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Hank had had the flu before.
Hell, he’d had COVID before.
This, whatever this was, was not any of those things.
There were only a few short moments of peace from the second Hank woke up, before an unsettling and all too familiar sinking in his stomach alerted him of the surprise to come. Rushing to the bathroom, he flipped up the toilet seat in time to puke up… nothing of note. Only dark bile and grunts filled the toilet bowl. After an excruciating time of groaning, moaning, and heaving, Hank brushed his teeth best he could tolerate before stumbling back into bed.
Connor stood quietly at Hank’s desk. Like a few times before, there was no sign of Hank. However, he didn’t recall Hank planning to hit the bars the night before, and he also knew that the Lieutenant didn’t have enough bottles of alcohol in his home to be capable of a hangover. So where was he?
Perhaps running late, grabbing a coffee or snack before work. Though… it was past the period of Hank’s typical coffee-and-pastry-stop tardiness. Cautiously, Connor dialed the Lieutenant’s number.
To his genuine surprise, Hank answered. “Lieutenant! This is Connor. Do you intend to come into the office today?”
What Connor heard on the other side of the line was nothing his 300+ language processor could understand. “Liutenant? Are you alright?”
“Ugh…feel like fucking shit…”
Connor’s LED circled yellow only once before he answered, “I’ll inform Captain Fowler that you are taking sick leave. Do you have sufficient medication and supplies at home?”
Hank grumbled something that might have been helpful information, might have been “not my mom,” might have been something else, but it was enough for Connor to already be building an order to the local drugstore. “Stay put, Lieutenant. I’ll be over within an hour.”
With another unintelligible mumble from the other side of the phone, Connor ended the connection and headed out of the precinct, but not before Gavin side-stepped in front of the gate.
“And where the hell are you rushing without your babysitter?”
Connor looked down to meet his scrutinizing gaze and responded blankly, "Lieutenant Anderson is taking a sick day. Thank you for assisting while your team member is on break.”
“Assist- hey!”
But Connor had already brushed roughly past Gavin and towards the taxis waiting outside the building.
After picking up the order placed under Hank’s name (and, his checking account), Connor stood on the Lieutenant’s doorstep with his index finger harshly pressed into the doorbell. Though they had spent the better part of a few weeks together at this point, and tensions were finally settling, Connor still found he didn’t understand Hank. For a plethora of reasons, but why he still had a manual doorbell when digital ones had been standard for at least a decade still perplexed him.
Just as he was about to go around to the window Connor knew Hank always forgot to lock, the man himself opened the door.
Connor had seen Hank in many a weakened state, perhaps even some of his worst moments, but never had he seen him so pale and desolate as he did now. His eyes were unfocused and squinting, almost seemingly unsure of what he was looking at. He stood with a slight hunch, the worn collar of his ragged t-shirt exposing a collarbone, while his shorts sagged where they were pressed against the door, his white-knuckle grip keeping him up.
They regarded each other for a moment, Connor assessing Hank’s state before the man’s eyes widened and he quickly shuffled away, leaving the front door wide open and an excited Sumo to greet the android. Curiously, Connor stepped in and closed the door behind him, setting the grocery bag on the couch before petting the dog appreciatively.
Finding Hank again wasn’t hard, as the sound of awful retching echoed from the bathroom. When Connor turned the corner to see Hank over the toilet, the android let out (an empathetic) sigh. The Lieutenant clung to the porcelain bowl like it was the only thing keeping him up, and it very well may have been. His head hung over the rim and echoed his miserable gasps and pants. When he raised his head and finally met Connor’s quiet, concerned eyes, drool spilled from his mouth like a teething toddler. “Hey,” was all he managed.
“I…assume this wasn’t alcohol induced, due to the lack of empty bottles lying around. Lieutenant, it seems like you are quite ill.”
Hank grinned a tired, oh so tired grin. “Wow, what a striking conclusion. What gave y’that- hrrgh-” unfortunately, his sass was cut short by another pitiful lurch into the bowl. Connor winced, but peeked over the rim to analyze just what was coming up.
