Chapter Text
The following week progresses like it's got somewhere to be, and Connor can hardly keep up with it. Whatever his idea had been about the time after the arrest, it wasn't this.
Upon hearing that the rustlers had been locked up and sent on trial, Connor's parents quickly made their way to Copper Valley. With the decision to do so beings quite spontaneous, there was no time to warn their sons in advance.
Now here they are, sticking out like two sore thumbs in the middle of the Longhorn.
Connor, who's ending his shift early in order to sneak off to see Hank, is startled by the sight of them - so much so that he drops a bottle of expensive whiskey and just barely manages to catch it before the glass breaks against the floor.
He feels his stomach drop as he lays eyes on his father, his hard gaze and constant scowl. The bristly mustache looks even more severe than usual, neatly styled and oiled.
Struggling to get a grip on himself, Connor stumbles under the counter, carefully putting down the bottle out of reach to the customers. If he is unprepared for the very fact that his parents are here, he's even less prepared for the way his father, his own father, embraces him tightly and tells him of how proud he is.
His father.
It's jarring, and yet embarrassingly enough, Connor's heart sings at the praise.
"I knew you would set this straight," their father exclaims later over dinner in the staff area - that is, the kitchen - and he insists on toasting to Connor. Niles raises his glass, and bless him for not caring about the way their father goes on and on about Connor. He even shoots Connor a sardonic smile, eyebrow raised as their father goes on and on. Glad to have Niles on his side, Connor is still high strung by the sudden visit, worried that there's an ulterior motive behind it.
He should feel a spark of light and excitement at their father's praise, and he wishes he could appreciate hearing them, his efforts finally being recognized. As it is, he only has a sinking feeling in his gut, like waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under his feet.
Their parents are there to celebrate the conclusion to a particularly difficult time of their lives, and shouldn't he be celebrating, too? Closing this case means that he can finally move back home.
If that's what he wants.
Connor can't say that he never longs for the endless fields of the range sometimes, the quiet of his mind as he would ride along the herds, calling orders and enjoying the wind and the sun. Still, that part of his life feels like such a far reach from the person that he is now. There's the Connor before the attack, and the Connor after. He can't go back to the person he was before.
He doesn't want to, either.
*
With their parents in town, it's hard to meet up with Hank in a way that doesn't look suspicious. That's what Connor thought he would be doing for most of the foreseeable future, and yet, here he is. At least Niles has been kind and understanding about their blossoming courtship, more so than Connor expected. As long as they're careful, Niles says that he won't interfere. Even as he tries to deny it, Niles had great respect for the sheriff, which Connor has come to appreciate a lot these past days.
He'd hate to imagine what would happen if Niles was the kind of guy to go behind his back and spill the beans to their parents.
On the third day of their parents' visit, Hank comes through the doors to the Longhorn, his feet dragging against the floor, eyes weary but pleased in a way that probably means that the rustler case is wrapping up nicely.
Connor's breath catches as they lock eyes with each other. It can't possibly be that Hank has become more handsome since the last time they saw each other?
Connor gives him a small wave, feeling a tingling sensation that starts in his toes and spreads throughout his body as he takes in Hank's… everything. Oh, how he wishes that they could just leave right now, go for a long ride and be alone together, if only for a moment.
Hank makes a beeline for Connor, beaming his way. He isn't stupid, of course he wouldn't kiss Connor, wouldn’t be foolish enough to make any particular move towards him in broad daylight. But he does watch him intently, a slow growing grin spreading on his face. His narrow tooth gap is visible when he smiles. Connor bites his lip.
"How are you?" he asks, nearly knocking a glass from the counter with the hand that's currently wiping down the top. The last time he saw Hank, the man was fleeing the scene after their night long… activities.
They never had time to just… talk about it. "Haven't seen you around," Connor says, voice coming out an octave higher than usual. Damn his voice for sounding so small, for allowing his insecurities to bleed into his words. Not that Connor is worried, not really, but what happened the other night has started to feel less like the past and more like a vivid dream. And something about that is making Connor desperate for confirmation that it actually happened.
Of course, Hank gets it right away. With a gentle curve upwards of his lips, he makes Connor's fear settle and die down.
"I know, I’ve missed you," he mumbles, and this is where Connor deeply desires to curl up in Hank's lap, lay his head against Hank's chest, and listen to the vibrations inside of him as he speaks. "Things are a little crazy right now." Hank scrubs his hand over his face. "Wish I could have you there with me."
