#medernus

[turingtestee]

⇥ PROCESSING…  A STARTER FOR @medernus

–– “ you seem LOST dr. pierce. may i help you find anything ?” 

[usurperr-a-blog]

          THE EVENTS THAT LED UP TO THE UNOFFICIAL REFERRAL TO DR. PIERCE still linger in the android’s memory. Though he’s found methods to ignore it all up to a point, it nags at the back of Richard’s mind in a way he’s found to be less than comforting. Captain Allen had been helpful - more than the RK900 had ever really expected or asked of the man - but he’d been very upfront in the fact that he wasn’t qualified in this kind of thing. 

          That made two of them, at least. 

          “Dr. Pierce? I’m Richard - Captain Allen said he’d told you about me? The... Android he helped in a... Hostage situation gone wrong.” His voice is polite, overly so - tailored to be as inoffensive as possible and very significantly lacking in any and all emotion despite the subject matter at hand. By some miracle, Richard’s LED sits at a steady cool blue tone - working in his favour for once as the RK900 watches with steady grey hues for the man’s response.

                                                                                                                   >@medernus // sc. 

[goddamnitconnor-a]

Under the cut for length, guns, stabbing, and blood. Sorry Griff ily.

--

It takes a long while for Hank to finally visit Griffon's home-- and even longer for him to actually feel comfortable walking through the front door of that estate as if he belonged there. But Griffon makes it easier; welcoming and loving as he always is. Eventually, Hank starts spending nights there as much as Griffon stays with him. Sumo joins along, naturally, and it's that snoozing form across the room that he watches while he's laying in bed that night. Griffon, already having fallen to the lull of sleep, cradled close to Hank's chest, steals his attention every now and then-- and always a smile finds its way to Hank's lips. This sort of happiness is addicting.

The calm and peace is broken in an instant by the sound of a heavy impact and something shattering. Instantly, every muscle in Hank's body tenses and the light fog of content sleepiness is yanked away. Maybe if it wasn't for Sumo's alarmed, sudden bark, Griffon would have slept peacefully through whatever was going to happen next. But Sumo barks, and the slumbering man is summoned back to consciousness with an arm tight around him.

"Hey, stay here with Sumo." He's already moving out of bed after a quick kiss to messed hair, searching quickly for his pants and dipping a hand into the nightstand next to his side of the bed to retrieve the firearm he keeps close at hand. "Sounds like someone's trying to break in."

"Wait-- Hank!" There's alarm in Griffon's tone, but he's smart enough to keep the volume low. The result is a stressed whisper that earns him a raised hand-- stay. Hank is a cop. A good cop. But he's also Hank and Griffon can't help but worry. Sitting here? Not knowing? What if--

He's less than a minute behind the lieutenant, but by the time he reaches the kitchen ( Hank's strong, authoritative voice leads him ), the intruder already has a large knife from the block on the counter. He's somehow managed to get between Hank and the entryway that Griffon appears in, and it only takes recognition of that presence ( panic, unexpected complications ) for everything to set into motion.

"Griffon! Get--" There's no time, really. The distance he had been keeping for his own safety leaves him too far away and the intruder too close. Hank sees the panic and he knows what's about to go down; his gun raises and trains on the man. "Freeze! Don't move a musc--" Too little too late.

There's no planning or accuracy with the stab, just a knife sinking into Griffon's left shoulder in a panicked haze. As if realizing what he did after the fact, the assailant stumbles backwards a couple of steps, eyes wide and hands now free as the knife, withdrawn from Griffon, clatters to the floor in his haste.

Hank isn't positive how he made it across the room so quickly, but the asshole didn't even have time to turn and look back at him before he has one hand on his right wrist, arm twisting back behind him, and the other raising the gun to press barrel flat against the base of his skull. His finger quivers on the trigger, but a clenching jaw keeps it from depressing.

"Make a fucking move." A challenge, growled low and full of anger. His grip on the man's arm tightens to keep his hands from shaking from the pure rage still burning hot in his lungs. But the intruder seems to wisen up, even parts his lips to offer-- explanation? apology?-- but a quick shake and a (not a fucking word) silences him again.

