Work Text:
“Hold My Hand”
Part 4 of Connor’s First
“This’ll be great,” Hank said as he sat down on the couch, a remote held in one of his hands. “I haven’t seen this movie in years.”
Connor surveyed the information on the TV screen, finding it a bit hard to believe Hank’s statement given the age of the film and overall summary. A simple search yielded that the spy movie was based on an older property, specifically a series of books.
The movie was based on the sixth novel, which started off all right. The protagonist was already in hot water wit-
“Connor, please don’t tell me you’re reading the book right now.”
He stopped, guilt settling in quickly, Connor unwilling to admit he’d nearly finished it already. “How did you know?”
Hank raised a brow. “You get a really faraway look in your eyes when you go inside yourself.” Connor wondered how closely Hank had been paying attention to him these last few months of cohabitating to notice that. “Anyway, don't be a snob. The cinema has many advantages over written words on a page.
“Besides, this is something a normal couple does together.”
Connor sat up in attention as he considered the statement. “Is this a date then?”
“I suppose so.” Hank chuckled. “Though that stroll through Belle Isle Park was probably our first.”
Connor smiled, fondly recalling the occasion. “I'm glad it was pleasant then.”
Hank looked a tad uneasy, then motioned to the bowl of popcorn sitting on his lap. “You really can't eat anything?”
“Some models can,” Connor explained patiently, well aware Hank had changed the subject. Sometimes, though both had admitted they cared for each other, Hank seemed to have trouble reconciling that fact. “Like those of a younger age, but it was never a consideration with me.”
“Shame. Movie night's not the same without it.”
“I must admit to a certain curiosity,” Connor said, surreptitiously finishing the novel, even as he spoke, unable to leave it unfinished. “I’ve never seen one before.” Keeping up with pop culture hadn't exactly been high on his list of priorities.
“Well then, sit back and enjoy.”
The opening credits of the film started rolling, Hank settling deeper into the couch to get comfortable. Sumo sat off to his side on the floor, his tail thumping against the floor, vigilantly watching for any sign of food that slipped through his owner’s grasp.
Connor focused on the TV screen with renewed interest, wanting to fully indulge himself with gusto on what was his second foray into the world of dating. It might not have been a big deal for Hank, but Connor wanted to cherish such special occasions for the novelties they were.
The action-adventure movie was long but entertaining. Connor was still analyzing the depth of the narrative and its symbolism when Hank stood up from the couch, going to put the leftover popcorn away in the kitchen.
He came back seconds later. “Well, what did you think?”
Connor had to admit after seeing the story played out in loving detail, the original book had lost some of its appeal. “It was very interesting. Trite in some places, but on the whole, very much proves that when something is given enough love, it can shine.
“Though I did miss the fight with the giant squid,” Connor admitted with a wink.
“That’s in the book? Never mind, go on.”
He did so. “But I can see why you like the film series. It's pure escapism, Bond doing what you can't in everyday life.”
Hank was watching him with a smile. “Yeah, something like that.” He cleared his throat, suddenly looking nervous. “They're showing the second one at The Redford Theatre next weekend. Want to go?”
“Yes,” Connor replied almost instantly. It wasn't so much the movie as getting to spend more time with Hank in a public setting. Though CyberLife had well-prepared him for day-to-day life, relating to the everyday people that navigated it had proven to be a challenge. Especially now when relations between humans and androids were strained.
“Good, it's a date.”
Hank looked at the clock on the wall behind the couch and seemed to come to some kind of decision as Connor began the process of pulling out the hideaway bed in the couch, sensing Hank was about to retire for the night.
Sleep was a luxury Connor didn’t indulge in very often, the bed was more a matter of comfort as he whiled away the hours until morning than anything else.
“You can stop that.”
He paused, holding a cushion, slightly confused at Hank's statement. “Why?”
Hank rubbed the back of his neck. “Because the thought of you out here all alone is more than I can stand right now.” He reached out for Connor's arm, pulling him past the side of the couch. The cushion he’d been holding fell to the floor, unused. “Now, let's go to bed.”
“But I-“
“I know you don't need to really sleep, but keep an old man company, will you?”
They started down the hallway to the bedroom. “We're not doing anything?” Connor asked, needing to make sure. Intimacy was still a bit touch and go between them, neither wanting to push the other too far.