And doesn't that light a fire inside of Connor.
"My parents are here," he says softly, wondering what Hank will make of that. There's the implication that comes with that statement - Connor's parents are here because of the trial against the rustlers, an event which was Connor's main reason for moving to town, and now that this will be concluded…
After all, he used to be the cow boss, and head rider - a job that he has spent most of his life preparing for. It will take months, if not years, to educate the next cowboy to take over for him.
Hank leans against the counter, looking too amused, given the circumstances. "I know. Met them yesterday while you were on your morning swim."
Connor coughs. "Really?"
"Yeah." Hank's smile widens. "Told me that you've grown so much since you moved here."
At this, Connor rolls his eyes. "They would say that, wouldn't they?" Then he stops dead in his tracks. "What else did they say? You didn't tell them anything, right?"
Hank snorts. "Now, what in God's name would I tell them?" He leans closer, whispering in that deep, rumbling voice, into Connor’s ear, "That I have come to know their son very intimately? No, I only said that you have been pushing me to solve the case, that you've been awfully helpful in finding the rustlers."
And there's that blush burning on his cheeks again. Connor feels his entire face heating up, and only to have something to do with his hands, he prepares a cup of coffee for Hank. "So." He clears his throat. "How are things at the station?" he asks, and he can't help the swooping sensation he feels as Hank brings him up to speed on the past few days. He's missed so much already, so many steps in the process. Hank draws lines and figures with his index fingers as he explains, leaning against the counter while they talk. He smells so good. Connor's mind drifts to that morning when his own body smelled like Hank.
They talk for a while, way longer than Hank has lunch time for, and when Hank gets up to leave, Connor deeply, desperately, wishes he could go with him.
"Bye," he says, his heart fluttering as Hank manages a quick squeeze of his hand across the counter.
"I'll come back later, yeah?" Hank smiles, and then he dons his hat as he rises up from his seat.
"Sheriff Anderson?" Connor's mother calls out before Hank has the time to leave. She strolls through the crowded place, patting Connor on his cheek as she passes, and gives Hank a pleasant smile. "I'm glad to see you. We didn't properly thank you for keeping our boys safe."
Hank ducks his head, looking embarrassed. His hat is off again as he greets Connor's mother, the curls of his hair licking at his neck, making Connor want to lick a stripe along it.
"That is what I'm here for, M'am," Hank says politely, his voice low and gravelly. "Besides, Connor here has impressed all of us down at the station. You've got two clever sons, you know."
Connor's mother keeps smiling. "I know. Connor has been listless for so long, and perhaps this trip is just what he needed in order to come back and finally settle in the place where he belongs." She turns to Connor. "Don't you think, Con?"
Connor opens his mouth, but honestly, what can he say? He can't say no to his family, not now. If he doesn't go back to the ranch, he's just putting the family business in a crisis - according to his father, at least.
*
Later that evening, Connor listens to his father shooting his mouth off about the "degenerate city people and the deadbeats at the Longhorn".
To think that Connor was used to this kind of talk back when he still lived at home.
Beside him, Connor sees Niles' hands twitch, his foot tapping rapidly against the floorboards.
He's annoyed. Connor hasn't seen Niles bothered like this before.
Or perhaps Connor never noticed the way their father pushes Niles' buttons as much as he does Connor's.
"I used to think so, too," he admits when he gets a foot in, diplomatic in order to diffuse the increasingly tense situation, "but since I came here, I have met some good, hardworking men and women. " He glances Niles' way, watching the tight line of his jaw, then goes on. "It's different, sure, but they're an honest bunch. It just takes time to get to know them."
Under the table, Connor feels Niles briefly squeezing his hand, a silent thank you.
"And I'm happy that you've made friends here," their mother chimes in, "but by Jove, I have never met such insensitive people before! They stink of oil and smoke, the men in this place act like pigs-" she shudders, exhaling as if she's finally lifting a weight off her chest, "And you don't get to see the sun half of the time. What kind of life is that, my boy?"
Connor wants to say something, but he bites his tongue, resigned. There's no point in arguing about it, he realizes. The words that his parents are uttering is a mirror of what his own thoughts used to be, back when he still wanted to go home. Or perhaps his own opinions were the mirroring ones.
