Chapter Text
Hank
As the door closed behind him and the warmth of the bar swept over his cold cheeks, Hank Anderson felt himself melt just the slightest. His shoulders were still tense, his hands in his pockets, and eyes averted, but he still felt the way his mind settled. Perhaps, it was only the thought that he would finally get some liquid into his broken system, or perhaps it was just to get away from the harsh gaze of Captain Fowler, regardless, being there was a relief. Fuck, Jeff had been the worst as of recent.
Without saying anything to Aaron, the owner and lone bartender of the establishment, he found his usual spot in the corner, sitting down with a huff. For a bar called “In the Corner”, it was ironic that Hank always found himself sitting in the corner, either nursing a beer, or chugging as much whiskey as he could. It was secluded, hidden slightly by other tables and couches, perfect for keeping himself away from the other regulars. He did not like the way they looked at him, judging him in the same way as those assholes at the precinct. Aaron, on the other hand, was a good man, and he would even like to call them friends, despite the fact that Aaron probably liked Hank’s money more than his company. But, what could you do?
Finally, having shrugged off his jacket and made himself comfortable, he looked over at the bar, slightly surprised at the fact that Aaron had not yet greeted him. Usually, he was greeted as soon as he stepped through the door, and Aaron would keep on his conversation while Hank got seated on his spot. Now, he had only been met with silence, which was nice, but slightly unnerving.
Once his eyes finally locked with the brown ones on the other side of the counter, he understood the silence perfectly, and he sighed heavily. Behind the bar was not the usual large, yet warm presence of Aaron, but rather a much younger man whom smiled pleasantly at him. This new person was dressed even more formally than Aaron usually did as he wore a white shirt, a black tie, and black dress pants. He looked more at home in an office, than in a completely empty bar. Hank sighed once more.
“Good day, Sir! Anything I can get you?” the stranger called and for the first time, he was not happy being the only person in the bar. Being alone meant this new guy would try to make conversation, and that was not something Hank was up for right now. Especially not the way the kind, warm voice tugged on something deep within him, made him want to hide even more.
“Some whiskey” he replied, maybe a bit too curtly, but he could not care less. Before walking into the bar, he had actually considered just going for beer and getting some sort of work done, yet he could not help but feel that the change in environment changed his own decision. Regardless, he found himself digging out the notes and files of the case he had been given, hoping that he could at least look busy enough to be unapproachable.
Once all the papers were laid out, the stranger came up and laid down a coaster before the glass of whiskey. Hank could not help but eye this new man slightly now that he was close enough to properly see. Judging by his looks, the young man could not be more than 30 years old, Hank figured as he glanced at him, his face turned down towards his papers. With the dark brown hair perfectly kept, and the clothes neatly ironed, he was an odd person to see in such a bar as this. “The Corner”, as the regulars called it, was a bar placed in the corner of one of the least busy streets in Detroit. It was rarely visited by anyone other than the regulars whom enjoyed both the quiet and Aaron’s kindness, so it was laidback in décor as well as style. This upkept, square man did not fit in, which made Hank feel worse.
“Are you possibly Hank Anderson?” the stranger once again addressed him, and Hank sighed deeply, feeling that he would be continuing to do that for quite awhile. This was exactly what he wanted to avoid.
“What’s it to you?” Hank snapped back, still with his eyes averted.
“Mr. Collins informed me of all the regulars as well as their general appearance to prepare me for the job. I did not wish to make you uncomfortable, Lieutenant, I just wish to familiarise myself and make myself known. Besides, Mr. Collins spoke well of you” after his all too formal speech, the stranger extended a hand, a still pleasant smile upon his lips. “My name is Connor, the new barkeep here to assist Mr. Collins”
Hank could not help but look up at the man fully, at Connor, with a frown. Being bombarded with formality did not help his already sour mood and the overly polite way of speaking made Hank feel even more unsettled as he glared at the newcomer. Instead of taking Connor’s outstretched hand, he reached for his glass of whiskey and downed it without a word, turning back to his papers. Hopefully that would be enough of a clue for this young man to fuck off.
In the corner of his eye, Hank saw Connor retreat his hand and picked up the now empty glass of whiskey instead. For a moment, the hand seemed to shiver as it grabbed the glass, but Hank was unsure if he actually saw such a nervous gesture or if he was trying to find any reason at all to dislike the man even more. Lies hidden underneath a perfectly nice façade, was the absolute worse. Soon, Connor retreated to the bar, but came back shortly after with yet another glass of whiskey. For a moment, Hank was almost pleased, before the man spoke once more.
“Are you working right now?” Connor asked, and Hank heard the curiously intrigued tone in his voice. Damn nosey little shit.
“Not when you keep fucking interrupting me” Hank responded without really wanting to. The best approach would be to keep ignoring Connor, letting him get frustrated without a response so that he would leave him the fuck alone. But there was something in his tone of voice that made him harsher than he wanted to be.
“I apologise for my intrusion” Connor quickly said but did not seem to back away as he instead leaned in slightly closer, trying to read the documents more closely. “I am new to Detroit, but I worked as a detective a while ago. I guess it’s difficult to let go off old habits”
There was undoubtedly something dark in those all too warm, all too kind eyes, Hank could see that now as Connor scanned his documents. If he did not know better, he would almost have said that there was a longing in them, a desire, but also a clear intelligence. Having worked in homicide for so long, Hank had gotten better at reading people’s expression, something that was vital during interrogations. Usually, he kept his observations down to a minimum, uncaring of the world, but there was something about Connor, or maybe it was just the day he had had, that made him notice more than he thought he wanted.
“Don’t care, gives you no right to see” Hank retorted and scraped his papers into a pile, trying to hide them away from Connor’s analysing eyes like a child hiding drawings from a curious adult. “Fuck off now, I’m busy”
This time, Connor seemed to understand what Hank was saying and he gave him a short nod, still smiling. “I apologise once more” he said, though there was disappointment in that sweet voice of his. “My curiosity got the better of me. I shall return to the bar. If there is anything I can get you, please call for me”
With that, Connor left him alone at last. Except, Hank would have liked to say that he returned to his documents without any difficulty and without those brown eyes in mind, but he could not help his mind from wandering. Once he had finally finished his second glass of whiskey, he found himself unable to call for Connor for more. It was as if saying his name was a failure, a loss, and instead he found himself calling “Bartender” instead. It was easier on his mind.
The day progressed in a similar fashion, and Hank did not get shit done. Again. He kept drinking, the burning of the whiskey down his throat a balm to his mind, and yet oil to the flame. The sun had long since set when he was about to pack his things and head home to keep drinking, to get stupidly drunk to make stupid mistakes, when a cup of coffee was placed in front of him instead. At the time he was just buzzed, not nearly enough where he wanted to be, and yet this cup of coffee stopped him in his steps. Turning his eyes upwards, he saw Connor receding back to the bar, but for a moment he turned back, giving him another soft smile before continuing to serve the two other regulars who found themselves there that Tuesday night. Hank could for some reason not get up. The need to get stupidly drunk washed through him, back and forth, back and forth, like the ebb and flow of the sea, and yet, he kept himself seated, his eyes on the mug of coffee.