Afterburn (Connor x Reader - Connor POV)

That Night

November 11th, 2038
PM 7:00:00

Connor hadn't spent much time in Central Station's android bay. Under better circumstances, he might've been eager for a tune-up. Either way, he never expected to be there with Hank and Captain Allen, and without her.

"Talk to me, Connor." Hank urged.

Connor's elbows remained pinned to the top of his thighs, his hands dropping between his knees, blood drying on his palms. Her blood. That which had lost its warmth, its shine...just like her. He tried to save her.

He tried so desperately, and it was his most ultimate failure.

"Connor!"

Where they'd just spoke, there was silence. Where they'd shared love, he was alone. Where she'd touched him went numb.

"For fuck's sake, say something. Anything!"

There had been a time where he questioned the sanity of humans who lost themselves in a cycle of "this isn't happening" and "this can't be real" in vicious repetition. Now, he understood how such denial would be comforting. He wished he was capable of lying to himself so he could experience that temporary reprieve, too.

"It wasn't my fault."

Attempt unsuccessful.

Hank was screaming. What he was saying, Connor wasn't sure, but he was upset with him for not speaking. He tried. Uncertainty clawed its way up his throat and captured words as they tried to leave him. Even if he could figure out a way around it, what would he have to say?

"Anderson, maybe give him a minute to process what just happened?"

"Shut the fuck up, Allen. This ain't one of your Afghanistan soldiers or what the fuck ever. And you-" He turned back to Connor, "If you think this doesn't suck for everyone, you're wrong."

Hank's voice cracked at the last word. Connor looked up at that, making eye contact with him for the first time since the incident. Where Hank had always been somewhat of a broken man, he now seemed irreparable.

"Let me talk to him, Anderson." Captain Allen had a different presence about him.

He was neither in shock, nor disbelief. He showed no signs of immense stress, but rather, the collectiveness of someone who'd been through this too many times and was skipping the stages of grief in favor of damage mitigation. What was that called? What human emotion was assigned to this...detachment? Was it replicable?

Could he teach him?

Allen put a hand on Hank's shoulder, encouraging him to take a break. It was a good idea. Lieutenant Anderson had been working hours that were unhealthy for a man of his age and physical health. His vitals were concerning, especially his blood pressure.

"Fine." Hank swiped at his own nose, "Whatever."

He pushed past Captain Allen before pausing, backtracking, and then jabbing a finger at Connor, "Don't fucking do anything stupid. I don't need to lose anyone else tonight. You hear me?"

Despite not knowing what to say about everything else, Connor knew exactly how to respond to this simple request from his closest friend.

"I hear you." He blinked, the red circle on his head spinning.

With that, Hank left, and Connor was in the company of a man he barely knew. He had curiosities towards the stoic SWAT Captain that was so highly regarded inside and outside of the DPD. They failed in comparison to his current fixations, however.