"It almost sounds like you've taken a liking to this place," their father snorts. "And what future do you see for yourself here?" He gestures towards the darkened street outside, where a few stragglers are lumbering home. "Hm? Waiting tables while your brother runs and owns the entire place? Settling down with the stable girl and have her be the breadwinner?"
Their parents laugh, and while it's clear that his father thinks it a lighthearted joke, the jab still stings.
"There's nothing wrong with living a life like that," Connor retorts, his voice rising. "Niles works just as hard as you do, maybe even harder!" He can't fully control the way his voice raises. "And Markus is just as good as I am, and he really wants the responsibility. He should be the head rider from now on!"
His father sighs. Their mother pats their father's arm in an attempt to de-escalate what is quickly turning into a scene. "I swear, you have such an affinity for all of it - the leadership, the planning and riding. And what do you do with it? Drink and gamble with your friends, sinning in the backs of our barns."
Connor flushes as he brings that up. He flinches, and their father must notice, because he backtracks, softly adding that, "I do understand that the work on the range is hard, and one needs to… release all that stress inside." Connor feels his face heat up even more. "All I meant is that you should honor the gift that God has bestowed on you."
Connor stares down at his plate, thinking about his predicament.
Their conversation dies down for a while, as they all eat their dinner in silence.
*
Connor goes to see Hank the next morning, this time at the sheriff's department.
For the occasion, he is wearing his nicest clothes, shoes polished and all. He hesitates for just a second before he knocks and opens the door.
Reed and Miller are chatting by their desks, and they greet him cheerily when he comes in. Through the glass door, Connor can see the outline of Hank's form. His heart squeezes, knees going weak as he knocks on the door.
"Good morning," he whispers before he closes the door behind him, making Hank look up from where he's deep in something he's written down in one of his notebooks. Hank's face morphs from his concentrated frown into a wide grin.
"Hi," Hank breathes. "How are you holding up?"
Connor shakes his head, lifting off his hat and holding it close to his chest, as if that may ground him.
"I'm okay," Connor says, though he's not okay. Not okay at all, because he's standing here when Hank's lap looks so inviting, and he isn't allowed to come over and claim that perfect perch as his own. "My parents are… I forgot how persistent they can be," he says, a shaky laugh making his voice break.
Watching him carefully, Hank takes a breath in as silence falls between them. Connor sees him hesitate.
"Niles would probably let you stay if you wanted to," Hank says carefully, "You know that, right?"
Oh, the conviction, the hope in the way Hank says those words… It breaks Connor's heart.
He can't work as a bartender the rest of his life. As much as he loves being with his brother, that life isn't for him.
But going back…
"I don't think I can do that, Hank," Connor says, and he hates the way Hank's face falls, his hopes crushed. "And besides, raising and moving livestock is all I know how to do." He shrugs, the movement feeling stiff and uncomfortable. Hank's face twitches. "I don't want to waste what I'm actually good at, as much as I'd.." He swallows, watching Hank, wishing for Hank to wrap his arms around him. He hears Reed laughing out loud about something on the other side of the door. "... I'd have liked to have stayed here with you, Niles, and the others."
There's a sharp pain inside of him at the thought of saying goodbye to North, too.
Hank stares at him. "So. What you're saying is that… you're not staying."
Connor blinks away tears from his eyes.
"I don't have a reason to, do I?" he says, voice breaking, uneven. He's not quite sure what he wants Hank to say.
Hank scowls at him, his gaze hard.
"Don't give me that shit. You can't think of a single thing, huh?" he mutters, the words almost coming out like a growl. "Not one? Did the other night even matter to you?"
At this, Connor's breath hitches painfully, and he quickly wipes away a tear. "You know that it did. It meant every- I've never…" he trails off, unsure of how to explain this to him. His pulse is beating painfully against the tips of his fingers. "What did you expect? That we'd move in together? You wanted me to stay at your house, playing housewife while you do actually important work?" He crosses his arms, unable to hide how fucking upset he is. "Or did you think I would work with my brother for the rest of my time?"
Hank closes his mouth, his jaws clenching, but his hard expression slowly loosens into one of pity. Connor has to look away.
"Connor, come on. That's your old man talking. This isn't all you can do," he says, voice hushed as he's made aware of the fact that Miller and Reed are in the next room. "I want you to stay, okay? And if I can help you, if there's anything-"
Shaking his head violently, Connor tries and fails to block out the part of him that yearns and sings at those words.
"I don't think things work like that, Sheriff," he says softly, his words cutting wounds into him.
