Work Text:
It’s a busy day at work, and Hank manages to only make it busier for himself by being so focused on the case notes on his tablet that he doesn’t watch where he’s going and slams right into Tina and her coffee.
Of course he doesn’t have spare clothes at the station right now, so he accepts defeat and makes the trip home for a fresh shirt. He really doesn’t have time for this right now. Luckily, he currently has a nice and helpful roommate who can help him get this done quickly.
Connor doesn’t work at the station anymore, and days like this Hank could really use his automatic filing skills. He’s been staying with Hank while looking for work, and Sumo has really benefitted from the company. And also the many, many more walks.
And Hank, well. It’s been really nice to have someone to come home to. Probably a bit too nice.
He’s getting his shit together again after the fastest possible shirt change, checking for his wallet, his keys, his gun, all the while having to knee Sumo out of the way, because the spoiled lug can’t seem to understand that Hank isn’t there for him.
“Christ, move,” Hank grunts as Sumo once again tries to sit on Hank’s feet, because that’s apparently his genius plan to prevent Hank from leaving. “Connor, have you seen my- thanks,” he sighs when Connor brings his car keys. “Ugh, I can’t wait for today to be over. I might not be home until midnight if we end up taking them down today.”
“Could be. But you have all the evidence and the warrants are coming through, I’m sure you’ll wrap it up soon.”
“Fuck, I hope so.” He’s checked every pocket, everything is where it’s supposed to be, and he starts working on the stupid zipper on his worn old jacket. Connor comes in close to take hold of Sumo’s collar, just in case he decides to be a rebel and try to follow Hank out the door.
And then something in Hank’s busy brain must misfire, or some old habit must activate, because, without even thinking, Hank leans in for a brief peck on Connor’s lips, and goes right back to working on his dodgy zipper as he turns to leave.
“Gotta go. Love ya.”
“Love you too,” Connor says very quietly, and all of it happened in the span of maybe five seconds. Hank is half way down the road when the blur of case notes in his brain clears long enough for him to realize what he just did.
He slams the breaks and pulls over, suddenly in a cold sweat.
What the hell did he just do?!
“Fuck!” he shouts, and slaps his palm against the steering wheel before burying his face in his hands. He can barely find enough spare mental energy right now to figure out his damn zipper, never mind an accidental love confession, how is he supposed to deal with this? And how the fuck did that happen?!
And he can’t just let it hang. He has to say something. Do something. But he has literally no time, he has to get back to work, so all he can do is tap out a quick text and put it out of his mind. And hope to god that Connor doesn’t high tail it outta there like his ass is on fire, leaving Hank with a nice Dear John letter. Is it even a Dear John if you’ve only kissed once by accident? Hank doesn’t know.
“Shit, sorry about that,” he texts. “I have to get back to work, but I promise we’ll talk later, ok?”
Connor just texts back a brutal “Ok.” And honestly, Hank deserves it.
God, that was stupid.
It’s hours later before he has a moment to breathe, and he sips some slightly less burnt than usual station coffe as he thinks through what the fuck just happened.
Even when he was married it wasn’t usually like this. Jen worked early shifts most of the time, so she was rarely even around to bid him goodbye at the door when he left for work. So it’s not like this specific scenario could have become a habit deeply implanted enough for it to just happen on automatic. Hell, she was the more disorganized one, so asking if she’d seen his keys would likely have gotten him a shrug, there’s no real comparison to be made here.
But Connor takes his role as roommate-slash-dog sitter pretty seriously, and keeps his shit in order. As well as some of Hank’s, which he honestly isn’t sure he’s comfortable with. Connor isn’t there to be a damn housekeeper. But days like today where he’s half sure he’d forget his own head in his hurry, it is pretty nice.
And he may well have just fucked it all up by doing whatever the hell this was.
Yet more hours later, as he settles in to wait with the whole team for their perp to come home so they can rush the place, he has to sourly admit to himself that this is all entirely his own doing. He let himself think it, is the thing. Long before this, he let himself imagine, sometimes, what it would be like to just… lean in for a kiss. What it would feel like. How Connor would react to it. Even if he isn’t interested in Hank like that, would he like kissing at all? Do androids do that? He’s being an idiot, because they definitely do, it was on national television that they do.
But would Connor do that? He’s a prototype after all. And is there even any point in speculating about any of this if Hank’s never gonna try? Because he wasn’t. But apparently, in his rush earlier, the part of his brain that made sure he didn’t do anything stupid like that must have just shut down.
Fuck.
