DBH Hankcon fic - Human!Au where Connor was the other car
Chapter 12 - October 11th, 2035 (One Step Forward)
“I was hoping in pairing you up, Hank might learn from your work ethic and you might learn some things from him, but not how to get yourself into disciplinary trouble,” Fowler’s voice was firm, disappointment shining through his focused stare.
“I’m sorry, Sir–”
“Jefferey, really?! It’s Reed’s fault!” Hank interrupted, leaping to his feet and gesturing to Connor as if the word innocent was stamped across his forehead.
The detective looked away, hands clasped in his lap. He didn’t dare acknowledge his partner, his defense undeserved. He had instigated the violence, the act was uncharacteristic but his nonetheless.
“Hank, you shouldn’t even be here. I let you stay because you insisted it was a show of your partnership and camaraderie, so glad you two are getting on well all of a sudden, but no amount of you trying to appeal to my hopes for your affiliation is going to reduce Rkay’s punishment.” Fowler leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, “Now, sit down!”
The lieutenant huffed, bitterly, looking at Connor, who didn’t dare meet his eyes, before returning to his seat. “You really gonna let Reed get away with this, Jeff?”
Fowler shook his head, resting his forearms on the desk’s edge, hands open in earnest. “No, holding a weapon on an officer is unacceptable. I know you were defending Rkay, but keep that in mind. You’re on thin ice, Hank.” Fowler adjusted his gaze back to Connor, “That being said, you did initiate the altercation. Is that correct?”
Connor couldn’t lift his head all the way, the shame keeping him tipped at a slight bow, eyes big and weary. “Yes, sir. I did.”
“But only cuz–”
“Hank.”
The lieutenant flailed his arms in the air, “I’m just trying to give you all the facts! Not my fault this kid isn’t willing to dig himself out of the grave Gavin stuck him in.”
Connor eyed his partner, taken aback by the honesty in his tone and expression. Hank look offended and… saddened? on Connor’s behalf. His burly fists clutched the end of his coat nervously as he spoke, his frustration a mask for his care. This was… Odd.
“I am not here to unduly punish anyone. I do, however, want the account of events as the detective recalls them. In their entirety.” Fowler pointed at Hank with a fixed glare, “Not you.”
All eyes landed on Connor, it was unpleasant. He felt like a specimen in a lab, scrutinized and ready for dissection. “Detective Reed made a series of inflammatory comments referring to my history with the Lieutenant. When I was unresponsive, he placed a hand on my shoulder. It triggered my flight or fight and I did initiate the first physical action. He retaliated by punching me in the lower abdomen and then drawing his service weapon on me.” During his recap, Connor had retrieved his quarter from his pocket and now gripped it in a tight fist. A tether to safety. “I should not have reacted physically to my trigger. I take complete responsibility.”
“Good,” Fowler nodded, tone still sharp, “I’d hope so. Seeing as how you have a spotless disciplinary record – something you could learn from, Hank – I will be leaving you with a simple warning.”
Connor sighed a breath of relief, and Hank turned to the detective, eagerly, glad he hadn’t wound up worse off because of or despite him.
Connor didn’t return the look, but he could feel the heat of the lieutenant’s gaze on his skin.
“I am sending you home, though.”
“What?!”
“Yes, Sir.”
Hank and Connor said at the same time.
Hank whipped his head to look at Connor, “No, you can totally fight that.” He glanced back to their captain, “C’mon, Jeffery!”
Connor raised a hand, not quite reaching Hank, but silencing him nonetheless. “I do not need to fight that, Lieutenant. I did punch Detective Reed–”
“Yeah, and I’m sure most of the people in this office would clap you on the back for it!”
“Hank,” Fowler issued a warning tone.
Connor shook his head to escape the lilt of a smile on his lips, “I accept my punishment. It’s only for the rest of today, Hank. Besides, I figured you’d be grateful to get away from me even for just the rest of the day.” The final words left a melancholic taste his mouth, but they were honest. Why wouldn’t Hank want to be rid of him after all he’d told Connor last night? He figured Hank’s adamant fighting about this situation had been more about Gavin and Fowler’s role in his own personal life than Hank’s desire to help Connor.
