Thread by @FastHankconSmut

✨Quick angst with fluff. Connor is baby✨

Connor and Hank’s first real fight is over nothing, really, but Hank *is* in the wrong. He doesn’t dwell on it ‘cause that’s just how these things go when you’ve been with someone long enough.

You argue about something stupid and eventually someone apologizes- or tries to.

He hasn’t gotten around to that bit, yet, but he wants to. They’ve just been so busy with work and all these random homicides that are somehow magically not connected keep popping up on them.

But, it’s fine.

At least they’re still talking to each other. Connor still takes Sumo out on walks with him, and they still share a bed.

Hank forgets to apologize after a while, because things had gone back to normal some time ago.

He doesn’t realize something painful is lurking beneath the surface of Connor, growing and twisting and making the android *sick* with worry. He doesn’t realize he’s hurting, until it’s almost too late.

Hank makes a comment- nothing he’s put any thought into saying.

Just a little thing about how Connor went kind of rough while interrogating some kid today. He did, not that Hank is really bothered by it one way or another. It’s just, strange. Connor’s not a mean guy, but that was kind of unusual for him. So Hank makes it conversation.

It’s not like he really thinks bad of Connor. He’s not been obsessed with it all day, or anything.

But, Connor reacts as if he was. As if Hank is extremely concerned by it. As if Hank *does* think ill of him.

He turns away from the stove, cutting the burner down low.

He’s gotten into the habit of making warm teas for Hank before bedtime. The older man struggles to stay asleep most nights and Connor’s remedy is pretty effective.

Only, the way Connor’s looking at him now, Hank’s not entirely sure he didn’t just poison it. They were enjoying a quiet evening in Hank’s kitchen, Sumo snoozing at their feet, and everything calming. Hank didn’t know where this shift into otherworldly anger was coming from.

He looked again and saw it wasn’t actually ‘anger’. Hank didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t that.

“Uh, Connor?” He balled his fists on he table. He didn’t like whatever this new emotion was.
“You ok?” He said hoarsely.

Connor thinned his lips.

Drew them in a straight line like he was trying to compose himself, to keep from saying something he shouldn’t.

Hank subconsciously leaned away in his chair. He could tell that Connor definitely wasn’t angry.

It seemed to transcend that entirely.

“I’m fine. Would you like sugar in your tea?”

There was so much tension in the words alone. Hank could visibly see him try to contain himself. He had never been so afraid to be in his own house before.

“Isn’t it peppermint tea?” He mumbled.

“My mistake.” Connor pulled the pot off the stove. Hank watched him pour it out into a thermos. Just enough to get Hank sleepy.

“Hey, Con, you alright?...You don’t seem like yourself.” Hank was almost afraid to ask, but he was more afraid to see Connor struggling this way.

Connor didn’t answer. Hank slid his chair out from the table, cautious not to rouse Sumo, and joined Connor by the sink. Connor was precision and perfection and didn’t have to worry about spilling the tea while he poured it. Still, he did it over the sink. Almost absently.

“Connor?” He tried again.

Before Connor could hide the slip in his software, Hank caught the glimmer of light shining off a single tear sticking to his lashes.

Connor tried to resist. He tried to compose himself and keep Hank from seeing this damaged side of him.

But, Hank was already there, taking the pot and thermos from him and putting them in the sink.

He shuffled Connor forward into his open arms, his voice going low.

“Baby, honey, what’s wrong? What’s the matter?” He murmured.

He couldn’t bother to keep the worry from his voice. His boyfriend of 9 weeks was fucking *crying* in his kitchen while trying to warm him some tea.

“Baby.” He said again, pulling Connor close enough to tuck his head beneath his chin.

Connor let him, breathing in the scent on Hank’s throat. His arms were crushed at his sides where Hank bear-hugged him harder as he felt the cold sprinkle of tears hit his skin through his shirt.

Connor stood there blinking rapidly.

It takes a lot of talking him down and petting the nape of his neck for Connor to confess himself in Hank’s sheltering arms.

“I don’t like fighting. I don’t like you being angry with me.”

“I wasn’t, sweetheart. It was just a dumb fight. Couples have those.”

“You were angry.” Connor insists.
“You never apologized or-“

“Baby, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for everything I said and did. I’m sorry I don’t even remember what we were fighting about.” He was.

Connor didn’t doubt that. He should have known better, truthfully, and maybe he did.

Life was just as smooth sailing lately as it’d always been. Excluding that fight.

He knew Hank wasn’t still mad at him, and maybe he was just being childish. He often scolded Hank for acting as such, and now here he was, doing so over a fight Hank didn’t even remember having.

“I’m sorry.” Connor mumbled back. Hank hushed him, waving away the fact that Connor was as much at fault here as he was, and instead insisted on taking the blame.

He didn’t care about that. He just wanted Connor to never cry like that again in his fucking kitchen. Ever.

If that meant throwing it on himself, then fine.

“It’s, alright. We’re ok.” Hank kissed his temple, taking notice of the way Connor’s lashes fluttered.

Connor didn’t fuss with him about it, again- as senseless as it’d been to fuss in the first place- and let himself be held.