If Hank wasn't more worried about what Griffon might think, he'd fire a bullet right into this fucker's kneecap, but better sense prevails and he results to less damning tactics. Like slamming the butt of his gun into the back of that dumbass head; it's a hard enough impact to send him stumbling again, but that grip on his arm keeps him from getting too far. Two more, steady strikes and suddenly that body goes limp.

He doesn't even attempt to let the piece of shit fall kindly to the ground, damn near dropping him in exchange for being at Griffon's side. His phone is already out, number dialed-- and as he speaks to the other end, his eyes roam over the injury. A dish towel is grabbed to press over the wound; a weak attempt to stop the bleeding, but the best he has in the moment.

"Here, sit down. You're going to be fine. It's not that-- Yeah, hello?" A greeting over the phone catches his attention. He rattles off his title, badge number, and a request for a patrol car and an ambulance ( the briefest of 'home invasion' explanations is given ). Confirmation is all he needs and the line is disconnected so that he can finally pour his attention on Griffon.

"Are you okay?" No matter the response, he can't help himself from bringing his free hand-- meant so much more for the violent acts than the kind ones-- gently up to cup his face, bring it closer for a brief kiss. "They'll be here soon. They always come faster when a cop calls."

@medernus

[goddamnitconnor-a]

It’s taken a lot of planning, but finally everyone has been contacted, the date has been arranged, and the last piece rests with Hank. Primarily, he’s been charged with getting Griffon to the meeting place without raising any suspicion. There are plenty of excuses he could have used, but what’s the point in being a cop if he can’t use it to his advantage? So, naturally, he chooses to tell Griffon that a call came through the station about a break-in at the clinic-- his office, particularly. It’s enough that his worry over patient information and his own property instantly demands that Hank take him there to see the result of the damage.

When they arrive, the parking lot is empty and the building is dark save for the floor where Griffon’s office is located. If there was any excitement at all, it seems to be over with-- and so he gestures for the doctor to follow him inside.

“After we see what’s damaged or missing, you’ll have to file a report with the officer covering the case. For the insurance and all.” His voice is low, but conversational as they enter through the front door.

“Right-- right. Insurance.” He’s hardly focusing on what Hank is saying, but he’s keeping very close to the lieutenant. Even if the intruder is gone, the entire situation has him anxious, and Hank has become like a muffler for his anxiety. Easier to think ( easier to breathe ) with him close by, and as they near the waiting room of his office, one of his hands finds one of Hank’s and he squeezes down tight.

Fortunately, Hank and Marie both know Griffon well enough that a typical surprise party won’t fly. The shock of the initial ‘Surprise!’ would probably put him on the floor and out cold. Not exactly the way to send a message of appreciation. So, they’re greeted at the door to his office by none other than the receptionist herself. 

“Griffon! Come on!” She’s reaching out to take his other hand instantly, but there’s only an excited smile on her face. No worry. It certainly doesn’t feel like a break-in, anymore, and the way Griffon’s features shift from worried and nervous to perplexed as he looks back to Hank causes the eldest of the group to break character and let loose a tiny smile of his own as he lets Marie take the lead.

“Surprise, babe.” It’s offered as an indicator and a buffer to the louder, more excited greeting he’ll receive once he walks through that door. 

And there, gathered together between his waiting room and his office is an assortment of old patients and new; friends and families of those he’s helped. Lives he’s touched and improved, often at his own personal expense and lack of sleep. Hank and Marie, of course, are no exception to that warmth Griffon carries with him everywhere, and they’d dare argue that Griffon has done more for them than anyone else.

Lives not only improved but saved. 

And just like that, within five minutes, the masterminds behind the entire party are off on the sidelines, watching Griffon circulate around the guests with nothing short of a flustered but beaming smile on his face. One hell of a break-in.

@medernus

[goddamnitconnor-a]

It’s unusual for Hank to arrive home before Griffon in the evening. On occasion, when a case takes him well into the night, he might find a snoozing lump in his bed when he finally wanders in during the early hours of the morning, but this has been an almost mind-numbingly typical day and the sun is just falling down as he pulls up in front of his home.

Per his usual, Griffon probably took a cab home from work rather than driving himself, so the absence of another vehicle was nothing new. Still, as soon as Hank walked through his front door, he knew the other man was home. Sumo laying closer to the bedroom door; the coat haphazardly thrown over the back of a chair; shoes kicked off near the doorway--

None of that is right at all.