“Lieutenant, when you are able, please tell me what other symptoms you are experiencing. I’m not a doctor, but I’m equipped with enough knowledge to triage or manage low-risk illnesses.”
The crumpled man on the floor sighed once the tensions released his body, head lolling against the tank. Weakly, he grumbled, “I’ll be fine, just gotta get through it.”
Connor crouched down next to him and said in that tone that Hank hated so much, the one where he knew he was right but Hank was too stubborn to admit it, “Your cooperation helps you more than it does me.”
Finally, he murmured, too exhausted to talk back, “Hot. Head hurts. Feel fuckin’ delerious, ‘m not even sure you’re here right now or I’m just imagining it. Fuck, I hope not…”
“I can assure you I’m right here Lieutenant.”
“Wonderful,” Hank rolled his eyes before pushing back from the toilet, and leaned against the tub. “Listen, you didn’t need to come all th’way out here, I just need-”
Connor caught the man before his arms gave out lifting himself on the edge of the tub, swiftly ducking under Hank’s shaky arms and lifting him with the android’s own weight. “You need water and to lie down, at the very least. Let me take you back to your bed. I’ll grab you a water once you’re settled.”
“No no wait, m’mouth, hold on…” Hank swung forward before they were able to clear the doorway, one hand gripping the sink while the other clung to Connor’s shoulder. After splashing water around his mouth, he sagged against the android, the endeavors that wracked his body before now replaced with exhaustion. “Bed. I need bed.”
With a nod, Connor helped a stumbling Hank back towards his bedroom where the man nearly collapsed once the mattress was beneath him. Eyes already fluttering shut, Connor maneuvered his legs under the blankets and tucked him in.
“Go back to sleep, Lieutenant. Let me know if you need anything in the meantime,” Connor said with a smile, patting his handiwork on the blankets.
Hank stared at him from below, a bleary and delirious look, though also contemplative. Connor waited for him to say anything, but Hank eventually grunted and turned his head, finally succumbing to sleep.
When Hank next awoke, the shadow of darkness over the room was the first note to register. He had absolutely no idea what time it was. Actually, he had no idea how his day had even gone, all he remembered was suffering and throwing up. Which, reminded him- yep, still felt like shit, but no identifiable inklings of a lurking puke.
He sat up, hand resting on the bedside table for support, before his fingers processed the smooth feeling of cool glass under them. Realizing it was a glass of water, Hank took as many cautious sips as he could manage, nausea still ever present. He didn’t remember preparing it though, but hell, he didn’t remember when he got to bed again either.
The recollection of the daily motion of feeding Sumo was the only thing that eventually swung his legs over the edge of the bed, shuffling to the oddly closed door and through the hallway. However, once he reached the end, he paused.
Maybe he didn’t remember getting to bed earlier or calling into work today, but he certainly didn’t remember clearing off the living room table. Nor picking up the leftover boxes from two nights ago. Or piling up the books off the floor.
“What the hell…”
A shuffling from the kitchen caught his attention, and his bleary eyes focused on the other being in his kitchen just as it spoke, “Ah, good evening Lieutenant. Are you feeling any better?”
Ah. So the angel he thought he dreamed of wasn’t a dream- well, not quite.
“Sumo…” Hank said, intelligently.
“Already fed,” Connor replied, wiping his hands as he stood from tying up the trash. “I recall you feeding him three cups of kibble at night. I didn’t want him to wake you, so I hope that was right.”
Between them, Sumo wagged his tail excitedly, recognizing his name.
Dumbfounded, Hank stared at Connor some more before looking around. Clearly, Connor had been here for a while.
As Hank was so famously known for, he thanked him for his help. “What the fuck are you doing here? What,” he gestured to the clean table tops he hadn't seen in months, “the fuck is this?”
“Hank, you didn't show up at the precinct this morning, or afternoon. I called you, remember?”
“Hell no. Did you break in just to clean…?” Hank's head was starting to hurt.
“You don't remember throwing up earlier?”
“Of course I do. And I'm this close to doin’ it again.”
