[Hank's level anger is just starting to boil into a bark of frustration, a bellow charging ready to blow. The microexpressions flitting across Connor's face are different but so much the same to the pity that he saw nearly every day after Cole's funeral, that he's come to hate so much over the past three years whenever someone finds out what happened to his son.
Connor tells him "No," and instantly it stokes his anger higher, he just wants to be alone, goddamnit--
But something changes, and Hank has barely a second to register the shift in expression on Connor's face before Connor is diving for the table, or Hank, or something, and Hank reacts. His chair squeals and tips over as he jumps up and nearly trips on it, grabbing the one thing that's important to him (Cole, always Cole). The bottle slides off the table and smashes on the floor, spreading broken glass and filling the air with the smoky smell of scotch, and Hank stares at Connor in shock in the silence that follows the smash, his hands cradling the picture of Cole to his chest.]
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Connor tells him "No," and instantly it stokes his anger higher, he just wants to be alone, goddamnit--
But something changes, and Hank has barely a second to register the shift in expression on Connor's face before Connor is diving for the table, or Hank, or something, and Hank reacts. His chair squeals and tips over as he jumps up and nearly trips on it, grabbing the one thing that's important to him (Cole, always Cole). The bottle slides off the table and smashes on the floor, spreading broken glass and filling the air with the smoky smell of scotch, and Hank stares at Connor in shock in the silence that follows the smash, his hands cradling the picture of Cole to his chest.]
What... What in the fuck just happened?