Work Text:
“Hank, you should get the Oldsmobile’s heating system checked out!”
“It’s Sunday, no sane repair shop is open today!”
“Hank, you should get the Oldsmobile’s heating system checked out!”
“After the long-ass day we’ve had? I’d rather just chill out on the couch!”
“Hank, you should get the Oldsmobile’s heating system checked out!”
“Eh, it’s not that bad! Only a few more days left of this cold weather and we don’t go on longer drives anyway!”
“Hank, you should’ve gotten the Oldsmobile’s heating system checked out!”
Well, yeah, Hank’s freezing his ass off. Truth be told it wouldn’t be an issue if they didn’t have to go on this stakeout in the middle of the fuckin’ night, in the outskirts of Detroit. But the weather is still cold out there, especially at this hour, and it’s seeping in through the aged insulation of the car doors.
“There’s no use cryin’ over spilt milk,” Hank grumbles between chattering teeth.
Connor looks at him with that typical Connor expression channeling that Hank is being stupid right now. The judgment in his eyes is palpable even in the low light that filters in from a nearby streetlamp.
“I fucked up, okay? It’s whatever now.”
“We should go back and get you warmed up.”
“The fuck we should!” Hank argues. “We’re working right now! We need to catch those Red Ice dealers!”
“Your health is more important than the stakeout,” Connor states, and fuck. It shouldn’t make Hank’s heart flutter.
Stubbornly, Hank shakes his head. “It’s not that bad! I’m just a little cold.”
Connor narrows his eyes, probably measuring Hank’s temperature or something. He’s freaky like that. His eyes flick down to Hank’s bare hands.
“You should’ve brought your gloves! I bought them for you for occasions like this!”
Hank crosses his arms, tucking his hands away from Connor’s direct gaze. “You bought them with my money!”
“That’s not important! They would keep your hands warm in chilly weather like this.”
“As I said, there’s no use arguing about this right now! It won’t change anythin’!”
Finally, Connor accepts Hank’s point and gives up on bothering him, even though his eyes still radiate dismay. He turns to look out the passenger window instead, and Hank gets a breather.
Apparently, this dark alley is where there have been sighting of their perp. It really is pitch-black out there, so they can mostly rely on Connor’s night vision. They’ve been sitting here for more than an hour, and it’s boring as fuck. Hank’s shred of hope about catching the perp fast seems to be evaporating.
In his prime, Hank didn’t mind stakeouts, especially when he had a friendly partner next to him and they could entertain each other. But that was before Hank’s knees started aching whenever he keeps them bent for longer than an hour. And before the heating system of the Oldsmobile got busted.
Ugh. Hank wishes he could blast some hot air into his face right now.
After a few minutes, Connor turns back to him, shooting him one more pointed look. Hank attempts to limit the chattering of his teeth by clenching his jaw.
Connor shakes his head in dismay and uh… starts removing his coat?
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“I don’t need this coat, I can regulate my temperature.”
“But-”
“No arguments.” Connor says it with such finality that it immediately renders Hank speechless.
Connor has a nice coat; well, he has exactly the one coat Hank bought him when they went clothing shopping for the first time. (Hank despised that CyberLife uniform and never ever wanted to see it again. So naturally, Connor started wearing Hank’s garments, which was… dangerous for Hank’s sanity. So clothing shopping it was.) The coat is not particularly warm, but it’s stylish: a dark gray peacoat with many buttons and pockets.
After Connor removes the aforementioned piece of clothing, he covers Hank’s front with it, like he was tucking in a child for sleep.
“There you go,” Connor says, satisfied with his job done.
Hank grunts in response.
As a few minutes pass, Hank reluctantly has to admit that the coat helps, if only a little. His core feels a tad bit warmer under the extra layer.
However, Connor still doesn’t look completely pleased with the outcome; his funky eyebrows are set in a kinda cute frown. Well, at least it would be cute if it wasn’t aimed at Hank.
“You’re still cold.”
Hank huffs and his breath is fuckin’ visible. “No shit, Sherlock!”
“I can regulate my temperature.”
“No need to brag about it!”
“Give me your hands!”
Now it’s Hank’s turn to frown. “I don’t need another complaint about my missing gloves!”
Connor reaches out his slender hands. “Hank. Please.”
Hank lets out a long sigh (it forms a little cloud in front of his face). Here’s the problem: he can’t say no to Connor. It’s ridiculous as fuck, the power this stupid android has on him.
But… maybe Hank doesn’t even want to say no to Connor.
“Fine,” Hank grumbles, sticking out his hands under the bundle, albeit reluctantly.
Connor takes them into his own warm hands.
It shouldn’t be a surprise – Connor just told Hank (repeatedly) that he can regulate his temperature – still, the warm touch feels like a shock on Hank’s skin. His face heats up, which is definitely not the body part that should, but Hank has to take his small wins in the warming-up department.
Connor’s hands are smooth and surprisingly soft as they hold Hank’s, and it feels… nice. Not just the warmth, but the touch itself. It’s been a fuckin’ while since someone held Hank’s hand, he kinda forgot how pleasant it can be.
And Connor… his watchful eyes are on Hank, like he was able to read Hank’s mind with his fancy-ass program. Hank feels pinned under the intense gaze; it’s impossible to look away. A fleeting thought passes Hank’s mind: Connor looks beautiful; the low light accentuates his sharp cheekbones.
Ughh, that’s definitely not something Hank should be thinkin’ of.
He shakes his head, finally tearing his eyes away from Connor. Suddenly, he realizes that no one’s paid any attention to the dark alley in the past few minutes. It’s still cold and quiet out there, though.
“Seems like we can’t get anything done today, not with you fussin’ over me.”
Connor squeezes Hank’s hands. Oh fuck, they’re still holding hands!
“It wouldn’t be an issue if you got the Oldsmobile’s heating system checked out.”
Not this shit again! Even though Hank knows Connor is absolutely right. He lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. I’m gonna do that tomorrow. Happy?”
A small but smug smile appears in the corner of Connor’s mouth. The bastard. “Yes, Hank.”
“Alright.” Hank lets go of Connor’s hands, just a little bit reluctantly. “Let’s go home.”