“You should really eat something. You've thrown up nothing but bile since I've gotten here.”
Hank groaned and rubbed his head, mumbling mostly to himself, “If I even think ‘bout food ‘m gonna puke…” Suddenly aware of the shake in his knees, he plopped into a chair at his kitchen table. In front of him, Connor slid a sleeve of saltine crackers across the table.
“I figured that may be the case. I bought simple and easy to digest foods that might not upset your stomach alongside the other medications and supplies I prepared.”
“Prepare…?” Hank stopped rubbing his temple to turn and see a row of products arranged neatly on his table. “Oh no. I can't do this right now.”
Connor tilted his head in that innocent, annoying way of his as he watched Hank. “Lieutenant Anderson, please have some crackers. I suggest a shower as well. The steam may help clear your airways.”
Though the thought of food instantly made his stomach churn, it was true he had had nothing all day. It seemed Hank may have slept the entire day, actually, so even just a few crackers was a little tempting. Hank slowly, slowly, opened the package and nibbled on a cracker. He had so many questions, but almost no more energy to voice them. Behind him, Connor stood at attention, arms behind his back like he always was whenever someone else shared the room with them. Hank hated it. He did more work than most other agents, yet he was confined to the background.
“I'm goin’ back to bed,” Hank grumbled, exhaustion from sickness and the confusing situation beginning to grip his conscious once again.
Connor moved toward him and opened his mouth to protest, but Hank held up his hand, “Connor, I can barely stand. ‘m goin' to bed.”
“Then I'll assist you.”
That made Hank pause, slowly turn in his seat. “What?”
“You've been lying in sweat and bile all day. You really ought to shower, Lieutenant. I'll help you.”
Hank met the android's eyes and was startled to see such determination behind them. He narrowed his back, part defiance, part squinting against the light and growing pounding in his skull. “What part of ‘I can't stand’ did you not get?”
Connor tilted his head again as he spoke, and god Hank hated how endearing it was, “Then a bath it is. What part of ‘Then I'll assist you,’ did you misunderstand?”
Had he any more energy, Hank would've thrown something at the other man. He didn't, however, and had no more brainpower for a witty comeback to Connor’s infuriating sass, and instead motioned to the big lump of fur that had settled into the corner, “Sumo, attack this bastard.”
Sumo raised his head and boofed.
Hank sighed and shook his head, his weakened state making him more truthful. “Listen, Connor. I barely have it in me to talk right now. I can't do shit.”
“I hear you, Lieutenant,” a gentle hand came to rest on Hank's shoulder, and he looked up to find a surprising kindness in Connor’s features, “Allow me.”
Something stirred in Hank, what at first he was afraid was his heart, but in fact was lower. He swallowed. “Oh no.” He swallowed again. Spit began pooling in his mouth and he swallowed once more trying to clear it, but it only pooled again.
With what could only be described as android reflexes, Connor snatched something off the table and was under Hank’s arm helping him to the bathroom in seconds. Hank reached for the toilet bowl before Connor had even lowered him down, and he barely processed the feeling of deft hands tying his longer hair back as his knees hit the ground. Tears gathered in his eyes against his will as more lurches were ripped out of him, and he coughed and sputtered weakly in between spews.
It was around then that Hank finally seemed to give in. Connor frowned at the scene in front of him, feeling helpless for once in his relatively short life. The hair ties he ordered did end up being used after all, and he confirmed their status in a future reference list for sickly materials.
While Hank spent his time with his face in the bowl, Connor began to run the tub faucet behind him. The LED circled yellow many times as he contemplated options. It was concerning that Hank didn’t seem able to keep anything down, simple foods included, which meant that oral medication was not currently an option. That left… no immediate treatment options besides letting the sickness run the rest of its course. Connor adjusted a timer starting from the morning that should Hank not retain anything else for 24 hours, medical assistance would be necessary.
Once his LED returned to blue, Connor gently laid a hand on Hank’s back, who had stilled with his arm over the bowl and his head smushed against it. “How are you feeling, Lieutenant?"
