[The silence that hangs over the kitchen, after the squealing chair and smashing glass, is tense, like a storm cloud right before the first flash of lightning.
Connor explains, but doesn’t really answer anything. But Hank’s depression has never filled his detective skills before. Blue eyes squint at Connor, trying to read him and - to his surprise - getting more than blank, pre-programmed expressions. He thinks about Ortiz’s android. About the girls at the club. I was scared.
The answer is right there. He’s asked it once, a couple nights ago in the park, pushed Connor into it. His fingers curl around the frame of Cole’s picture and then lower it from his chest. He doesn’t need to ask it a second time.]
no subject
Connor explains, but doesn’t really answer anything. But Hank’s depression has never filled his detective skills before. Blue eyes squint at Connor, trying to read him and - to his surprise - getting more than blank, pre-programmed expressions. He thinks about Ortiz’s android. About the girls at the club. I was scared.
The answer is right there. He’s asked it once, a couple nights ago in the park, pushed Connor into it. His fingers curl around the frame of Cole’s picture and then lower it from his chest. He doesn’t need to ask it a second time.]
You’re a deviant.