[If something tightens in his jaw, he pretends it doesn’t. Hank shredding through his veils of slight distraction leaves him completely vulnerable, and Connor clasps his hands behind his back, wrung tight.]

I’m not trying to distract you with anything. It’s just— Since when do you care about what goes on in my mind? You know it to be nothing more than programming, background processes, and adaptable subroutines. What does it matter if all of that wants to manifest as a way to help you?

[Escape via dismissive rhetoric.]