It’s long past midnight by the time they have the perp and all his friends in custody, and Hank’s eyes feel glued shut to the point where he doesn’t even try and drive home, just gets a cab. But home means Connor, and, god, Hank would do damn near anything to not have to have this conversation right now.
He’s going to, though. He’s not gonna run from his own damn mess.
However, when he gets out of the cab there’s only a small light on inside, and when he enters, Connor is lying on the couch, his LED swirling a slow yellow for stasis. He rarely needs it, so either Hank’s little episode earlier rattled him so badly he needed to shut down, or he’s giving Hank an out to get some sleep before tackling this.
It’s likely the latter.
Hank takes the gift that it is, and goes the fuck to bed. He pats Sumo on the head, does the briefest bedtime routine possible, and sinks into his pillow with a groan. The last thought through his head before he’s out is that Connor said it back.
He said it back.
- - -
Hank’s had a lot of shitty mornings. By far most of them have been caused by his own self-destructive acts, or by stressful workdays like the one he just had. It’s been a good, long while since he’s had a morning this shitty exclusively because he fucked up.
But this is it. Call the presses, Hank Anderson shit the fucking bed for the first time in a decade.
That isn’t to say he never makes mistakes, hell no. But most of them don’t mean that one of the most important things in his damn miserable life might be hanging in the balance. So he’s gotta fix this. As he sits up in bed, he’s acutely aware that the android in the living room can tell that he’s awake, and every moment he drags his heels getting out of bed will only add to the mess. So up he fucking goes. Takes a piss, rinses the funk out of his mouth, puts on his ratty bath robe and gives Sumo his morning greetings. One blessing about the big oaf is that he’s very good at waiting until Hank is done in the bathroom before pouncing on him, but then he does demand his ear rubs. And if Hank doesn’t give them to him now, there won’t be any peace for the conversation he’s about to have.
God, he needs coffee.
He’s barely finished the thought before he hears the gurgle of the coffee maker, and of course Connor wouldn’t want to give him any chance to stall. He already gave Hank the massive gift of letting him get a full night’s sleep, and while Hank isn’t sure what kind of mood Connor will be in, patience was never one of his virtues, even before deviation.
Sumo finally wanders off towards his water bowl, and Hank takes a deep breath, the smell of coffee perking him up already as he heads for the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Connor greets him, sounding exactly like his usual self as he pours a mug of coffee. Hank can’t blame him for keeping his cards close to his chest right now, but he sure wishes there was any indication how Connor’s feeling about all of this.
“Mornin’. Thanks,” Hank mutters, taking the mug, and meekly following Connor to the dining table.
Not sure how to start, he takes the time to blow on his coffee and take a tiny, scalding sip, in the hopes that caffeine will give him the brain power he needs. Nothing comes to him, and Connor’s calm face is blaring impatience in a way most people probably wouldn’t even realize. But the air damn near vibrates around him, and Hank decides to start at the basics.
“I’m sorry.”
Connor makes the tiniest possible frown. “For what?”
That makes Hank pause. “... you don’t think I need to apologize?”
“Oh, no, you definitely do. But I’d like to make sure you’re actually aware what you’re apologizing for. Because I don’t think you are.”
“For. All of it.”
Connor’s frown deepens. “You’re not helping your case, Hank.”
“No, I know. Fuck. Sorry for… for springing that on you with no warning, for one thing. You didn’t ask for that.”
“I did not. But I can easily forgive you for that, considering it was exactly what I wanted to happen, if perhaps not under those circumstances.”
Hank forgets about his coffee, setting down his mug with a dull clunk. “Really?”
For the first time, Connor’s face does something less neutral, and he quirks the smallest, careful smile. The one that comes out when he’s not sure he’s allowed to be feeling what he’s feeling. “Really. In case you didn’t notice, I returned your declaration.”
“I did notice,” Hank mutters, crooking a smile of his own. Maybe this won’t be a disaster.
“Then imagine my despair when, immediately after, I receive an apology, with no opportunity to ask for clarification.”
Or maybe it will, shit.
Before Hank can reply, Connor holds up his hand to stop him. “Don’t get me wrong, I understand. Even if you’d had the time yesterday, which you didn’t, your mind would not have been here. I’m not angry that you postponed this conversation. But I hope you can at least see what kind of doubt that apology left me in.”
That does make sense, and Hank hates himself a little more for doing that shit at the worst possible time.
“Yeah, I get it. Sorry for that.”