Hank laughed under his breath. “Tempting, but no. I'm too tired to seduce you. Your virtue is safe tonight.”
Entering the bedroom, knowing Hank had voluntarily invited him, Connor was apprehensive. He didn’t want to do the wrong thing and get cast out.
“Be right back,” Hank said, handing him a pair of pajamas from the dresser. He disappeared into the bathroom to prepare for bed, leaving Connor to finger the supple cotton material in his hand, rubbing it between his fingertips.
Before Elijah Kamski had increased his reaction times and overall sensitivity, clothing had been a means to an end. Now he found himself pondering different fabrics and how they would feel against his skin.
“Connor?”
He started, looking up to see Hank staring at him clad only in pajama bottoms. “Oh, sorry.” The lingering look of concern Hank gave him as he left the room made Connor nervous.
Despite knowing Hank would probably accept it if given enough time, Connor was rather reluctant to reveal his new state of being. It was the first thing he’d ever done for himself, and Connor wanted to savor the secret while it lasted.
Changing took a matter of seconds, Connor surprised at his reflection in the mirror as he passed it. He thought he’d been hiding his anxiety well, but the furrowed forehead and small scowl on his face said otherwise. Little wonder Hank seemed worried about him.
After crossing the hallway again, Connor silently approached the bed and slipped in on the right side that had been left free. The covers were already warm, Hank lying on his back next to him.
Connor didn't know about Hank felt about it, but the air felt heavy and strained, the new sleeping arrangement awkward. Did he turn his back and rest on his side or risk facing Hank and further increase the discomfort?
“Sorry,” Hank suddenly said, his head turning towards Connor. “This is kind of weird, huh?”
Connor nodded, his pulse quickening when Hank extended his arm out in what was unmistakably an invitation.
Moving slowly, Connor shifted closer until his head rested against Hank's upper arm, who only smirked as he closed his eyes. “That's better.” The tension between them eased, Connor letting out a relieved sigh.
Unbelievably, Hank fell asleep within a minute.
For a long time, Connor simply watched him slumber. Sometimes he found it hard to believe his luck. If someone else had been chosen as his partner, he doubted he'd be who he was today.
Hank had supported him in so many ways without even knowing it. Eventually, Connor found his system shutting down of its own accord, his consciousness fading away until morning.
Something warm was lying against him, weighing down one side of his body. Slow to stir, Connor opened his eyes to find Hank’s face buried in his chest, one of his legs over Connor's. He was snoring quietly, his features relaxed.
Behind Connor was Sumo, sprawled out along his back. Unbidden, thinking he was surrounded on all sides, he couldn't help chuckling.
Between the two of them and the covers, it was beginning to get hot. Connor shifted to get more comfortable. His movements woke Hank up, his hair hilariously plastered flat in places, staring in confusion at Connor.
Then he woke up completely, Hank immediately retreating to his side of the bed, flushing a bit. The sight was endearing, but Connor chose to say nothing, something else bugging him.
Though he hadn't taken a proper reading, Hank had felt fairly warm to the touch, his forehead a little moist.
“Are you all right, Hank? Your body temperature seems elevated.”
Hank turned to face the wall, his feet coming to rest on the bedroom floor. “I'm fine. It's just been a while since I've had someone else in the bed, that's all. And keep your sensors to yourself, why don't you?”
Feeling he'd tripped somewhere in expressing his trepidation, Connor vowed to keep a close eye on Hank the next few days. It wouldn't do for him to get sick on his watch.
“Please let me know if you make any progress,” Leslie Peters, a young woman whose husband had died under mysterious circumstances, said quietly, the desperate look on her face clearly affecting Hank who silently reached for his wallet in his back pocket.
He took out his business card and handed it to Leslie. “Feel free to call me anytime for updates on the case.”
She clasped it tightly, nodding stiffly, the shine of growing tears in Leslie’s eyes before she closed the front door. Connor looked to Hank as they walked off the porch, noting that he looked a little pale.
His worry was further increased when Hank raised a hand to his mouth, his breath hitching slightly. A moment later, Hank coughed as they left the house, putting a hand on his knee when it turned into an outright fit.
“Are you all right, lieutenant?” Connor asked, concerned Hank was catching something. With the threat of ever-evolving viruses a real issue, being safe rather than sorry seemed the wisest course.