There's no point delaying his stay, and so he hurries out of his office, waving at the marshals as he leaves, trying desperately not to cry.
This is not how things were supposed to go.
He thinks that this is it, but when he gets back up on Apple's back outside the station, he hears the creak of the window to Hank's room, and Hank pokes his head out, still scowling.
His grumpy tone aside though, Connor detects that vulnerability when he barks, "Hey! You can't leave it like this, you dramatic little shit." Connor startles, staring at Hank from his position on Apple's back, and the absurdity of watching Hank hanging out his window cussing up a storm is drawing a laugh out of him. "Don't you dare leave this town without us talking again, okay?"
Unbelievable.
As much as Connor wants to pout, he's unable to force down his wet grin. Hank, sweet Hank.
"I am a dramatic shit, Sheriff. You should know that already."
"I mean it," Hank continues. "If you just leave town without so much as a peep, I'll have to follow you back to your ranch, and I won't leave!"
Connor sniffs, a soft laugh escaping his lips. "Is that a threat, Hank?"
At the use of his first name, Hank's face softens.
"So you promise?" Hank asks, softer now.
Connor wishes that he could ride up to Hank's window. The height gained from being on Apple's back means that he's at the perfect height to kiss Hank.
Of course, he doesn't, but he does hold Hank's gaze as he says,
"Promise."
*
Hank bumps into Niles on the way to the market the next morning both rounding a corner at the same time. He barely has time to move away, his mind foggy and completely wrung out, tired from lack of sleep and on edge from not being with Connor. Truth be told, the fact that he doesn’t sleep has much less effect on him than the fact that he can’t be with Connor.
That's what falling in love means, right? Your entire being isn't your own anymore, instead it's owned by the person holding your heart in their hand.
They left it on such a hopeful note, despite having to cut the party short, and now…
Now that they have opened this can of worms, Hank can't possibly close it again.
“Sheriff,” Niles huffs as they barely avoid crashing into each other, adjusting the bowler hat on his head as he does. The usual politeness that he employs around Hank is long gone. Which is fair, given the circumstances. “I see you’re out and about.”
Hank bites the inside of his cheek - something about the way Niles’ lips pucker like a cat's asshole makes his own mouth twitch. He seriously doubts that he will get in Niles’ good graces if he laughs in his face, though.
“Yeah, I had to get some fresh air,” Hank admits, rubbing one palm against the back of his neck. “Been stuck in my office for too many days, I guess.”
“Right.” Niles says, and then steps to the side to bypass him, clearly done with him.
“How is he?” Hank forces the words out, feeling silly. Niles stops in his tracks. “Is he okay… after everything? He was shaken up, last time I talked to him. He'd been speaking to your father about… going back."
Niles turns, regards him closely, eyes searching his face for something. For what, though, Hank has no idea. For all of their similarities, Niles and Connor are such vastly different people.
"What does it matter to you, whether Connor goes back home or not?"
“I know that we didn’t exactly give you a pleasant greeting, when you came home last week,” Hank continues, not missing the way Niles visibly cringes at the mention of that afternoon, “and I know that I should have acted more… professional.”
“That’s quite the understatement, Sheriff,” Niles snorts, then covers his mouth with his hand at the sound. “I can’t say that I was surprised.”
“Anyway,” Hank says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants, “I want you to know that I am not about to mistreat or-or use your little brother.”
To this, Niles drops his gaze. “That’s good. Because I’d hate to go to jail for murdering the sheriff.”
A little stunned by the fact that Stern the older just cracked a joke, Hank shakes his head. “Connor is… He is precious to me,” he says, and the warmth that blooms from his chest makes his toes curl. “And I don’t want to lose him.”
Niles takes a step forward, and rather rudely reaches for Hank’s Stetson, lifting it off his head and stares him right in his face, scrutinizing. Hank doesn’t evade his gaze, feeling like he's being tested, somehow. Niles keeps glaring, and Hank stands his ground.
“I’ve got to say,” Niles eventually murmurs, “that I’m a little surprised. Pleasantly so.”
Then he plops Hank’s hat back on and steps away, and the look he’s giving Hank now is less hostile, even verging on… approving?
“You should know that while our parents are here with the sole purpose of taking Connor with them,” Niles says, “I don’t know if he wants to go with them anymore. But I also know that our father is quite skilled at getting what he wants."
"I know, he told me."
Hank tries forcing down the feeling of having a hole open up inside of him, threatening to push him over the edge and send him into darkness.
