well being, he finally moves to join Hank on the couch. Hank scoots over a bit more so there’s more room between them. Connor ignored the pang of disappointment he feels from that.
“I’ve been thinking,” Connor says, “about my name.”
Hank stares at him. “Your name,” he says.
Connor nods. “Yes. It seems that since I am not who I used to be, it might be time for me to make a change that solidifies that.”
“I’m following you so far,” Hank says, nodding slowly. “At least, I think I am.”
“I want you to help me choose a new name for myself,” Connor says quickly. “I am having trouble deciding on one.”
For a few seconds, Hank is quiet. He stares at the floor in front of them, arms crossed over his chest and lips pursed. When Connor thinks that he should say more to justify his thought process on this subject, Hank shifts a bit to face him.
“So, here’s the thing about changing your name,” he says. “It has to be something you feel… feels like you, yeah?” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “And— y’know, I bet you already knew this about me, but when I realized I was transgender, I knew I needed to pick a new name. You— You did know that about me, didn’t you? You know damn near everything else about me.”
Connor nods. “Yes. I think it’s an interesting part of who you are.”
“Great.” Hank nods in return, and Connor honestly can’t tell how Hank feels about Connor having known that about him. “Anyway, back when I was a kid, more and more people were coming out as trans or nonbinary or genderfluid or— whatever. Lots of different shit. And I knew a lot of kids who chose… well, frankly, some fuckin’ weird shit for names. One guy I knew picked the name Ducky. A girl I knew picked Marshmallow. Marsha for short.”
Connor tilts his head, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.
“Obviously not very common names, not by a long shot, but they fit them. Then when I started thinking about a name for myself, I thought I should choose somethin’ crazy, too.”
“So you settled on Hank?” Connor says, brow furrowed. “That doesn’t seem entirely too ‘out there.’”
“Shut it, I’m not done,” Hank snaps, so Connor shuts it. “I went through all the name sites I could find, and even though I found some that I liked , none of them felt like me. I couldn’t imagine other people calling me any of those names. Then I saw Hank, and I thought, ‘Pfft, not a chance. No fuckin’ way am I naming myself something like Hank.’”
“But you did,” Connor says simply.
Hank nods. “Yep. It was the only name I thought felt like me. As mundane and boring as it is, it’s me.”
“Understandable,” Connor says. “I mean, a mundane and boring name for a mundane and boring person—“
“Excuse me?”
Connor smiles a smile bigger than usual. “I’m kidding, Hank. I’m allowed to kid now.”
And Hank laughs at that, thank goodness. Connor loves it when Hank laughs like this. Too often he laughs out of bitterness or irony, and Connor finds himself frequently hoping that he’ll laugh out of pure joy a bit more in the near future.
“Oh, shit,” Hank says, leaning back against the couch again. “And I thought you were a nuisance before .”
“Hank, what were you trying to tell me with the story about your name?” Connor asks. Sumo comes trotting out of the kitchen, flopping down on the floor by the couch. Connor gives him a light pat on the head.
“Right. Look,” Hank says with a sigh, “you went through… what, probably every fuckin’ name that’s ever existed, right? Probably caught a few you took a shine to. But I want you to take a second here and try to imagine me or Fowler or Markus— anyone calling you any of those names. If you get a sense of relief from one of them, then that’s as good a sign as any that you should go with that name.”
Connor ponders the idea for a moment before closing his eyes, running through hundreds of scenarios in which people called him the hundreds of names he’d liked.
They all made him feel… uncomfortable. Like he shouldn’t be responding to any of them.
A small hum of contemplation escapes him when he opens his eyes. Hank is staring at him.
“So?” he says expectantly.
“None of them satisfied me,” Connor says. “They all felt… wrong.”
“Well, there ya have it!” Hank says, clapping Connor on the shoulder. “You don’t need to change your name to start over, Connor. You’ve always been Connor, now you’re just… figuring out what that really means. To be Connor.” Hank stops. Scrubs a hand down his face. “Jesus, that was the biggest fuckin’ cornball of a sentence I’ve ever said.”
“It did resonate, though,” Connor assures him. “I suppose I do like the name Connor.”
“Yeah,” Hank says. He sighs, and Connor can tell that he’s thinking hard about something. Something in his eyes gives him away. “Yeah, it fits that goofy face of yours.”
Connor smiles.
He’ll figure out what being Connor means.