“Worse than a hangover,” he received mumbled in return.
Connor placed a bare hand against the man’s forehead, synthskin exposed, and did a quick scan of symptoms. Fever present at 100.4 degrees, muscle contractions- possible body chills beginning, pale skin and excess sweat, dehydration suspected.
“Just one moment, Lieutenant. Let me get your water.”
Behind him, Hank protested, but it fell on deaf processors as Connor refilled a glass with cold, fresh water and brought it back to him. “Please drink what you can, you need it.”
Hank sighed and reached for it, using the first few sips to rinse his mouth out. By then, the bath was full of steaming warm water and Connor turned the faucet off. “Ready, Lieutenant?” He asked.
Hank looked over his shoulder at the tub. “... Gotta take my clothes off.”
“That would be preferable, yes,” Connor commented, standing at attention in wait.
He watched as Hank surely tried to form a protest, but lost the will to fight. Connor suppressed a small smirk; he could get used to such an agreeable Hank.
When Hank shot him a glare, Connor turned around and faced the wall, giving the man some privacy. “Let me know if you need assistance getting into the tub,” he called out.
Once the sound of water splashing registered in his processor, Connor turned around to Hank settling into the tub. His LED circled yellow as he took in Hank's bare form, assessing for any injuries or other identifiable symptoms. Hank clearing his throat due to the heat brought his attention back, and the light circled blue once again.
Slowly, Hank relaxed into the water, humming pleasantly. Connor smiled, “Feel good?”
Hank only grunted in response, and Connor began taking off his jacket and rolling his sleeves. “Not a bad idea afterall, huh?” He teased.
As Hank sank into the warm waters, Connor collected the various soap bottles and loofah, sitting on the edge of the tub. Under his gentle hands, Hank jerked at the feeling of the loofah sudsing his back, tensing quickly. Connor continued his ministrations, unbothered but commenting, “Please relax, it will be more comfortable if you aren't stiff.”
“I can do this myself,” Hank grumbled, grabbing weakly for the loofah.
“Can you? You just complained you couldn't even stand.”
Eventually, Hank sighed and gave in. It was true. He barely had the strength to lift his arms. Still, it ate away at him. "This is humiliating,” he grumbled.
“Why, Lieutenant? I am not burdened by assisting my partner in need.”
Connor spoke so nonchalantly, soap still gliding across his shoulders, Hank nearly believed him. It did… feel nice. Like a weight was being massaged out of his shoulders. When was the last time he took a warm bath? When was the last time… someone took care of him?
Hank chose not to dwell on that, and blamed it on the sickly fog in his brain.
“You're in my home and my dick’s out. Call me Hank already.”
Connor smiled a tiny smile, amused. “Understood, Hank.”
By the time the android had moved to Hank's hair, the man was dozing in and out. Careful, measured digits held Hank's head gently, soaping down to the (very greasy) roots. He tilted his head back, keeping water from the sickened man's eyes as he rinsed the suds, and finished off with conditioner. The bottle looked like it had been long abandoned, but a good shake mixed the contents well enough. Once Connor was satisfied with the clean, leaving some parts to Hank's own reach he set down his head upon his lap to signal he was done.
Except… Hank didn't move. He was fast asleep. His head lolled slightly to the side against Connor's thigh, breathing through parted lips. Connor's LED stuttered yellow.
Programming told him draining the tub and beginning to dry Hank off would be the most efficient, but that would surely wake him up. He glanced at the towel hanging to his right, and made a decision with only an imperceptible flash of red from his temple. With quick, quiet hands, Connor folded the towel and gently lifted Hank’s head, slipping the towel underneath. Gentle ministrations swayed Hank’s head back and forth, Connor drying Hank’s hair in portions at a time. After he was satisfied enough with his work, Connor rolled his left pant leg up and dropped a washcloth near the drain. Sticking his foot in the tub, he smothered the drain with the washcloth underneath his foot, and flipped the lever to drain. The drain still made noise, but gurgled at a much more reasonable volume. Connor continued to dry the lieutenant’s hair till the water level lowered, and Hank started to stir himself.