Hank took a deep breath, roughly clearing his throat. “It’s nothing,” he insisted, then dug into his pocket and tossed Connor the car keys. “You drive.”
Rather than question it, Connor nodded. “Back to the precinct?”
“Yep.”
A few days later…
“I’m going to work,” Hank declared in a gruff voice in the early morning, lying flat in the bed. The back of one of his hands laid across his sweaty forehead, creased in discomfort.
Even standing at the side of the bed, Connor could hear the thick sound of Hank’s breathing, nasal and chest congestion an additional hindrance in the man’s clear illness.
Not trusting he could produce a precise temperature without assistance, Connor momentarily left Hank to enter the bathroom.
His search bore fruit as Connor sighted a thin white plastic thermometer in one of the cabinet drawers. Compared to thermometers on the market today, it was a relic, but despite the simple design still seemed to be in proper working order.
Though Connor knew it was a forgone conclusion, he leaned over Hank and gently stuck the thermometer into his mouth. The digital numbers on the display rose swiftly, topping out at 102 degrees with a single shrill beep.
He removed the thermometer, shaking his head.
“You’re not,” Connor announced, placing the thermometer on the nightstand next to the bed, fast-growing cold now that it was away from its previous source of heat.
Hank coughed, stubbornly sitting up in bed. “I am.” He put his feet on the floor, taking a deep breath before standing unsteadily.
Connor frowned, using one finger to push the top of Hank's chest. The man wobbled for one moment, groaning as he gave up the fight and sank back down into the covers of the bed.
“You're not,” he repeated, pulling the top of the covers up to Hank's chest, a look of utter misery on his partner’s face.
Hank had insisted again and again that despite a persistent pain in his throat and random cough, there was no way he was getting sick. Now because he hadn't been taking care of himself, the virus Hank incubated had emerged fully grown, wreaking havoc on his system.
Connor would have said, “I told you so,” but Hank didn't react well to jibing sometimes.
Groaning in the bed, Hank closed his eyes closing briefly as he shivered despite the layers of bedding he laid under.
“Fine, I'm not,” he admitted unhappily, cracking open one eye to gaze at Connor. “You can't catch this, can you?”
Connor shook his head. “No, airborne viruses can't affect me.” His immune system was designed to filter out such organic diseases. Electronic ones, on the other hand, were a different story.
“Lucky bastard.”
As soon as he'd noticed Hank's fever and other symptoms, Connor had wasted no time in calling off work for both of them. He was determined to do everything in his power so Hank could recover quickly.
Connor was looking up home remedies when Hank touched his wrist, looking at him with a runny nose. “I'm a terrible patient. Just so you know,” he warned quite dramatically, then took the tissue Connor handed him, making a loud racket as he blew his nose. He threw the used tissue onto the nightstand.
Smiling, Connor patted Hank's shoulder. “I've seen you at your absolute worst already, so I don't think it will be an issue.” He tucked Hank’s arm back underneath the covers. “Besides, I like taking care of you. It makes me feel useful.”
Hank’s brow narrowed. “You realize you’re wasting your many considerable talents by tying yourself to someone like me, right?”
“I don’t see it that way,” Connor said. “You underestimate your value at nearly every turn. I quite wish you could see yourself through my eyes at times.”
His voice cracking partway, Hank muttered, “Yeah, me too.” He eyed Connor for a moment. “Any chance of drugs here?”
Two minutes later, Hank stared at Connor when he was handed two familiar pills. “Why aren't I getting the good stuff? This will hardly do anything.”
“On the contrary,” Connor said, handing Hank a glass of water. “Not only will it lower your fever, but it also reduces tissue inflammation, which you sorely need right now.”
Still looking grumpy about it, Hank nevertheless downed the pills and water, settling back into the bed afterward.
Connor stroked his chin in thought. “A bath and food next, I think,” he said, noting Hank’s quick eye roll at the last suggestion. “If that’s all right with you?”
A groaning sound floated in Connor's direction as Hank flipped onto his side, which he attributed to exasperation, though Connor thought he was being perfectly reasonable about his plan of attack. “Just…do whatever.”
He’d take that as a yes then.
Connor finished drawing the bath, scanning it to make sure the temperature wouldn't cause Hank any undue harm. The ingredients he'd added had turned the water a pale white, and he hoped Hank wouldn't find it off-putting.
