PSL; [It's bigger than us, it's bigger than everything]

[bleps]

((ooc; cont. from here))

[Anything happening within the walls of Hank's house is now being shattered by the blaring of the doorbell. Once, twice, a third time for a bit longer. Less an actual doorbell and more of a buzzer, a harsh thing that is sure to grab the attention of anyone possessing a heartbeat within. The very obvious sign of someone (a certain RK800 unit) at the door, hoping to find the Lieutenant at his home if he cannot be located at his usual haunts. The sort that serves alcohol, mainly.]

Lieutenant?

[The voice should ring familiar, if not slightly muffled by the obstruction before him. Connor stands waiting, straight-backed, staring at the closed door like the obstacle it is to his entry. The usual curl of hair that falls across his forehead sways in the breeze as he waits, only half-patiently.]

Lieutenant! [The downwards cant of his head, just slightly, eyes averted to the side; the look of someone listening for noise within.] Are you home?

Comments

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Hm?

[He looks at Connor, wondering about the end of that sentence, and then kind of guesses what it was going to be and looks away, leaning back against his seat and taking another slow breath.]

Ah, I don't know. You meant well. You wanted to help. It's just... You just haven't known me that long, is all.

[Hank's expression tries to twitch into something friendly and he reaches out to try and tap the back of his hand against Connor's shoulder, a friendly gesture. Don't worry, he wants the gesture to say, because with Connor being how Connor is Hank doesn't really want to risk saying it out loud. You'll give up on that shit eventually.]

[bleps]

[Connor will not shy away from such a gesture from Hank, though it’s hard to parse its actual meaning as anything more than reassurance. Easier instead to judge the nuances of it based on the look on his friend’s face.

He inclines his head just a little at him, in that apologetically scrutinizing kind of way.]

Meaning that if I knew you longer, my attempts would be more effective? Or that I wouldn’t bother at all?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Okay, so Connor said it out loud for him. Motherfuck.]

Just that you- I make things weird, I said that, so there's not really a point. I know you just want me-

[You just want me to be happy, he thinks, and closes his eyes. Not even that much, Jesus. Hank swallows, takes a couple deep breaths, and opens his eyes again, staring at the side of Connor's chair, his jaw tight.]

I know it's stupid but I can't handle any of that right now, any more of it, so...

[bleps]

You can’t handle what, Lieutenant? A simple compliment? Reassurance that you’re doing the right thing and I’m glad for it?

[Even if he knows of Hank’s past, knows likely how difficult that can be, Connor simply doesn’t understand how he can’t accept even a little of it.]

Then what is it that you do want?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank lets out a breath, irritated.]

Right now?

[He looks back up to Connor's face and actually thinks about it, and the question stumps him. He shrugs, his voice slower, defeated.]

I don't know, Connor. I don't know. I'd kind of like to be a functional person for a while, if that's alright with you. I mean, in case you forgot I probably ought to be driving right now, so being able to do that like a normal person for a little bit, that'd be nice.

[Which he can't do when Connor, the asshole, keeps trying to say things that touch Hank on a deep and personal level.]

[bleps]

...Right.

[Connor nods, not satisfied, but certainly feeling enough remnants of guilt to accept that answer. To remember, almost ridiculously, that the whole reason for them pulling over was so that Hank could rest. And instead, they’ve diverged down this path, introducing something to the other man that he probably didn’t want to process even on a good day.]

But you’re wrong. You’re supposed to be resting right now. I didn’t mean to continually interrupt that — give yourself maybe fifteen more minutes, or more if you need it.

[Connor reaches into his jacket pocket, and Hank should know all too well what he’s going for; that familiar coin of his.]

I want to stand for a little while, anyhow.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Yeah.

[Hank watches the coin for a second..]

Connor...

Thanks. For, uh, for wanting-

[Hank looks down at himself, taking a slow, almost steady breath.]

And uh, Sumo could probably stand to stretch his legs too so uh, feel free to give him a little walk.

[Hank doesn't look up. That's totally how he wanted to finish that sentence, right? Great. Much rational. Very eloquence. Wow.]

[bleps]

[The sentence goes unfinished, and this time Connor can’t quite garner enough to read between the lines. He waits, just long enough for Hank to change his mind to utter the rest of it, but when none comes — and the suggestion to take Sumo for a walk replaces it — he doesn’t press the matter. There was thanks in there; maybe he should be satisfied with that.]

Sure.

[Quarter tucked between two fingers and flashing in the light, Connor decides that he might as well leave Hank be and exits the car. He closes the passenger side door behind him, but does open up the backseat door briefly. Hank will hear an utterance of “come on, Sumo”, urging the dog to come out and join him.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank leans back and listens to Sumo hefting himself out and giving a bark once he gets out there, and Hank doesn't really try to sleep. It's not gonna happen now. But he stays in the car for a while anyway, turning his face away from the window and waiting until either Connor's gone a little ways away or until about ten or fifteen minutes have passed before he gets out. He rolls his shoulders, rolls his neck, looks up at the trees for a minute, then leans back into the car and grabs the carton of cigarettes there. It's empty, of course, but he leans back against the car and starts flicking its lid open and shut anyway, waiting for Connor and Sumo to finish up, waiting to get settled.]