Connor shakes his head with a tiny huff of breath that’s clearly just another one of his little mannerisms to make him seem more human. But he’s using them more, now, and not only when he’s trying to achieve something. Deviancy makes use of every program he already has, and not always in ways Connor would prefer. But this time, at least, it fits.
“I’m not even sure you should apologize for that one, either. I struggle to think of what else you could have done at the time. Ignoring it likely would have caused me just as much confusion.”
“Well, then maybe it’s less of an apology and more an expression of how bummed I am that the nice moment got ruined for you,” Hank says, and Connor nods.
“I’ll take that. But now that we have the opportunity, can you at least clarify for me exactly what you were apologizing for yesterday? What I mean to say is… do you regret doing it?”
“No. I mean. Yes and no,” Hank amends, because he has to be honest about this. As much as he wants to just bury this whole conversation and move forward, seeing as they’re apparently on the same page, Connor deserves better than this.
Hank might be a wreck when it comes to himself, but he always did right by his partners. Work partners and romantic partners. So he takes a deep breath.
“I wasn’t gonna do it.”
“I would assume not,” Connor says. “It didn’t seem like a good time.”
“No, I mean. I wasn’t ever gonna do it,” Hank explains, feeling shitty about it, and it doesn’t help that Connor’s face falls. “Look, as long as you’re living here, it’s kinda iffy starting something like this, you know? If you weren’t into it, that shit could have put a lot of pressure on you.”
Connor’s face does a lot of different things in a short span of time, as if his programming is struggling to decide which emotion it’s appropriate to convey right now, but eventually he settles back on a frown. “I don’t understand. What kind of pressure?”
“I mean. For one thing, being trapped in a house with some old fart who’s pining for you can’t be a nice living situation.”
“Trapped?” Connor asks, lightly shaking his head. “Hank, I could easily go elsewhere. For one thing, Markus has made it clear that there’s always a place for me in Jericho. Even Ben offered me a room after the revolution.”
That’s news to Hank, and he’s sure his face shows it. But that still doesn’t quite change the issue. “But wouldn’t that be awkward for you either way?”
Connor shrugs. “Probably. But I wouldn’t be trapped, is what I’m saying.”
“I guess you’re right,” Hank concedes, “but I still wasn’t gonna do it. And that’s… well that’s on me. I had all these reasons why it wouldn’t work out, right? That you’re so young, that you’re so new to freedom like this, that you could do better than me.” He can tell Connor’s gearing up to argue, which is flattering, but he needs to get this out, so he barrels on. “But that was all bullshit. I should have just fucking asked. Like an adult.”
“You should have, yes.”
“I was just scared. Alright? I’m still not at my best, and I treated you like shit. Hell, I’m not even sure I won’t still do that sometimes, either out of habit or just by accident. And I just think you deserve better than that.”
The last few words tumble out of him, and he drops his gaze to his cooling coffee. It wasn’t a nice confession to make, but it was a necessary one. And now the ball is officially in Connor’s court.
For a while it’s quiet, and Hank can’t quite make himself look up. Then Connor’s hand settles on top of Hank’s, synth skin retracted, and it feels both very weird and really nice.
“Those are valid concerns. And I’m… pleased, I suppose, that you at least gave the matter some thought. But that doesn’t change that fact that you didn’t ask my opinion on the matter.”
Hank nods, because there’s no argument to be made here. “Yeah. Sorry for that.”
“Apology accepted,” Connor says, giving Hank’s hand a little squeeze, and he finally dares to look up, finding Connor looking at him with so much fondness it kinda hurts his heart. “As for your concerns… you said yourself that they’re bullshit. So. Do you regret it now?”
“No. I’m not sure I won’t in the future, though, because I could mess this up real bad.”
“As could I. I’m not without flaws, Hank. You of all people should know that.”
Hank huffs out an amused breath, and turns his hand over so he can link their fingers together. “You got that goofy face, for one thing.”
“And by your own admission you pine after me and my goofy face. So who’s the real goof here?”
That gets a full laugh out of Hank, and he gives Connor’s hand a little shake. “Touche.”
They stay like that for a while, fingers linked on the table while Hank drinks his lukewarm coffee and the sun slowly crawls higher.
“I have to go in to work around noon,” Hank says eventually, and Connor nods.
“I have a couple of possible employers to contact today as well.” His eyes find Hank’s, and they’re so lovely and soft Hank feels like he could melt just from being looked at like that. “I love you,” he says, just like that, and Hank’s damn old heart can barely take it.
“Yeah, I love you too.”
End.