[Hank's sudden deep breaths catch on something in his lungs and he tries to stifle it, managing to shut the coughing down after a couple seconds and trying to control his breathing. His nostrils flare as he takes the breath to say something, then abandons it, then starts to speak a second time, and abandons it again.
It feels like he stares at Connor, jaw set, for a long time.]
Well, since you're too stupid to know when to quit I guess it's a good thing we're done then, isn't it?
[He turns, stumbles and, thank god, manages to catch himself well enough to throw a last line over his shoulder.]
Congratulations. Now you get to fuck off.
[He tries to walk slow, listening hard. If he's lucky he'll hear Connor turn around and start walking off before Hank gets close enough to whatever place that asshole'd been looking that he has to start trying random doors.]
[Insults that would sting more if he hadn’t heard them all before. Skin a little thicker, shielded by agitation nettled just under the surface. A stare met with a stare, Connor’s own an easy thing to fall into, the annoying placidity of an android basically a default state to comfortably rely upon.
And yet despite everything, Connor still takes no pleasure in watching Hank stumble down the hall. Highly unlikely he’ll even know which door is the correct one; and so those dreaded footsteps do come. They’re steady and fast-tempoed and they meet him at his side, then pull forward to the right door.
Connor swings it open, like some kind of highly displeased chamberlain.]
[Hank stops, his jaw working, listening to his Connor grinding whatever dignity Hank has left under his heels with every step closer that he takes. He only looks up to sneer at Connor as he walks past him, and he makes it almost all the way to the bed before he has to stop and lean against the wall. He wouldn't know it was his room if Connor didn't seem so sure; these bland walls and twisted up, sweat soaked bedsheets could belong to anybody. There's only one thing in 'his' room that actually makes it worth coming back to.
The way he looks around for Sumo isn't something he can totally hide but Hank tries to be subtle about it, and tries to be subtle, too, about how long it takes to remind himself that that's what he left the door unlocked for, so Sumo could go out while Hank was too busy being out of his mind to take him. So. Sumo knows how to go out on his own when he needs to, and that's fine. That's good to know.
He flops down onto the mattress, hunching forward over his knees with an arm curled loosely around his stomach.]
Looks like you did it, got me right where I'm supposed to be.
[He closes his eyes, taking slow breaths through his nose to try and hold off the nausea.]
[Hank lets out a sigh that sounds almost pained, before it turns into coughing.]
No, Connor. No.
[He sets his elbow on a knee, pressing the heel of his hand against his head, and takes a second to grab a hold of his tone and pull it down a couple notches toward something calmer. It comes out mostly just sounding tired.]
You got valuable shit to do with yourself, right? So why don't you just go fucking do it. I don't know why you're here, but whyever it was, you did it. We're done. Go make sure you didn't, I don't know, catch what I got so you don't flip out again, I can sit here on my own just fine.
[The hell of it is, he remembers now why he left in the first place. He remembers sitting here and realizing at least part of why he felt so deeply shitty was probably because he was too sick to keep track of time, and didn't remember when he last ate. But if Connor has to stick around wasting his effort for as long as that will take Hank thinks he'll probably scream, and then maybe throw up. So, fuck it. Sumo's dog food fills itself up every day, somehow - if Hank feels like he's about to starve he'll just fucking eat that, and in the meantime he'll just keep taking these slow, deep breaths through his nose, because when he can manage that without coughing it sort of helps. Going on another wild adventure to try and find the kitchen doesn't feel like it's worth the effort, anymore.]
[Hank’s in his room now, and more attempts for Connor to help are going to be cut down before he can even entertain the idea. Like a wall shifting into existence, insurmountable, slamming down in the clear empty space between where one stands and the other sits.
Fingers twitch and he raises a hand to rest on the doorframe, considering with a demeanor that could be easily read as unease, if someone really knew him — too stiff, too perfectly angled, voice too clear-cut.
Agitation still lives in him, too, crawling along his insides.]
Rest, Lieutenant. Have someone else bring you food or water if you require it.
[His other hand moves to shut the door behind him, to leave Hank alone as badly as he wants to be, and Connor does so without giving the man time to properly respond.]
[Hank doesn’t look toward the closed door, just keeps his head down, breathing in the smell of himself and old sweat, listening to the dead empty air of his empty apartment. He doesn’t try to sound angry; there’s no reason, now.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
It feels like he stares at Connor, jaw set, for a long time.]
Well, since you're too stupid to know when to quit I guess it's a good thing we're done then, isn't it?
[He turns, stumbles and, thank god, manages to catch himself well enough to throw a last line over his shoulder.]
Congratulations. Now you get to fuck off.
[He tries to walk slow, listening hard. If he's lucky he'll hear Connor turn around and start walking off before Hank gets close enough to whatever place that asshole'd been looking that he has to start trying random doors.]
no subject
And yet despite everything, Connor still takes no pleasure in watching Hank stumble down the hall. Highly unlikely he’ll even know which door is the correct one; and so those dreaded footsteps do come. They’re steady and fast-tempoed and they meet him at his side, then pull forward to the right door.
Connor swings it open, like some kind of highly displeased chamberlain.]
It’s this one.
no subject
The way he looks around for Sumo isn't something he can totally hide but Hank tries to be subtle about it, and tries to be subtle, too, about how long it takes to remind himself that that's what he left the door unlocked for, so Sumo could go out while Hank was too busy being out of his mind to take him. So. Sumo knows how to go out on his own when he needs to, and that's fine. That's good to know.
He flops down onto the mattress, hunching forward over his knees with an arm curled loosely around his stomach.]
Looks like you did it, got me right where I'm supposed to be.
[He closes his eyes, taking slow breaths through his nose to try and hold off the nausea.]
Now is your job fucking done?
no subject
Do you need anything else?
[He’s also noted the lacking presence of a certain canine in the room, just as he caught Hank’s own searching look.]
I can fetch Sumo for you.
no subject
No, Connor. No.
[He sets his elbow on a knee, pressing the heel of his hand against his head, and takes a second to grab a hold of his tone and pull it down a couple notches toward something calmer. It comes out mostly just sounding tired.]
You got valuable shit to do with yourself, right? So why don't you just go fucking do it. I don't know why you're here, but whyever it was, you did it. We're done. Go make sure you didn't, I don't know, catch what I got so you don't flip out again, I can sit here on my own just fine.
[The hell of it is, he remembers now why he left in the first place. He remembers sitting here and realizing at least part of why he felt so deeply shitty was probably because he was too sick to keep track of time, and didn't remember when he last ate. But if Connor has to stick around wasting his effort for as long as that will take Hank thinks he'll probably scream, and then maybe throw up. So, fuck it. Sumo's dog food fills itself up every day, somehow - if Hank feels like he's about to starve he'll just fucking eat that, and in the meantime he'll just keep taking these slow, deep breaths through his nose, because when he can manage that without coughing it sort of helps. Going on another wild adventure to try and find the kitchen doesn't feel like it's worth the effort, anymore.]
no subject
Fingers twitch and he raises a hand to rest on the doorframe, considering with a demeanor that could be easily read as unease, if someone really knew him — too stiff, too perfectly angled, voice too clear-cut.
Agitation still lives in him, too, crawling along his insides.]
Rest, Lieutenant. Have someone else bring you food or water if you require it.
[His other hand moves to shut the door behind him, to leave Hank alone as badly as he wants to be, and Connor does so without giving the man time to properly respond.]
no subject
[Hank doesn’t look toward the closed door, just keeps his head down, breathing in the smell of himself and old sweat, listening to the dead empty air of his empty apartment. He doesn’t try to sound angry; there’s no reason, now.]
Prick.