[Funny, how it doesn’t take much to flip the switch, as if the ground they stood on was wafer-thin and given to fault lines that any of them could fall through, at any given moment. It seems to be their mode of habit — spikes of cooperation, followed by dips of anger and confusion, miscommunication, and Connor finds himself right where he started: with an irritable Lieutenant and stress levels of his own that need to be carefully monitored. Errors bouncing around in the recesses of his thoughts, constant, consistent.
He has to slingshot himself back into reality, to something grounded, compartmentalize everything or Hank is going to walk away into someone else’s room, bursting with fever and hallucination, and want nothing to do with him — why? Because he wanted to focus on the matter at hand? What did Hank care if he didn’t want to talk about it now, as opposed to later? What did it matter if he still helped, still showed that he wanted him to be better? Wasn’t that enough? In the wake of what’s just happened, it feels...
unfair.
What does he want from him?]
That’s the wrong door, Lieutenant.
[Clipped words, he just stands there for a moment, watching.]
no subject
He has to slingshot himself back into reality, to something grounded, compartmentalize everything or Hank is going to walk away into someone else’s room, bursting with fever and hallucination, and want nothing to do with him — why? Because he wanted to focus on the matter at hand? What did Hank care if he didn’t want to talk about it now, as opposed to later? What did it matter if he still helped, still showed that he wanted him to be better? Wasn’t that enough? In the wake of what’s just happened, it feels...
unfair.
What does he want from him?]
That’s the wrong door, Lieutenant.
[Clipped words, he just stands there for a moment, watching.]