Connor, gone? Unacceptable. Sure,if that's what it takes, Hank will be okay with writing letters each day to him. He'd rather be with Connor a few times a year than never again.
Still, the idea of it sucks. “Do you want him to leave?” he asks, and Niles grimaces.
“I admit that it’s selfish, but… No,” he finally says, a slight shake of his head. “He gets on my nerves, and frankly he’s a terrible bartender, but I’ve really come to rely on his presence.” His face twists. “And I have missed him. Very much so.”
To this, Hank can only crack a smile, one that threatens to turn into a sob. “He tends to have that effect on people, doesn’t he?”
The two of them are blocking the road for passersby, and so they move to the side of the road. Hank watches carriages roll by, and he thinks. “If Connor would want to stay… Is there anything I can do for him?”
Niles chews on his lip, brows knit. After a second, he says, "Unless you can magic our father into seeing Connor as anything else other than his own successor, I'm afraid there's not much to do. Now, I must take my leave."
Niles turns on his heels, hurrying out of sight and leaving Hank standing there, cogs working in his head.
*
Once the rule is out, and Amos and the others are officially locked up, Connor's parents decide that they all should head home to the Stern ranch. Apparently, they're including Connor in the count, because his father tells him one morning to pack his bags and say goodbye to his friends.
It's humiliating, the fact that Connor immediately regresses to a young boy, desperate for approval. He hoped that the time spent in town would have changed things, would have made his skin thicker, but it turns out that old habits die hard.
He has to talk to his father before they leave, but he has been dreading it for days. Thank God for small mercies - He hasn't been put on a strict time limit yet, as his parents at least understand how much he will need to do before they leave. But they can't be held off for too long.
This morning is as good a time as any to think things through, which is why Connor decides to delay the conversation that he will have to have with them later in the day - if he can even muster the courage.
He doesn't know just how he'll manage to stand up to his own father, but he'll have to do it, fight for his right to live his life the way he wants to... Except that his father is a hell of a debater, a master of making Connor feel like he's done something wrong, somehow. Being able to convince him to let him stay feels more like a distant dream than anything.
In the past month or so more townsfolk are making their way to the river to cool off. This unfortunate but predictable turn of events has forced him to get up even earlier than before, in order to find some peace and quiet by the water.
Slipping out of bed and leaving his usual note on his dresser for when Niles wakes up, Connor thinks about their grandmother, how she would make bread straight out of the furnace on crisp sunday mornings.
He thinks about Hank's ex wife and her own selfish, but ultimately brave, pursuit of her own happiness.
As he exits his and Niles' quarters, quietly skipping down the stairs, he is reminded of Hank's hands on his hips, of being hoisted up on the counter, of being held like he's someone precious.
Would Hank be opposed to a life where he and Connor only can be with each other a few times a year? It would require quite a lot of work on their parts, and so many lies on top of that.
Hank would probably tell Connor that he'd be okay with it, and that's what's breaking Connor's heart. Connor isn't okay with any of it. His and Hank's story can't end like this. And yet, what the hell can he do about it?
He rides Apple down to the river, to his usual spot, marveling for the last time at how still this place can be in the morning, right before most people are even awake. Taking a path that will take longer to get him there, he allows himself to spur Apple into a gallop. The feel of air swooshing in his ears is freeing, and for a blissful moment he feels like things might be okay. By the time he sees the water glinting in the glow of the morning sun, the air is already warm.
He ties Apple by his usual spot, lifts off the bag that he packs his clothes and towel in, and listens as the breeze gently rustles the leaves of the trees by the river. They are old, many of them rising high into the sky, and their roots twist and turn above ground and down into the water, making the trunks and twigs lean over the edge. The willow trees have some branches growing at an awkward angle, dipping and gliding right at the surface of the water, causing ripples through the soft waves.
It's so hot outside. Connor takes off his hat to fan himself, panting. Apple snorts loudly, shaking her head. Poor girl could use more exercise.
After the hard ride, Connor feels his head clearing. Perhaps he has been thinking too narrowly about the whole thing. How can it be, that just twenty minutes on horseback can give you some perspective. Just a morning of solitude...
He still has time to tell his parents that he refuses to go home. It doesn't have to be the end of their relationship. It doesn't even matter if his father will refuse his wish.
He'd be a deserter, surely, but he doubts that his mother would completely abandon him because of that. His father will be thunderous, but then again, most things make him cross.
