[Hank gapes at him for a second and then closes his eyes, rubbing at his hair. There’s a reminder for him, if he’d forgotten it, of the tally that’s been keeping itself in Hank’s head; one category’s headed ‘automaton’ and the other one’s headed, ‘???’

Connor never obeys orders, especially not when obeying would be really, really convenient. This particular checkmark is sitting in the ‘???’ column.

Would he answer Connor, he wonders, even if he could? Nah. Probably not. But something about knowing that hearing the stuff going through Hank’s head would get Connor into a whole lot of trouble makes Hank resent not being able to.]

You don’t gotta say anything to upset me.

[Hank twists his face up, sour, regretful. It’s true, but he didn’t have to say it. He reaches out, wanting to pat Connor’s shoulder.]

Why’re you so worried about pissin me off anyway? Keepin me happy’s not your job.