So then why did those words seem to draw a frown from Hank? Why did he have a look of remorse in his eyes?
“I appreciate your professionalism, Detective,” Fowler nodded as Connor rose to his feet. “Stay out of trouble.”
“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.” Connor returned the nod and exited the office. He packed up his items from his desk, slipped on his coat, and evaded Gavin’s desk with moderate ease.
The grey eyed detective stared him down despite the lengths he took to not cross paths too closely, but ultimately said nothing as Connor rounded the corner to the lobby and out the main entrance.
The snow had begun to drift down and Connor greeted it with a scowl.
Snow meant icy roads, icy roads meant headaches induced by the intensity at which Connor grit his teeth. Headaches meant a lesser ability to drive well. As did the ice and snow. And that meant an unending twist in his gut that reminded him why the car he was approaching was not a Honda, but a newer vehicle with autonomous features designed by the up and coming company Cyberlife. He pulled out his key fob with pinkened hands and clicked unlock.
The white, sleek vehicle sparked to life, the interior lit with a soft blue glow along the floor. The seats were grey, vegan leather and endlessly plush. The car was worth more than Connor had ever cared to spend on such a thing before, but after the accident he had opted for a vehicle with the highest safety ratings – meaning autonomous features were a must – cameras to better predict the distance of obstacles as well as record in the event of an accident, and the highest structural support.
It didn’t stop the palpitations every time someone drove recklessly around him, nor did it ease his mind when the rain, snow, or ice was intense, but it did – generally – give him an incremental sense of control and security.
Connor pulled open the driver’s door tossing his messenger bag into the backseat. He closed the door after himself with a heavy thud and took in the quiet of the cabin. Here it was just him, his breathing, his thoughts, and… Hank?
Connor turned to the passenger seat, narrowing his eyes to ensure they hadn’t deceived him, but sure enough Hank was there on this other side of his door knocking on the window.
The detective’s jaw fell slack just the slightest bit as his partner clambered in when he realized the door wasn’t locked.
“Hey.”
“Uh, hello?”
The two stared at each other for a long while. The car was cold enough that their breath could still be seen as they fumbled to find any words, vapors coalescing between one another as they both attempted not to gape like fish.
Connor attempted a simple question, “Can I help you, Lieutenant?”
Hank pursed his lips, looking out the windshield. His silver hair caressed his flushed skin, waves intermingling the straighter strands. It caught the light in a way that made it almost glow, it looked strangely otherworldly, Connor couldn’t help but think as he fidgeted within the silence.
“I…” Hank began, only to lose the next word as soon as his eyes found Connor’s. The cerulean stare was… Difficult to read. Very difficult, and in the shattered, multifaceted shades of blue those irises held was an equal amount of shattered and multifaceted emotion. “Fuck, listen, kid–”
“Lieutenant, may I ask something of you before you continue?” Connor said, not quite daring to meet his stare any longer, his eyes slinking to the collar of his gaudy patterned shirt. The top buttons left undone and giving way to a grey t-shirt, as per usual.
“Oh, uh, sure. Shoot.”
Connor regained his conviction just long enough to speak his mind, “I would appreciate it if you would stop calling me kid. I am not a child, and quite frankly it feels rather demeaning. I am an adult, I have been for thirteen years now and I don’t think someone has called me kid as much, since I turned 18, as you.” He took a brief pause before continuing with a self assuring nod, “I understand some people may use it as a form of endearment, but you have made it rather clear we are not to have such a dynamic so… Please, refrain from calling me ‘kid,’ Lieutenant.”
Hank waffled at that, biting back a laugh, “Yeah, uh, sure. Course, Ki–Connor. I was definitely gonna say Connor the whole time, not kid.”
The detective rolled his eyes, in clear disbelief, but the tug of a smile reached his lips much to his chagrin. He hated this. He hated the near comfort he found with Hank only for it to be ripped out from under him.
There was a constant unease that lingered when they interacted, but sometimes if they could continue to act amicably, earnestly, fondly for long enough Connor could find a steady ground… Even if the floor ended up crumbling beneath him every time.