“Hank?”
Said man had dropped off into unconsciousness, one arm hanging off the edge of the bed. He looked peaceful, and Connor hated having to jostle his elbow to wake him up. “The bath is ready.”
Opening one eye, Hank stared at him for a tick, then awareness slipped into his gaze. “Yeah?”
“Do you need me to help you into the bathroom?”
Hank sat up, plainly waiting until his equilibrium settled to move again. “No, I got it.”
Still, Connor trailed after him as he worked his way into the bathroom. As expected, Hank eyed the whitish water in the tub with suspicion.
“I’m starting to think you’re trying to marinate me rather than provide any flu relief.”
Connor busied himself with putting a clean towel on the closed lid of the toilet near the tub. “Even if I could practice anthropophagy, I’d rather avoid the risk of bloodborne diseases and kuru, thank you very much.”
“No, I meant-“ Hank stopped, turning to face Connor with amusement. He smiled, reaching out to pat Connor on the back. “Learning fast, aren’t you?”
Connor fidgeted, glad his attempt at joking had gone over well.
“So, what’s in this anyway?”
On familiar footing again, Connor was more than happy to provide the information. “Epsom salt, baking soda, ginger, sea salt, and apple cider vinegar.”
“Yeah, definitely marinating me,” Hank said, starting to pull at the end of his shirt before abruptly stopping. He looked over his shoulder at Connor.
“You want to maybe give me some privacy here?”
Flushing, Connor turned the other direction, facing away. “Sorry.”
Try as he might to grant Hank his wish, Connor’s peripheral vision was excellent. He instantly looked to the ground, but the information he’d gleaned in the split second was already processing within his mind. Unbidden, the thorough exam he’d given Hank when they first met that evening in the bar sprung up.
He compared the stats, and one side of his mouth quirked upwards. “You might be interested to know that since I’ve moved in with you, Hank, that you’ve lost five pounds.”
Hank scoffed. “It’s all the rabbit food you’ve been feeding me.”
“I am merely trying to maximize the nutritional content in your diet,” Connor explained, the argument familiar. The rustle of clothing dropping to the floor was nearly silent, only the splash of a body hitting the water telling Connor Hank had successfully gotten into the tub. “All good?”
“Yep.”
Connor faced Hank, glad the water wasn’t very clear so he could maintain some semblance of privacy. His skin was red, but some of the strain and tiredness had left Hank’s features. “It’s not too hot?”
The chest hair Connor could glimpse above the water was salt and pepper colored, a thin sheet over Hank’s upper chest that thinned out as it delved further downward.
“No, it’s perfect,” Hank said, laying his head back against the tiled wall behind him. “I honestly thought this wouldn’t do anything, but damned if it’s not helping.”
Connor knelt down beside the tub, relieved everything he’d added to the bath was having the intended effect. “I do know what I’m doing most of the time, Hank.”
Lifting his head, Hank chuckled. “On some things, yes. In others, you’re like a freakin’ newborn.”
“I am working on those aspects of my personality.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” he replied, trying to repress what looked to be a coughing fit.
Lying his arms on the edge of the tub, Connor frowned. He hated seeing Hank in pain. “You shouldn’t keep it in. After all, coughing is the body’s natural way of breaking up mucus and clearing important airways.”
As if following his advice, Hank hacked for a straight minute, Connor handing him a tissue to blow his nose when he gestured for it. Once his fit had passed, Hank sighed tiredly, leaning back in the tub.
“I’m sorry you fell sick,” Connor said, genuinely contrite about Hank’s condition. “I wish I had been more proactive in guarding your health.”
“I doubt you could have done anything.”
Connor was still unhappy about the situation as much as he was enjoying taking care of Hank. “That may well be,” he said before standing. “Well, I'll leave you to soak in peace.”
He'd gotten a few steps, then heard behind him, “Reckless caregiver, aren't you?”
Connor glanced back. “What?”
Hank blew out a breath. “I could fall asleep here and drown.”
Was Hank trying to imply he wanted Connor to keep him company? After all, given his age, Connor doubted such an event would come to pass.
Still, it felt nice being needed. He came back the way he'd come and took a seat. “Yes, you're correct. There is always a possibility.”
The relieved smile on Hank's face was all the confirmation Connor needed that his theory had been correct.