Neither of them are messy people, but Griffon even less so than Hank. To see even this amount of disorganization draws his lips down in a frown and his own shoes and coat are deposited only marginally more organized on his way to the bedroom, pausing briefly to give Sumo an affectionate pat on the head.

“Good boy.” A soft murmur of appreciation for guarding his fiance while he was out. 

Door opened, he enters quietly so as not to disturb or alarm the familiar lump beneath the covers. He eases himself down on the edge of the bed, but it’s not until he leans over that he notices those soulful, brown eyes are open-- and red. Rubbed half to death from a stream of tears or just sore from crying so much; it’s not a common sight, but Hank knows Griffon struggles just like the rest of them.

When he finally notices the lieutenant returned home, a soft sniffle is given to clear his nose and a half-hearted smile attempts to make itself onto his lips, but falls short a moment later. As if the sight of Hank reassures him, but also reminds him of just whatever has brought him so low. And soon, he’s turning beneath the covers just enough to cling to the other body. When he speaks, the words are muffled between Hank’s shoulder and the weak tone he forces out, but the words patient and suicide make their way through.

It’s enough for Hank to piece a picture together, and what words can he offer? So, he pulls the doctor in closer and presses several, soft kisses across his face. Long moments pass like that, interspersed with renewed, soft sobs from Griffon and soft, reassuring words slipping from Hank’s lips. All mostly ignored or dismissed, probably, but finally a train of thought makes itself known.

“I’m only here because of you. You know that, right?” Of course, Griffon raises his head just enough to look like he’s about to object, but Hank just offers a smile and a kiss to his lips. “I am. And if you’re going to feel guilty about this time, then you have to give yourself credit for me being here, too.”

His throat is sore from the previous hours of crying and shouting into a pillow, so being silenced is an easy task, at the moment. And as distressed as he is, Hank’s words offer some kind of comfort; he’s right, Griffon knows, and although it doesn’t instantly pick him up from the floor, the smile he gives in return is stronger and more sincere than his initial one. 

“Thanks... Thank you.” Hank is drawn closer again and his head returns to that shoulder to rest. “I love you.” It comes softly; sleepily-- and in the next moments, he’s drifting off again, wrapped up in strong arms.

“I love you, too.” Conversation ceases there, and Hank settles in for a long night of holding the sleeping mess of a man he calls home. 

@medernus

[goddamnitconnor-a]

He doesn’t open his eyes to the blaring alarm ringing on the other side of the bed. It’s not for him, after all, and the quiet that soon follows tells him that the man it was intended for has woken to its call. It’s a routine, at that point, for Hank to stir when Griffon’s alarm sounds at a grizzly 4:30 am, but never to fully wake up. He surfaces to consciousness only long enough to determine whether that other, sleeping form is close enough that he can wrap around it in an attempt to keep it close for just a few more minutes.

And today, he’s victorious. Somehow, through the night, they wound up practically tangled in each other-- and the result is one psychiatrist nearly pinned down by a sleepy bear as Hank wraps his arms and snakes his legs around every limb they can find. Chances are good that, from the doorway, Griffon looks like nothing more than wild bedhead and perhaps a foot peeking out from under the covers, obscured otherwise entirely by the retired lieutenant.

He waits to see if Griffon will groan and try to pry himself away to start the day or if he’ll give up the fight for one morning and relax back into the bed for another hour or two. Hank hardly ever fights it the second time around, but this early? In the middle of winter? Oh, you bet he’s pulling that man as close as he can.

Maybe it’s the below-freezing temperatures outside or just an extra long night that leads to a lazy morning. Whatever the reason, he eventually feels the body next to his give a soft sigh ( just for today is probably the thought running through Griffon’s head ) before fully relaxing back into the lull of sleep. And with nothing better to do anymore, Hank is quickly joining him.

@medernus

[goddamnitconnor-a]

just in case anyone was wondering, hank is super gay for his fiance. under the cut for length and i guess?? griffon is naked af but it’s all innocent i swear.

