Saved || Bodyguard Connor x Reader

Chapter 8: Visiting Hank

Connor adjusts his tie as he approaches Hank's front door. The early morning chill clings to the air, and the faint scent of stale beer drifts from an overturned recycling bin near the porch. He raises his fist to the door. 

He hesitates, just for a second, running through the potential outcomes of this conversation. Emotional matters were still... uncharted territory. He finally knocks, the sound echoing hollowly in the quiet neighborhood.

It takes longer than it should for the door to open. When it finally does, Hank stands there in a faded Detroit Police hoodie and old sweatpants, his hair a mess and his face set in the universal expression of too early for this nonsense. He squints at Connor like he's a stray dog that wandered onto his property.

"Jesus, Connor, it's barely 8 a.m. Can't this wait until I've had coffee?"

"Good morning, Lieutenant," Connor replies evenly. "I apologize for the early hour, but I require your advice on a personal matter."

Hank raises an eyebrow, leaning heavily on the doorframe. "A personal matter, huh? You mean someone's actually got your circuits twisted? This I gotta hear. Come on in."

Connor steps inside as Hank shuffles toward the living room, scratching his head. Sumo ambles over, tail wagging sluggishly, and noses at Connor's hand before flopping onto his side. The house is its usual mess—cluttered, lived-in, and distinctly Hank. Old pizza boxes and empty scotch whiskey bottles dominate the coffee table, along with soda cans and Chinese takeout boxes.

Hank sinks into his couch with a groan, grabbing a bottle of beer. "Alright, spit it out. What's eating at your cyber-brain?"

Connor settles into the armchair across from him, folding his hands neatly in his lap. "It concerns my current assignment. Protecting Miss Y/N."

Hank raises an eyebrow. "Ah, the VIP you've been glued to lately. What about her? She giving you a hard time?"

"Not intentionally," Connor replies. "However, she values her independence highly and often engages in activities that compromise her safety. Balancing my directive to protect her with respecting her autonomy has proven... challenging."

Hank snorts, folding his arms. "Lemme guess. She's the kind who'd rather walk straight into traffic than let you hold her hand crossing the street?"

Connor tilts his head slightly, considering. "That metaphor is not entirely inaccurate."

"Figures. People like that? They'll fight you every step of the way because they think asking for help means giving up. Trust me, I've seen it before. Hell, I am that, half the time," Hank mutters. He scratches behind Sumo's ears, his expression softening. "Alright, so what's the real problem here? You're not just here to complain."

Connor hesitates, his LED blinking yellow for a brief moment. "Last night, she left the house alone, despite the known threats against her. When I confronted her, she explained that her actions stem from a deep-seated need for independence—a fear of losing herself to others' control. I want to ensure her safety without exacerbating her discomfort or alienating her further."

"Looks like you got your hands full with this one," Hank says with a low whistle. Then he raises an eyebrow. "Wait. Why'd you come to me for advice? I'm not exactly Mr. Emotional Support. Shouldn't you have some program or algorithm for this kinda thing?"

Connor shakes his head. "This situation requires a more nuanced understanding of human behavior—one I've observed you possess."

Hank looks genuinely surprised for a moment, then grunts, waving the compliment off. "Alright, fine. Look, Connor, people like her... the ones who've had their freedom yanked around, they're always gonna push back. It's not about you, Connor. It's about what you represent."

Connor's brows furrows slightly. "Could you elaborate?"

Hank sighs, picking up his beer. "So, she's got a problem with people telling her what to do. That tracks. Can't blame her, either. Nobody likes feeling boxed in—especially if they've been through the wringer before." He gestures vaguely with the bottle. "But you already know that, don't you?"

Connor nods. "She explained her perspective last night. Her resistance stems from a fear of losing herself to others' control."

"Well, there you go," Hank says, leaning back. "You've got the 'why.' What you need now is the 'how.' How do you make her feel like she's still in charge while keeping her out of trouble?"

Connor's brow furrows slightly. "That is the issue I've yet to solve. Her actions often compromise her safety, yet I don't wish to alienate her further by being overbearing."

Hank chuckles. "If I were you, I'd start by showing her you're not just some cold machine. She needs to see that you're on her side—that you're not just doing this because it's your damn mission, but because you care."

Connor's LED blinks yellow. "I do care," he says quietly. "But I'm unsure how to convey that without compromising my professional boundaries."

"Professional boundaries, huh? You sure that's all there is to it?"

Connor hesitates, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I... I'm not certain. My programming prioritizes her safety above all else, but I've found myself considering factors beyond that directive. Her happiness, her comfort... these seem equally important."

Hank smirks. "Kid, you're in deeper than you think. And that's not a bad thing. Just don't overthink it. You're trying to figure her out, and that's more than most people bother with... Here's what you gotta do. Show her you're not just some walking security system."

Connor considers this, his LED blinking thoughtfully. "How would you recommend I approach this?"

"Be a person, not a program," Hank replies bluntly. "Get to know her. Let her get to know you. Do something normal for once—take her out for coffee, watch a dumb movie, hell, buy her a hamburger at a street cart. Girls like burgers, right?"

Connor blinks, his LED stuttering briefly. "I have not observed any particular preference for burgers."

Hank snorts, shaking his head. "Figures. Point is, she needs to see you as more than just a guard dog. And for crying out loud, don't take it personally when she pushes you away. People like her... they come around eventually."

Connor absorbs Hank's words, his posture relaxing slightly. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Your perspective is valuable."

Hank shrugs. "Yeah, well, don't let it go to your head." He pauses, his expression softening slightly. "Gotta admit, though, It's weird not having you around the station. Place feels... quieter without you."

Connor glances up, surprised. "You miss me?"

"Hell no," Hank grumbles, scratching the back of his neck. "I just mean... you were good company. And you kept me from strangling Reed every other day."

A faint smile tugs at Connor's lips. "I appreciate the sentiment, Lieutenant."

"Yeah, yeah. Just don't screw this up with your fancy new job, alright? She sounds like a pain in the ass, but you're good at this stuff. And if she's as stubborn as you say, she's probably worth the trouble."

Connor rises to his feet, his movements smooth and precise. "I will take your advice into consideration. Thank you, Lieutenant."

Hank waves him off, taking a swig of beer. "Don't mention it. Seriously. Don't. And bring her by sometime. I wanna see what kind of person can actually give you a run for your money."

Connor pauses at the door, glancing back. "I'll consider it."

As he steps outside, Hank calls after him one last time. "Connor?"

"Yes?"

"And, for fuck's sake, buy her the damn burger."