“Would you like me to assist in washing your hair?” he asked, not just wanting to sit there.
Hank shrugged, looking as if he couldn’t care less. He sank down beneath the water for a second, reappearing with a fully wet head of hair.
The tub had no space at the top, so Hank shifted his body to the middle, showing his back to Connor, facing the wall. “What would you like me to use?” Hank had more than a few hair products in the bathroom.
“The 3-in-one stuff.” Right, the red bottle then.
Connor grabbed it, squeezing out an ample amount in one hand as he approached the back of Hank's head, working it into a lather.
He hadn't yet explored much of Hank's body beyond his mouth and hand but knew the human scalp could be remarkably sensitive in some people.
Taking a mental deep breath, Connor dipped his fingers into Hank's hair, the semi-long locks soft despite everything that had soaked into it that day.
Whether Hank knew it or not, Connor was hitting all the pressure points on his scalp, striving to provide as much relief as possible.
The tension within Hank's neck eased as he leaned back, closing his eyes. “That's…uh, you're really good at that.”
Connor smiled. “Thank you.”
“Christ,” Hank muttered, Connor feeling the head in his hands go completely lax, driving the white froth bubbles in Hank's hair further up Connor's wrists.
Suddenly, Hank moaned, a sound unlike anything Connor had heard from him before. It echoed once in the room, and Connor’s fingers working against Hank's scalp stilled in surprise.
A flash of heat swept up his front, coiling around Connor’s stomach as what lay beneath his waist stirred. What made everything worse was that Hank seemed completely unaware he'd made any type of untoward sound.
Connor couldn't stop replaying it in his mind.
Even from his position kneeling next to the tub, he could see the line of Hank's neck, his Adam's apple shifting as he swallowed. The muscles of his chest slowly rising and falling, Hank's breathing clearly easier from the bath.
“Why'd you stop?” Hank asked, starting to open his eyes, unknowingly drawing Connor from his reverie.
With effort, Connor pushed back the feeling of arousal, wishing it had been a better time, the circumstances not ideal for fooling around. It was disconcerting having his body react so involuntarily.
“Sorry,” Connor replied, gamely resuming the massage, only more gently this time. “Almost done.”
Silently, he vowed to maintain a neutral position until Hank's illness had passed, and everything went back to normal.
As Hank slowly disappeared into the bedroom to get dressed, Connor went into the kitchen.
Sumo perked up in interest from his place lying on the living floor, slowly making his way towards Connor.
He stopped when Sumo sat at his feet, leaning his large body against him as Sumo gave him wide puppy dog eyes. Connor laughed and rustled the top of the dog's head.
“Unlike your owner, boy, you're much easier to take care of.” Sumo chuffed softly, his tongue slipping out to lick Connor's hand. “Yes, yes, I’ll feed you.”
The dog food bowl was simple to fill, Connor leaving Sumo to chow down.
“Are you hungry by any chance?” he asked, pitching his voice high enough that Hank could hear it in the other room. “You haven't eaten anything all day, and your body needs sufficient energy to fight off the virus.”
Silence in reply.
Connor put his head to the side, paying closer attention, a trickle of unease filling him. “Hank?”
Had he fallen asleep midway through the changing process, or had something worse happened?
Worried, Connor put aside the veggies and meat he'd gotten out of the fridge and peeked into the bedroom.
Wearing only gray sweat pants and a thin t-shirt with a familiar metal band logo was Hank, lying on his side in the bed, completely out like a light.
Perhaps the hot bath had done him some good if he could relax enough to rest.
Carefully, Connor placed a blanket over him and retreated back to the kitchen. He'd still make the soup but at a much slower pace while Hank recouped his energy.
Connor clapped his hands together and began going to work preparing food that would be gentle on Hank’s no doubt sensitive stomach. A long-standing tradition said chicken noodle soup was the way to go.
He regarded the chicken and vegetables he’d left on the counter. There were many recipes to draw from, and he picked one that wouldn’t take an inordinate amount of time to complete.
Since discovering cooking, Connor had found he enjoyed the process very much. Diving into it settled his ever-active mind and while he couldn’t eat any of the end results, seeing everything come together, in the end, was quite satisfying.
Hank seemed to have no complaints about anything he’d been served so far. Hopefully, this too would be a success.
All told, the dish came together quickly. The only lengthy task simply getting everything together in one pot, every ingredient was cut relatively the same size, so it cooked evenly.