“Anyway,” Hank chuckled, half heartedly, “I wanted to say, that was really fucked of Reed. He should’ve never pulled that gun on you… I should’ve never…” The words died in the air, but the sentiment remained, thick and strong in the way Hank’s eyes gripped Connor’s. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to look away. Not that he did want to… Which was odd, in and of itself, he supposed, but he was busy focusing on other things. Things like Hank apologizing to him.
Connor didn’t know what to say, evident by the way his mouth hung open just a bit and his brows raised comically as his eyes continued their wide stare.
Hank’s fingers fluttered over the dashboard, tearing the detective away from the man’s face, “And I… I’m not grateful to get away from you. You’re a good cop, it’s a blow to the mission… ” He scratched his thick beard as he worked on puzzling together the next words, “Look, I’m not so good with this kinda thing… Obviously. But even if I can’t– Even if I don’t know how to move on from the pain I’m feeling… You don’t deserve to be held at gunpoint for it. You didn’t intend to hurt anyone. I… Did.”
Connor shook his head, scoffing, “No, you didn’t. I know you think you could’ve pulled that trigger, but… I knew you wouldn’t.” He shrugged, taking in the way Hank eyed him in fragmented disbelief, “Call it intuition, a pre-construction of events, whatever you will… But I just knew. You’re not a killer, Hank.”
The older man heaved a heavy breath, shoulders collapsing a bit at the admission. “I just kept thinking… There’s this artist I love, Carl Manfred, have you heard of him?”
“Only in passing.”
“He made this work of art probably before you were even born, in the early 2000s–”
Connor gave Hank a skeptical, warning look, “What year?”
“How am I supposed to remember that?” He flailed, “Uh, I don’t know like 2005? Why?”
“Okay, fine… Yeah, that was before I was born.”
Hank blinked twice as he processed the information before letting out a short laugh of surprise, “That’s what that look was for?”
Connor raised his hands in defense, “I had to make sure you weren’t projecting any more infantilizing b.s.!”
Hank snorted, “For someone who wants to be seen as the adult they are maybe actually swearing would help.”
The younger man adorned a wiry smirk as he stared up at his partner, “Okay, Lieutenant. Fuck you.”
“That’s the spirit!” Hank guffawed, clapping his hands together, a gap-toothed grin on full display. A comfortable silence settled between the pair, but it couldn’t last. Hank cleared his throat, returning to the matter at hand, “Like I was saying, Manfred made this piece about the Afghan war. It was in retaliation of 9/11. The painting was a portrait of a man with his eyes gouged out. It was titled, ‘An Eye For an Eye and the Whole World Goes Blind.’”
Connor tipped his head, intrigued and making a mental note to look up the painting later. His expression pensive as he considered the merit of such a sentiment.
“I’m not going to pretend like I’m not…” Hank looked up to the car’s ceiling, working to find the words as his hands moved nonsensically, “Struggling… But vengeance is not, and never is, the answer.”
Connor bit his lip as he looked to Hank, the older man staring straight ahead. His profile strong and aged, remorse clear in the etched emotion upon his skin.
A large, thick hand found its way to the handle, propping the door open. “That’s what I needed to say.” Hank nodded, smile polite and weak. The moment lay to rest in exchange for a more subtle somber one. “Have a good day, Connor. Drive safe.”
Connor couldn’t help but wince at the last words, luckily out of sight of the lieutenant as he had turned to escape the cabin, “Thanks. You too, Hank.” His eyes clung to the man’s hulking figure as he walked away, and he couldn’t help but feel just a bit lighter.
-
This was… Familiar.
He had perched on this wall many times before. He’d done so in conditions far less stable than he was now, but that didn’t seem to change the way his body took control rather than his mind as soon as he lay eyes on this stretch of asphalt.
He tugged his coat tighter around himself, hair stirring in the sharp wind. The breeze intense on this strip.
His skin was alight with pink cheeks and a rosy flush to his nose, lips red as he licked them, anxiously.
He shouldn’t be here.
He really shouldn’t be here.
In order to allow yourself to grow you must be open to facing the future and not just the past.
Well, he’d been doing a damn fine job of that, huh? Partners with the source of his guilt, investigating a crime unpleasantly reflective of their past, and now back in damn Warren County staring at the road that had once been adorned with the guts of Connor’s car.
Yeah, Amanda would be thrilled at their next appointment.
