Chapter Text
*******
It's October when Connor finally realizes he's all alone in the world.
He's walking home from a long day at work, the sun already set. He's looking up at the sky and can barely see any stars through all the smog from the city. It's fall, the leaves from the trees are falling to the ground, silently dying, fluttering down to the earth to decay. He steps on one and it crunches beneath his shoe. He stops to stare at it. An empty feeling settles somewhere in his chest, like all the life has been sucked out of him suddenly. He exhales shakily before lifting his head up and resuming his walk home.
Home. It’s such an empty word to Connor. Four walls - eight if you count the bathroom - and silence. A bed was the only piece of furniture he had in the small studio apartment. He saw no need for anything else.
It wasn’t as though he would be coming by.
Just the thought of him makes Connor’s eyes shut tightly as he grips the bathroom door handle, pausing as he’s assaulted by memories.
Laughing blue eyes, more relaxed than Connor’s ever seen them. Amused looks given over a glass of amber whiskey. Rowdy jokes at both of their expenses. The brush of a hand as he hands him a vinyl to play. Finding himself slowly swaying back and forth with his arms around his neck, soft silver hair against his fingers. Those blue eyes, so close that the iris can be examined in detail. A gentle press of lips against his.
“Shit,” Connor curses as he comes back to himself.
He enters the bathroom and stares at his reflection, wondering where he must have gone wrong. Flashes of the past keep hitting him but he just bites his lip and drags his eyes away from the mirror. He forgot why he was checking his appearance to begin with.
Just then, his phone rings.
“Connor.”
“Hey, it’s Ben. We got a case for you and Hank. I’ll text you the address. Need you here asap. Sorry, I know you just left-”
Connor cuts him off. “It’s fine. I’ll meet you there.” He hangs up the phone and heads to the crime scene, doing his best to focus on the chilly fall night instead of the heated memories replaying in his mind.
*******
When he gets to the crime scene, Hank is already there. Which isn’t much of a surprise, considering the man can drive whereas Connor is reliant on taxis.
He doesn’t acknowledge Connor when he walks into the derelict building, ignores his pleasant attempt at small talk. He does, however, do his job; making comments on the victim, the nature of the missing murder weapon, the disheveled state of the room. Connor attempts to meet his eye, but it seems impossible.
Connor wanders off, down the hallway. He checks each room, finding nothing until the last one, where he notices the closet doors are shut. He doesn’t think much of it, but checks it anyway.
As soon as he opens the door, a gunshot sounds. He’s moving before he realizes it, wrestling the gun away and cuffing the suspect on the floor.
Hank and Ben barge into the room, guns drawn. Connor can hear more footsteps behind them.
“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me!” Hank exclaims accusingly. “Can you go five minutes without getting your ass in trouble? Fuckin’ ridiculous.”
Connor’s heart dropped. He had hoped, for a brief moment, that Hank would be proud of him for finding the suspect. Clearly, he had been mistaken. Instead of feeling sad, however, a rare feeling made itself known: anger.
“If someone had done their job correctly, this wouldn’t have happened at all! This isn’t my fault!”
“No, you just always happen to nearly get your fuckin’ head blown off. Fuck this, I’m out.”
Ben sighs as they put their guns away. “You still have to interrogate him.”
“Connor can deal with that.”
Connor bristles. “Protocol states that-“
“Fuck protocol,” Hank says, pointing at him. “I’m going home.”
Just as he disappears around the corner, the suspect twists around. Somehow he had broken out of his cuffs. He grabs Connor’s service weapon and fires -
There’s a long moment where Connor doesn’t know what’s happening. Everything is dark, audio glitching. He’s stunned, disoriented as his sensors desperately try to recalibrate.
For a moment, his audio cuts back in. He hears the sound of skin violently meeting skin, someone crying out, a heated “fuck you” - and then there’s nothing.
*******
Hank paces back and forth in the waiting room, unable to remain still.
Figures the moment I walk away he gets fuckin’ shot.
Guilt gnaws at him, knowing that he should have been there to keep Connor safe. Should have kept an eye on the suspect until he was in the back of a cruiser.
Instead, he’d been stupid and selfish. Much like he’d been on another night recently.
Dark cocoa patron eyes staring up at him curiously. A lithe form pressing against his as the soft jazz music plays. Constellations of freckles drawing his eye. Those dark, lidded eyes drawing him in until they slip closed and their lips meet. When they part, a soft laugh, the first time he’s heard Connor sound like that. More kisses, touches. The fire that sparked between them, the feeling of a solid yet smooth body moving against his -
Hank sighs and stops his pacing, only to sit heavily in a chair. God, he’d been so fucking stupid. He felt like ignoring Connor was best for both of them, but…
Hopeful brown eyes offering him a coffee, only to turn confused when it’s refused. Sad brown eyes watching him from his desk, three feet away. Finding his tie on the other side of the bed, wrapping it in his hand and pressing it to his lips. Sitting in his chair watching a Gears game with that tie still wrapped around his hand, thinking how it’d be nicer if Connor was there instead of the emptiness that seemed to glare at him.
It’s been two weeks and still, Hank is no more over it than he had been in the beginning. It’s fucking distracting, to the point where even drinking had been turned against him. A few swigs in and all he could think about was…
Connor’s form pressed against his front. His rare, soft smiles. The way he had wrapped around Hank while being carried to the bedroom. How Connor had kissed him delicately at first, then passionately, his confidence increasing by the minute. Connor pinning him to the bed, exploring his body, sating his curiosity -
It was too much for Hank. So he had done what he knew best when it came to feelings: he ran. He shoved them down, he pretended like they didn’t exist, and he turned his Asshole Mode up to one hundred.
And if Connor dies, that’ll be the last thing he ever got from me. Anger. Fuck.
The thought of Connor dying nearly makes him choke. He’s spent nearly a year by his side getting to know him inside and out. Between Gears games and work cases, lunch breaks and car rides, nights at the park and those spent at home… Hank knew he had fucked up. He hadn’t fallen in love. No, it had slipped into his heart without him even realizing it. Maybe it happened when he was stopped at a red light, grinning at Connor as they sang along to Knights of the Black Death. Or maybe it was during a quiet moment, like when Connor had nudged his leg during a movie.
Frustration builds in Hank. He wants Connor, knows that he would give him his everything; but his everything doesn’t seem like much to him when there’s a whole world out there. But you can show him the world, his thoughts remind him.
As much as he wants to regret Connor, he can’t. There’s too much joy, contentment, peace. And if Connor’s recent behavior was anything to go by… Hank was being missed. Missed by the one person he’d tear his city apart at the seams for.
He buries his face in his hands. Jesus, I’ve been so fuckin’ stupid.
*******