[Hank looks at Connor. He looks at Connor’s hand. Looking at him now, at that naive, stubborn piece of shit that’s only ever wanted to help, that’s only ever wanted to hang around him and wanted to help, it stirs up the same desperate, ugly bullshit it stirred up when Connor’d said he was coming to Hank’s room, the same shit it’d stirred up when Hank had said okay, sure, maybe there’ll be a point when I’m your partner again and Connor had smiled at him and Hank had smiled back.

The surprise on his face twists into dismay, then anger.]

You don’t even know what emotions are, you stupid shithead. I don’t give a shit if you’re willing to do that to yourself again but I’m not. No. Fuck you. No.

[He tries to shove himself away but there’s no more away to move, and the only thing that moves is the bed from under him, making him slide down a little bit more.]

Shit.

[Kind of trapped now, isn’t he? Hank’s voice, under the anger, goes desperate.]

That won’t work why? What the fuck is it you want to even do?