[Hank's eyes are narrowed, now, not looking away from him.]

Cause if that's all it is, what's the point anyway? If that's all it is, why are you-

[Hank tries to find the right word, tries to pin down the right description of whatever it is Connor's doing. He isn't fast enough; the usual doubt sneaks up behind him and strangles his confidence. He looks away from Connor finally, and sighs.]

Why do we always have to do this when I'm drunk? I keep thinking I could read you better if I was just... you know. But I can't figure out if there's even anything there to read. One moment I'm sure, and the next...

[He slumps back, his posture and voice both kind of deflating. The thing in front of him says it's just a bucket of really advanced bolts. He can't think. The room, all of a sudden, feels a lot emptier.]

Can we not do this? I'm so... Fuck, I'm... I'm just... I'm tired, Connor. I'm too tired for you.