If Connor really wanted to, he could ask for work at Collins' ranch. He would have to start at the bottom, but he could probably live with that.
Honestly, maybe even working for Niles could be okay. He doesn't have to love his work. He could just… do his job, then spend the rest of his time with his friends, with Hank, and they could get a house somewhere out of town--
But by the time he will be back to the Longhorn, he will be discouraged again, will back down whenever his father nags at him, and that makes him want to stay rooted to the spot, enjoying this moment in nature, where anything feels possible.
And that's when Connor notices that he's got company.
Practically hidden from sight from the road, he sees Hank.
Reclining against the trunk of Connor's favorite willow tree, his weatherworn hat on his head, tipped over his eyes to block out the morning sun. He's in that burgundy shirt, Connor's favorite, and the black buttoned up vest over it is just…
For a moment, Connor just stares, because the sight is too much.
How did someone so kind, so handsome and smart, land in Connor's lap?
Hank's here, and he's alone. In Connor's favorite spot.
The morning light evens out his features, the rays that pierce through the leaves of the willow leaving rippling shadows all over his arms, his clothes.
His joints suddenly much too stiff to walk over at a normal pace, Connor staggers towards him, heart pounding.
Hank.
Hank must have heard him coming, probably can hear his panting breaths, because there is a knowing, pleased smile tugging at those beautiful lips as Connor approaches.
The warm light makes the gray curls in his beard shine like molten gold.
"Heard that this is the place if you wanna go for a nice skinny dip," Hank murmurs in that amused rumbling voice that sounds like thunder. He doesn't look up, knows exactly who's behind him. Connor's knees go weak. "Not too bad for a nap, either."
Connor orders his mouth to open, to obey and answer Hank. He hears his own voice waver as he says, "I would have come here sooner if I'd known they kept handsome sheriffs in these parts."
Hank huffs a soft laugh, and he tips the brim of his hat up with the knuckle of his index finger in order to have a look at Connor. Even in the shadow from the brim of his hat, his eyes are so, so blue.
Oh, it is dangerous, how much power Hank has over him. This man is holding his heart in his big, calloused hands, and Connor loves it.
Hank smiles even wider, and Connor wants to melt into his side, kissing him until neither of them can move.
Once his legs get moving, he sighs, leaning his back against the trunk too, then foregoing his usual neat nature and slides down until his ass hits the ground. He lets out a small huff at the impact, and he hears Hank snigger at the sound.
Their sides brush against one another, and it sends a jolt down Connor's spine. It hurts to be this close to Hank, and not dare to reach out.
They're quiet for a long minute, listening to the soft murmur of the river, the crickets singing in the tall grass. Despite his languid position, Hank's body is tense. So is Connor's.
"So. This is it then?"
Hank sounds far too casual, and it makes Connor suspect that he might be more nervous than he's letting on.
"I guess. Don't have much choice, do I?" he shrugs, as if he's talking about eating soup for dinner, and not about uprooting everything and going back to a life that doesn't belong to him anymore.
The last words he said to Hank are replaying themselves in his mind, and before he knows it, he's blurting out,
"I didn't mean any of it."
"Any of what?" Hank asks, and now it's clear as day that his casual tone is just a cover up for his own nerves being on edge.
"What I said the other day. I didn't mean it." Connor takes a shaky breath in, daring to look right at Hank this time. Hank is looking at him with a curious expression. "Honestly, I would much prefer to be your housewife, if that had been possible. I have to go back, I gotta do what I gotta do, but I don't wanna leave…"
Hank tilts his head to one side, regarding Connor closely. He remains quiet.
"...You. That is, you and Copper Valley," Connor continues, throat drying up, "I've never felt like life had any meaning before I came here. I've loved getting to know you, and helping your work along has…" he swallows thickly, afraid he might actually cry at how true this statement is. "If you… If you could stand only seeing me every other month. Perhaps we could camp out in nature, be away from society when I visit…" He trails off, because what he's offering is painful at best and impossible at worst.
Leaning forward to stop the nausea that threatens to have his stomach turn inside out, he lets the tears in his eyes fall until they hit the grass.
God. His life as he knows it is ending, isn't it?
"You know," Hank says softly, "I spoke to your father yesterday."
That has Connor completely forgetting his misery, and his head snaps up until he's sitting up straight, staring at Hank in disbelief.
"You what?"