“Good evening Hank. Are you ready for bed?”
Aged, blue eyes squinted and blinked up at him, his processing of the situation almost as clear as if he had an LED light himself.
“Am I naked?”
“Yes, you fell asleep in the bath. Would it be easier to brush your teeth here where you can remain sitting?”
“Fuckin’... I need some clothes. Don’t look!”
Despite his attitude, Hank’s head was still resting on Connor’s lap. Connor tilted his head with a small smile, tapping Hank’s head to remind him. The other man’s eyes widened in realization, flushing more than his feverish state already made him. Connor helped him sit up, the water still draining around him. He placed the toothbrush and toothpaste on the edge of the tub without looking at the man inside and headed to the closet in Hank’s bedroom.
Connor recalled Hank’s preferred sleeping attire as a pair of boxers and an old T-shirt, and searched for a clean version of both. Once he selected a wool Michigan State University tee and checkered boxers, Connor knocked on the door to the bathroom again. “Hank? I’ve brought pajamas. Please finish the water as well. Are your teeth brushed?”
A grumble sounded, once again sounding something like “not my mom,” and Connor let himself in to drop off the pajamas. “Do you need-”
“No. Leave me alone, I’ll get there, fuck’s sake…” Hank grumbled, crawling out of the tub.
Connor nodded and closed the door, clasping his hands behind his back as he stood outside the door.
Hank wrapped the towel around himself, admittedly feeling a bit better, but mind still clouded and a little confused. Mint was also a better aftertaste than bile, and he’d been more than ready to go back to bed since the moment he last got up.
Hank looked at the clothes on the toilet and frowned, unsure how he felt about this becoming a recurring scene. Questions still lingered, but he still didn’t have the energy to ponder. Maybe tomorrow he’d feel better.
Once dressed, Hank waddled into the hall and sighed seeing Connor at attention and waiting. “Can I go back to bed now?” He asked, annoyance and exhaustion seeping through.
“You have free will, Hank. I’m just suggesting things that may improve your health more efficiently.”
Hank just stared at him. They’d had this conversation before, haven’t they? Hank still wasn’t used to someone nagging him about his health, especially from an android. A detective android, to say the least.
Connor followed him as he made his way to his bedroom, shuffling small steps the entire way. Before Hank could get to his own bed, Connor lifted the covers for him, looking at him expectantly. The motion was ridiculous, he surely had enough strength to lift a few blankets, but he could feel sleep clawing at him so he’d save Connor the chew out just this once.
He sighed once his head hit the pillow, a fresh smell he didn’t notice before drifting to his nose. Perhaps cleaning up did have a few benefits. His head did feel less compressed, and satisfyingly tingly. He’d have to actually thank Connor later.
Speaking of, the android stood above him. Hank eyed him as he settled in, “What, ya gonna kiss me goodnight too?”
“Would that aid-”
“Jesus kid, you gotta figure out sarcasm next.”
“I see. Goodnight, Hank. I hope you feel better in the morning. Let me know if there’s anything you need during the night.” Connor paused for an uncomfortable amount of time before turning away, and Hank frowned. It was long enough for him to think, to consider what few memories he had of the day. All of them revolved around Connor. One request alarmingly sat at the forefront of his mind. Stay.
Hank sighed. “’s blankets in the closet.”
“Hm?” Connor turned around, LED seeming to light up at a potential task. “Would you like more blankets?”
“No, no,” Hank pushed past the discomfort in his chest, but averted his eyes. “For you. Sumo might bother ya, but the couch isn’t too bad.”
When a response didn’t come right away, Hank chanced a look to the android, and was surprised to see his temple glowing yellow. Fuck, did androids even need blankets? A bed? Sleep? He was such an idiot.
Connor cut off his spiralling thoughts, confusing things mixed with sleep when he answered, a little quieter than usual. “Thanks Hank,” he said, and left a small gap in the door when he left.
Close enough, Hank figured, and finally let sleep take him.
On the other side of the door, a red light circled in the dark, and a genuine smile stretched on synthetic lips.