[bleps]

[Connor and Sumo don’t go far — it isn’t like this is a park, or anything meant to really cater to people going out for a walk, so the two of them will always remain in sight. The pair of them are hard to miss, at any rate; sometimes there’s a glimmer of silver that catches in the sun, a quarter flipping up in the air or running along Connor’s knuckles, even from a distance.

Approximately fifteen minutes later and the two of them are ambling back towards where Hank is, and Connor doesn’t seem to be surprised that Hank is definitely not napping. He eyes the empty box of cigarettes.]

Manage to nap?

[He thinks he already knows the answer.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

My eyes are rested.

[He shrugs. It's not all the way a lie. He hasn't been looking at the road all this time, after all, and they say crying cleans your eyes out anyway, so, what the hell. Rested.]

Think of anywhere you want to go next? If you don't come up with something I'm going to have to show you something real crazy, like a nightclub or something.

[He keeps flipping the box of cigarettes open and closed, not looking away from it. He'll settle back into talking to Connor like normal, he has before - and he doesn't know how he feels about the fact that this is a pattern, now, but he'll think about that later, when he can afford to. For now climbing back onto an even keel would be fine.]

[bleps]

[Not a lie, but Connor sees it for the sidestepping that it is. But he’ll once more not press the matter; even Connor can only wrap themselves up in so much awkwardness before he feels like they need to reach their baseline of “normalcy” again.]

Well. You did mention the need for a disguise — mostly revolving around hair dye. We should pick that up when we’re able.

[The threat of bringing him to a nightclub neatly slides off of his android shoulders.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Yeah, sounds good.

[Hank closes the cigarette box regretfully - a smoke would be great right now, really great, even if the only kinds anyone sells these days are shitty - and slides it back onto its place on the dashboard as he opens the door.]

Ready to go?

[bleps]

Ready.

[After urging Sumo to return to the backseat, Connor will take his place at the passenger’s side once more. He settles in for another long car ride, uncertain what to say, eyes kept forward past the windshield.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[So Hank drives. It’s still new and weird to drive so long at once, after decades of not really traveling, but at least the zone you go into doing it lets him pretend the silence in the car isn’t awkward. It shouldn’t be - Connor didn’t actually do anything wrong, except refuse to let what should have been a good idea go. But it is. To Hank, anyway. On top of that, it’s not long before Hank remembers his earlier nerves, his need to keep up with how Connor’s doing somehow, but now he feels weird about even trying to chat.

He turns on the radio, making sure it’s still on the jazz station Connor said he liked, and glances over at him.]

[bleps]

[The jazz music fills the air in a lazy sort of wave, and while it works to still the silence, Connor is too observant to not note the glances from Hank in his periphery. His jaw works for a moment, feeling obligated to say something.

(It feels a bit like the day he waited for Hank in the DPD, and struggled to find a topic to engage in conversation with. Except turned on its head, all backwards.)]

We should purchase Sumo a leash, too. And a dog bowl.

[All that state of the art programming, and this is the topic he cobbles together.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[This time Hank's glance over at Connor is amused, for a second, at his expense. HIs eyebrows are raised, a corner of his lips briefly curved up. It's been long enough that the topic's kind of out of the blue and it's honestly kind of a relief to hear how the whole awkward feeling in this car isn't just one sided, at least if Hank's reading Connor right.

He wonders just how awkward Connor does feel, how far Hank could maybe take this.]

Yeah, and a dog sweater. Maybe we should go all the way, give him a total makeover. We never did talk about whether Sumo needed a disguise.

[bleps]

[Part clinging to a topic that has caught some momentum(?), part vaguely oblivious, Connor doesn't interpret it as a joke immediately -- it lacks Hank's usual sarcastic edge, which is often a dead giveaway.]

I don't think Sumo needs a disguise, Hank. [He returns the look, mostly with a lift of the brow.] Or a dog sweater.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Yeah, no, Hank can't hold the straight face for long - his lips start curving up a couple times at the reply - but he's putting a solid effort in, pressing the curve flat again each time it happens.]

You sure? You guys could like, get matching ones, do your hair the same way. I guarantee you that no one is gonna think a guy who's coordinating outfits with his dog is on the run from the law.

[bleps]

[Do their hair the same way? All right, Hank is definitely stringing him along now.

His tone takes on something flat.]

You’re his owner. You should be the one to wear the matching sweater, then.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

I don't know, you're the one who said you'd take care of him. What's wrong? You don't like my idea?

[bleps]

Would you like for me to list the reasons why, or would you be satisfied with a plain “no”?

[ 8| ]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank can't not laugh at that, he physically can't.]

Shit, what was it that turned you off? I thought I was really onto something.

[bleps]

If you think I can’t eventually tell when you’re being facetious, then you’re several underestimating my programming.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

No, what was it though? You got all-

[He makes a face demonstratively, pinching his expression into an exaggerated pout.]