interlinked (connorxreader)

2. Carlos Ortiz

And to some extent, Hank understood. Of course, he knew he wasn't the easiest to work with, and yet you still persisted. You were not intimidated by his bigger build, hostile personality, or higher rank, not even when you first began working at DPD two years ago. No—if anything, it only added fuel to your fire, making you boldly loud about your opinions on some of his habits.

It's inappropriate to drink so much, Lieutenant.

Maybe go home and get some rest instead of camping out at Jimmy's Bar tonight.

Maybe Fowler wouldn't be such an ass if you didn't fight tooth and nail with him over every matter as if he isn't your boss.

I'm not arguing with you, Hank, you're just plain wrong.

I think cutting your hair would make you look less... bummy?

No, I don't believe I'm a stubborn ass. I'm not you the last time I checked.

Your sharp, blunt demeanor wasn't even something he could argue with either. It was one of the reasons why you were transferred to Detroit – you, much like himself, were damn good at your job. There wasn't a single thing you didn't miss when investigating crime scenes; you were thorough, precise, and quick, necessary qualities that were key in fighting the red ice, and now deviancy, crises in the bustling city. You were confident in yourself and it showed in your work, much to Fowler's delight. In a way, you were a nice counterpart to Hank's own non-traditional work ethic, though not much more sociable yourself—you were simply more docile and discreet in your displeasure. It was something he could respect you for, that and your careful tiptoeing around the line of your teasing. After so many years of working together, you were no stranger to Hank's struggle with losing his son, Cole, and his very strong dislike with anything even remotely linked to it. So you went out of your way to be careful with exactly how far your teasing went, honoring your mutual respect for one another and not crossing any lines.

It was your common ground—an understanding between two suffering souls that have memories they'd much rather leave behind with the changing seasons. You had your own baggage weighing you down. Hank never pressed on the matter, only offering his insight learned from his own personal experiences, and so you learned to do the same in return.

Granted, it was an awkward arrangement at first, your partnership, but as the years progressed the two of you nestled into a comfy dynamic of teasing, excessive sarcasm, and mutual understanding. Deny as he might, you'd even call it a friendship.

Which brings you back to now: Hank debating to walk out on you for the ego's sake, because God forbid you prove a valid point to him at the expense of his pride. Before he can make his decision, you give in to his attempts at forgiveness and ease up.

"Jesus, how the hell did your new buddy get you in the car with that attitude?"

Your comment seems to ruffle Hank's feathers.

"He's not 'my buddy.'" he refutes. He grumbles something under his breath.

"What was that?"

Hank repeats his grumbling, but the volume barely alters.

"Huh?"

"I said he bought me a drink for the road! There, happy now?"

A beat of silence follows. Two–

You wheeze a spout of air between your lips before you give in to the gutting laugh you were holding back. Your arms embrace your torso as you bend over and use every gust of exhale to emphasize each belt of your boisterous laugh. You can't help it, just the thought of Connor, a professional, advanced detective android bribing a real, prickly and antisocial, decorated detective with a double shot of bourbon absolutely killed you.