[Hank is putting the lasagna leftovers in the fridge when he hears Connor call for him. There’s a jolt in his chest, despite the fact that Connor doesn’t sound like he’s in distress.
Now it’s his turn to have a painful flashback, apparently: Connor calling his name back in Stratford Tower. Pained.
He swallows back that worry, though — Connor’s fine — before heading down the hallway.]
Yeah?
[Just a peek through the door, and... oh. Hank’s gone and forgotten about clean clothes, hasn’t he? Not only that but Hank hasn’t even taken him shopping, hasn’t gotten him those fucking oven mitts, hasn’t got him anything new for his room.
Some guy Hank is. Some guy.]
Clothes, yeah? Shit.
[Muttered irritably because goddamn, can he do nothing right? Hank holds up a hand for Connor before heading into his bedroom, pulling out... fuck if he knows. How many times do they have to do this whole song and dance? Connor should have his own clothes — but he doesn’t.
This is the last time, Hank tells himself. Last time he lets Connor down in this regard.
Again he just pulls out a bundle of clothes. Nothing he has is particularly small, nowhere near Connor’s size, since Hank hasn’t been here long enough to hoard old clothes.
He pops back out to the hallway to ask:]
Do you want — I mean, what do you want? [He holds up the hodgepodge pile of clothes in his arms.]
it’ll be Hank’s little secret
[Hank is putting the lasagna leftovers in the fridge when he hears Connor call for him. There’s a jolt in his chest, despite the fact that Connor doesn’t sound like he’s in distress.
Now it’s his turn to have a painful flashback, apparently: Connor calling his name back in Stratford Tower. Pained.
He swallows back that worry, though — Connor’s fine — before heading down the hallway.]
Yeah?
[Just a peek through the door, and... oh. Hank’s gone and forgotten about clean clothes, hasn’t he? Not only that but Hank hasn’t even taken him shopping, hasn’t gotten him those fucking oven mitts, hasn’t got him anything new for his room.
Some guy Hank is. Some guy.]
Clothes, yeah? Shit.
[Muttered irritably because goddamn, can he do nothing right? Hank holds up a hand for Connor before heading into his bedroom, pulling out... fuck if he knows. How many times do they have to do this whole song and dance? Connor should have his own clothes — but he doesn’t.
This is the last time, Hank tells himself. Last time he lets Connor down in this regard.
Again he just pulls out a bundle of clothes. Nothing he has is particularly small, nowhere near Connor’s size, since Hank hasn’t been here long enough to hoard old clothes.
He pops back out to the hallway to ask:]
Do you want — I mean, what do you want? [He holds up the hodgepodge pile of clothes in his arms.]