Connor was almost finished making the soup when he heard coughing in the hallway, followed by a round of familiar sneezing.
“You should be in bed,” Connor said as he came into the hallway, a pale Hank clutching a blanket over his shoulders staring at him banefully. Stubborn to the core as per usual.
“Yeah, well, I can only sleep so much when my head feels like it’s on fire.” Hank slowly walked forward, Connor ready to catch him should he stumble. Hank scoffed. “Stop hovering, Connor. I'm not an invalid.”
He stepped to the side of the hallway reluctantly, knowing Hank would only get pissed at him if he forced his way in against Hank’s wishes. His partner was a lot of things, but patience was not among his strong suits.
Somehow, Hank made it to the couch, flopping down on it with a large sigh. He sniffed loudly, then pulled at the box of tissues on the coffee table in front of him, rubbing it against his nose. “I hate this.”
“I believe many people share the same sentiment when under the weather,” Connor replied as he returned to the kitchen to stir the pot on the stove. “But it is just the flu, and it will pass.”
“’ Just the flu?’” Hank parroted. “You’re severely underestimating how terrible it really is.”
Connor resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. While he knew Hank was going through the worse of it, there was no need to overblow the issue. He, however, chose to keep the thought to himself. “I will have to take your word for it.”
“Just wait until it happens to you,” Hank threatened ominously as Connor scooped some of the chicken noodle soup into a bowl after turning off the burner. The broth, having had proper time to develop flavor, was golden in color, the various vegetables and meat in it copious.
Though his sense of smell and taste was miles above a normal human’s, simply putting together the right ingredients didn’t mean all would come together well. Especially since Connor couldn’t eat food himself.
Connor chuckled as he brought the bowl of soup to the couch, a dishtowel on the bottom of it. “Believe it or not, I look forward to that moment.”
“Yeah, yeah, the eternal optimist.” Hank stared at the bowl while Connor dipped a spoon in it, bringing it towards Hank. “I can feed myself, Connor,” he insisted, reaching for the spoon he was holding out.
He missed the handle by an inch, Connor patiently waiting as Hank tried again, succeeding this time.
Shoving the utensil into his mouth, Hank remained silent as he chewed until swallowing. “This is…delicious.”
Sumo jumped up on the other end of the couch, scooting forward until he was as close as possible to the bowl of soup Connor held.
“I can’t remember the last time I had this.” Hank held out his hand for the bowl, Connor carefully placing it there.
Connor brightened, glancing away from Sumo, who he had been distracting so Hank could get eat his meal unimpeded. “Really? I’m glad.”
Making a very concentrated effort to remain sitting up, Hank finished half the soup, then placed the remainder in front of Sumo, who dug into it greedily.
“He’s going to get fat,” Connor warned, pleased nonetheless that Sumo liked it as well.
“Let him.”
Hank laid back down on the pile of pillows at the top of the couch, Connor watching him in curiosity. “Are you feeling any better?”
“Soup doesn’t work that quickly, so no, still feel like shit on toast.”
Connor moved the now-empty bowl out of Sumo’s reach, taking it back into the kitchen before returning to Hank's side. “If you’re still feverish, I can assist you further if needed.”
Raising a brow, Hank looked skeptical. “How?”
“Like this,” Connor said, lifting the side of the blanket and pressing himself against Hank’s side.
“I’m not really in the mood for cuddling,” Hank replied flippantly, not quite fighting Connor as he got closer.
Closing his eyes briefly, Connor reached inside himself and lowered his body temperature a bit. “What are you do…oh.”
Ever so slightly, Hank scooted downward, pressing his face against Connor’s neck and chest. He released a long breath as he laid a hand over Connor’s waist.
He thought maybe Hank had fallen asleep until he muttered in a low voice, “Thank you for being here, taking care of me. No one’s done that in a long time.”
Connor's chest warmed pleasantly in response, wishing he could tell the man snuggled against him how very much he meant to Connor and that it was truly no trouble at all.
But it was much too soon in the relationship. Both of them had just started this journey together. Connor would have to settle for the bare minimum.
For now.
He squeezed Hank closer. “You’re very welcome.”
Hank’s breathing slowed, nasal congestion causing him to snore loudly. Still, Connor wouldn’t have left him for the world.