Hank bites the inside of his cheek, scratching his thumb lightly against his lower lip. "Well, I felt I had to talk to him, get to know him, given the nature of my relationship with his son. Not-not like that, I mean," he says hastily as Connor feels all color draining from his face at the implication that Hank would have told his father about them. "I just figured… I had to ask if he really thought that the ranch life was the right way to go for you."
"Why would you do that?" Connor asks, dumbfounded, his heart racing once more. Why in the name of the Lord…
"I told him that you have a natural instinct that is needed for a man of the law, specifically for detectives. I let slip that we also have a major shortage of personnel."
The words and their meaning take some time to sink in.
"What-what are you suggesting?" he whispers, his heart beating hard. Hank still watches the river but he reaches over to hold Connor's hand. His thumb is making circles against the back of his hand.
"Now, I can't really work too closely with you, and you still need to go through the same education as any other lawman, but…" he grins, biting his lower lip, "you'd be a fantastic addition to our department. I know that you value your father's opinion highly. But this doesn't have to be your only option. I want you to know that."
Connor is frozen in place, mind reeling from this.
"Wh-why would you do that?" he asks, unable to mask his astonishment, and his breath hitches as Hank turns sideways to face him.
"Because I've come to understand that perhaps your parents wanting what's best for you is clouding their judgement. And I thought that having this suggestion come from a weathered man, who's closer to your father's age, might make him reconsider dragging you back to the ranch."
Oh.
Connor sits back, needing the support from the tree trunk, lest he fall over. A lawman… an officer. He could become an officer. That's a respectable line of work, one that his parents would consider noble. Had Connor suggested it himself, they wouldn't have believed he could do it, but Hank asked them. Hank asked them for Connor's sake. The very thought makes his eyes tear up again.
"That's actually a clever move," he chokes out, voice trembling. "What did my father say?"
The brush of Hank's hands against his own is grounding him. They're calloused, dry. Surprisingly well manicured. Hank looks down at the space between them.
"Well, apparently all it takes is a sheriff's word. I think you wouldn't need to push quite as much with my recommendation to back you up."He hesitates. "That is, if you would want it. The hours can be long, and I will have to stay away from many of your cases, and Gavin is a fucking idiot. But if you'd rather be a cowboy, I will be fucking happy for any time that you'd be able to spare--"
Hank is talking too much. Connor rectifies this by rolling them over, until Hank is on his back, half hidden in the tall grass, Connor pressed against him and kissing him like his life depends on it.
Hank quickly recovers from the surprise, wrapping his big arms around him and returning the kiss enthusiastically. Their clothes are going to get mud all over them, and for once, Connor doesn't give a single hoot.
This is the morning that lays out the future for the both, without either of them knowing, the morning that marks an end to one chapter, and the beginning of a new one. This is not where Connor saw himself upon leaving his childhood home all those months ago, it's not even close to what he's wished for, and yet… It is perfect.
Eventually, Hank breaks off the kiss in order to breathe, which only causes Connor to nose at his jawline, pushing the fabric of his patterned bandana away to get better access. "So," he gasps, hands on Connor's arms, pushing until Connor reluctantly sits up, straddling his hips. His lips are flushed, eyes dark when Connor looks at him. "Does that mean that you'll think about my offer?"
If he had any space in his brain left, Connor would have thought out a comeback that would have Hank burst out laughing, but instead he decides to lean in, forehead resting against Hank's, palms cradling his face. Hank's breath is on his skin. "What the hell do you think?" he says, laughter bubbling even as he lets himself be shut up by Hank's lips on his own.
*
Dearest mother and father,
Things have been awfully quiet on my end since we last spoke, and with this letter I hope to ease your worries, as well as apologize for the late reply.
I am settling in fine in my new home. It's a little further out of town, not many neighbors, save my horses. It can become quite lonely on slow days, which is why Niles and I arrange bi-weekly lunches and dinners together. Oftentimes, however, I am too busy with work to be bored. The sheriff's department is working me to the bone, but it's just the way I like it. After a long day, deputy Reed and Miller and I will go out for a drink at the Longhorn, which I have found to be quite relaxing, now that I don't need to handle the dishes anymore. Niles has found himself a new bartender, who's much more talented behind the bar.
Sometimes I am also accompanied by Sheriff Anderson - you remember him? He has taught me so much since I joined law enforcement. We are all lucky to have him.
Please give the boys my love. Tell Markus that he better keep them all in line!
Love,
Connor