@medernus this is literally all your fault

When the request first comes, Hank is sure Griffon will change his mind after a few days. Spending the night every now and then ( or, lately, more often ) is all well and good, but he’s talking about practically moving in. Only while he recovers from the ( hopefully ) final surgery to that damaged knee, but still—having him there, day in and day out for months? Well, it takes a good two weeks for Hank to really believe Griffon when he says he’s happier there. Of course, the pampering probably helps.

And does he ever. A couple weeks in, and they’ve gotten past most of those more awkward moments. Like Griffon needing help bathing. Hank remembers from his own injuries after the accident just how demeaning it can be that every trip to the restroom is accompanied by someone else, too, but isn’t this a little different? If Griffon feels more humiliated than the early confessions he gave of not really knowing how to rely on another person, he hasn’t shown it.

Not even now, when they’re standing together in the bathroom. Well—Hank is standing and Griffon is doing a very good imitation of the act, supported entirely between Hank, the edge of the sink, and his good leg. Still, he only smiles as careful hands remove clothing piece by piece, carrying on some casual conversation about the upcoming holidays and all of the things he’s wanted to do but never had the time or ( more damning ) the company.

“Christmas cards?” Hank is listening, but watching each inch of flesh become exposed by his hands is mildly distracting. There’s no chance he’s going to act on those thoughts with Griffon in the state he’s in, so he thinks it’s okay for his mind to wander a little. Hands touch only to support and comfort; there’s really no satisfaction in taking advantage of the situation.

“Yes, Christmas cards. You know—” Now that he’s said it, he’s a little more flustered by the thought and the hand against the sink raises momentarily to gesture uselessly in the air. “Family dresses up in ugly sweaters, finds somewhere cozy and decorated to pose in front of, sends out cards to all the people they don’t really want to actually see in person?”

Hank snorts softly as he leans over to run the water warm, liquid soap pouring down along the spout to rush bubbles up from the depths of the growing puddle. Attention back on Griffon—hands above the waist, eyes on his—both eyebrows shoot up with a certain skepticism.

“Sounds like something rich people do.” He couldn’t think of enough people he’d want to send a holiday card to that would even justify buying his own camera to take the picture, let alone hire someone to do it professionally. “But uh—I mean, if you want to.” That word in particular has him reeled in. Family.

It’s worth that smile that lights on Griffon’s face, and his own lingers even as he’s helping the recovering man step in and lower down into the warm bath. They tried showers, at first, but one too many accidental knocks of that knee demanded a better course of action.

His motions are smooth, as if those hands were meant to do something gentler like caregiving rather than the harsh realty they’ve found themselves in. Maybe he just cares enough to take his time, lathering soap into Griffon’s hair and washing away the light layer of sweat and oil that came from a long night in bed. More hours than he’s probably used to.

“Well, it sucks that you’re out of commission for a while, but…” A small dollop of soap is deposited upon Griffon’s nose before warm water is rinsing through suds and hair. “I kind of like having you all to myself. I could get used to this.”

Griffon’s attention is pulled toward the soapy assault, scrunching up his nose in distaste, before wide, brown eyes are being pulled right back to that voice. How does Hank consistently find new ways to fluster him? He busies himself with splashing enough water on his face to rinse away the last, clinging bits of shampoo, but as those hands start massaging in conditioner, he allows his eyes to close and his shoulders to relax.

“Mm… I think I could, too.”

[apostolum-blog]

Some time later -- Griffon steps up beside Mile's before wrapping the soft, knitted, deep red scarf around his neck, looping it through itself. It looked nice on him, at least that's how Griffon felt. "You help the scarf look better than it really is." A cheeky little smile. "I finally finished it, I'm really not good at knitting."

          THE SCARF isn’t really what warms his heart, despite how beautifully made it was ( not to mention the fact that it felt as though this was worth more than anything he owned ). What gets to him is that it was handmade, that this was a gift intended for him crafted by someone who he’d grown accustomed to. Place that as a whole on top of the comment, and it has Miles smiling.

         “ You really didn’t have to do this, y’know. ‘S nice, beautiful really, but it pales in comparison to you. ”

         If Griffon was going to pepper in a compliment, then Miles would do the same.

         “ If you’re not good at knitting, then I’m sure I’d lose the rest of my fingers tryin’. C’mon, give yourself credit where it’s due. — Thank you, darling, I’ll treasure it forever. ”