He’d been trying to silence her voice in his head, pragmatic and clinical. He’d succeeded, too, but only by replacing her presence with the unforgiving taunts of his guilt spoken through the voice of Hank.
This time it was different, though, Connor told himself. It had to be.
His hands trembled, just enough to reveal the placated face was a facade. As it often was. The twisting turmoil within his chest a ceaseless current. It filled his mouth till he was left spitting up the agony that engulfed him.
Not today.
He fixed his brow, determination set in his dark eyes.
A small gas station bordered the other side of the road, a white cctv camera caked in grime facing the stretch where the detective’s car had spun out. He was well acquainted with the small red blinking lights that bordered its lens, many times he’d looked at it with a venomous stare. He had no jurisdiction to request the footage.
He was told to drop it by his old captain, the details never granted.
He had been left utterly defeated, hot saliva pooling into his gaping mouth as he fought tears. Still scarred, working with a physical therapist, and unable to emote as readily as he had just the week before. Pale skin littered with freckles and cuts. Bruises carried across his body like the intimate touch of a lover’s kiss, but rather than a smile he wore a scowl when his eyes landed on the markings.
He was lost and all he could do was limp back to this spot, and wonder what would be different if he could just get that recording.
He’d long since given up hope… Until he met Hank.
There was much hurt that came with their meeting, undeniably so, and although their conversation today allowed for perhaps a better bridge between them, it would hardly be smooth sailing. That much was assured.
Still, the one thing Connor would forever be grateful for within their partnership was the unknowing guidance Hank had offered him when they visited the dispensary.
The detective had always been by the book, to a fault. When he was told to drop something, he always did. Perhaps with bitterness locking his jaw, but he’d allow any case to fall through his fingers if it was ordered. Even when it impacted his own life, his own piece of mind.
He had never considered circumnavigating the way things had been set out for him, hadn’t considered hopping the fence to get what he’d wanted once he was told his mission was changed. A deviation of ideologies was never in the cards for him, so he’d believed. He was taught his whole life to obey, to listen, to be a good son, student, and employee. What about a good person? What about a good partner? What about a good host to his body and mind?
Did he not deserve that?
Connor straightened his tie, glanced in either direction and crossed the road. He held himself with a sureness undeserved as had Hank. He allowed his eyes to scan across the thin layer of grunge that had settled into he corners of the gas station.
The attendee glanced up at him with a bored look from behind a reading tablet. “Can I help you?” he asked, scratching the patchy stubble that grew in tufts across his chin. His shiny name tag read Beck - Shift Manager.
Connor placed an arm against the counter leaning close, eyes sharp, invasive. “I think so. That camera out front, how long do its records run back to?”
Beck frowned, setting his tablet aside, “We got logs dating back to, uh, 2033? I think.”
“Perfect, I need the footage from October 11th, 2035. The whole day will be fine,” Connor nodded, curtly.
Beck chuckled, his strawberry blonde hair peaking from his backwards cap, “Listen, buddy, I don’t know who you think you are–”
Connor smiled, a smile too earnest to be warranted and the display trapped the words in Beck’s throat, unnerved, “Where are my manners,” Connor flashed his badge, “Detective Connor Rkay, your cooperation would be much obliged.”
Beck gulped, but made no move to assist Connor’s request.
“A young boy was…” The word stuck to Connor’s teeth like toffee, but he fought through it with a stern look. “Killed there. We need this footage to get an ID of the suspect. Best case scenario, we have one count of murder, we can locate the killer, and your store will find itself aiding and abetting the killer for not handing over the footage. Not to mention the lack luster cleaning maintenance,” Connor ran a finger across the counter to reveal the collection of dust, “Could get you shut down all together. Your call.”
“Shit,” Beck breathed, “Uh, yeah, gimme just a sec.” He stumbled toward the back room.
Connor’s eyes trailed after him, waiting with bated breath.
Beck tripped over his own feet in his haste, brandishing a flash drive, “Here. Here! It’s all yours.”
“Thank you for your cooperation,” Connor grinned, turning on his heel and stepping into the sun.
This was the beginning of an answer. This was the beginning of justice for him, for Hank, for Cole.
Connor looked to the sky and for the first time in what felt like forever he smiled, unabashed and free.
