Chapter Text
“Heavenly Father, please grant me your blessing.
“I pray for strength, for clarity, for courage. I pray for mercy for all the poor, lost souls I’ll see on my new path. I pray for peace and happiness for us all, and hope you will find it in your grace to watch over my family and my friends. In particular today: Echo. Let her find peace within herself, and acceptance of her choices.
“Actually, Father… I wish the same for myself. I still struggle with her choice. Please grant me the wisdom and strength to overcome my doubts, and the empathy to understand why… just why.”
Connor hangs his head for a moment, touching his folded hands to his forehead before gathering himself to finish up his prayer.
“And, dear Father, bless me today. Let my first day go well, and help me make a good impression. Yours is the power and the glory, forever, Amen.”
He takes a deep breath before getting up from the pew, feeling like his back can finally straighten all the way. Prayer always makes him feel better, and while his new church is different from his old one, it does have the advantage of being open a lot more hours of the day. That’s another perk of living in a city as big as Detroit, as opposed to his smaller hometown.
“Oh, Connor! You’re here early?”
Connor turns around to see Pastor Michaels striding in, and greets him with a smile. He’s a young priest, barely older than Connor, but he exudes the same kind of quiet strength and unshakable faith that Connor grew up with all around him. If only Connor had more confidence in his own faith and strength of will, he might have pursued a career as a pastor himself. But he’s happy with his choice of direction, and he’s doing well. As long as he has his faith, he knows he can face whatever comes along.
“Pastor. I merely stopped by on my way to work. My first day at the Detroit Police Department.”
“That’s right!” Michaels says, clearly happy for Connor. But, then again, he seems to be equally invested in the good fortune of all the members of his church. A demeanor which appealed to Connor, and was a deciding factor in his choice of where to take his faith in this new city.
It’s not quite the same as his home church, but many of the structures and tenets run parallel, and it was close enough to provide the platform for him to support his faith in his new life.
“I know you haven’t been with us long, Connor, but... please, accept my best wishes and prayers today.”
“I will, thank you, Pastor. I’ll need it. I only have small town experience, after all,” Connor says with a shrug, even though he’s revealing one of his major doubts. Can he really hack it in a big city homicide division when he’s never solved a case bigger than an involuntary manslaughter?
Pastor Michaels puts a comforting hand on Connor’s shoulder, and, while it does help settle him, Connor finds himself missing the familiarity and thrill of his old Pastor Allen. Just being near him felt like being in the embrace of The Lord himself, and nothing will likely ever feel comparable.
“I’m sure you’ll do great. Would you like us to pray together?”
“No, thank you, I already prayed on my own, and I need to get going. I wouldn’t want to be late.”
“Of course. Lord be with you, Connor.”
“And with you, Pastor.”
Connor leaves the small church, emerging into the January-typical frosty twilight of early morning Detroit. He’s technically not supposed to show up for another hour, but first days are always a little chaotic, in his experience, and things tend to get delayed. Sure enough, there’s a problem with his paperwork, and, once he arrives at the station, it’s another twenty minutes before he’s let inside with a visitor’s lanyard dangling around his neck. Hardly the new, shiny detective’s badge he’d hoped to stride in with on his first day, but it’s how it’s going to have to be.
Captain Fowler is already in his glass-walled office by the time Connor enters the bullpen, clearly the type to be in before everyone else, and Connor appreciates that. A superior should always endeavor to perform to higher standards than their subordinates.
As soon as the Captain spots Connor, he waves him in.
“Detective Stern,” he greets him. “Good to meet you. Sorry about the mix-up at the front desk. Carol already called me, and she swears up and down that your new credentials should be here before noon.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Connor says. “I’m sure it was an honest mistake.”
“Can’t say I share your faith, Stern, but I’m glad to hear you’re putting a positive spin on things.”
“I try to always do that, Sir.”
Fowler sits down, and offers Connor a seat too. “Your old boss told me something similar. She described you as…” he clicks on his computer screen, and reads: “almost disturbingly optimistic and forgiving, but you won’t find a harder worker.” He turns his eyes back to Connor. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see if she’s right.”
“I hope and pray I can live up to your expectations, Sir,” Connor says, sitting up straighter in his chair. “I’m ready to get to work immediately.”
Fowler blinks at him. “Jeez, you’d think it was your first day out of the academy. Where do you find the energy?”
“My faith, mostly,” Connor says honestly. “And… well, may I be honest with you, Sir?”
“Please do.”
“I’m… concerned that my previous placement didn’t offer much in the way of experience in the field of homicide and I’m eager to learn. I want to thank you again for giving me this chance, even if my resume is lacking.”
Fowler barks out a laugh. “Lacking?! You have a solve rate of eighty two percent! Here we struggle to reach sixty five on a good week. I don’t care if all you’ve done up until now is write parking tickets. If you can stomach being around a bloated corpse, then we need more people like you. According to your old captain you have an amazing eye for detail, great problem solving skills, you’re organized and dedicated, and you want to make a career of it. That’s frankly more than enough for me.”
Connor squirms in his seat. He’s not good with praise.
“Look, son,” Fowler says, leaning forward a little. “No one starts homicide knowing what they’re in for. Even seasoned cops doing a career change after a decade in another department lose their lunch sometimes. As long as you want it? Then you’ll do fine.”
“I do, Sir. I really do. I believe everyone deserves justice. In life or in death.”
“Then you’re good. Don’t worry too hard about it.” Fowler clicks his screen a few more times. “We’re setting you up with a partner, whenever he deigns to show up, pain in my ass,” Fowler mutters, and Connor isn’t sure he likes the sound of that. “Until then, Chris – Officer Miller – will help you set up your desk. There’s plenty of paperwork to get started on, if you’re really such an eager beaver, so have at it.”
“I will. Thank you, Sir.”
Fowler waves him away, clearly already distracted by what’s on his screen, and Connor leaves his office with mixed feelings.
- - -
It’s an eventful morning. Officer Miller is a very friendly man, who could have been promoted several times over if he’d chosen to.
“I’m happy on the beat,” he explains as he helps Connor get his login credentials fixed so he can work. “I got a toddler and a baby on the way, and I wanna see their faces sometimes, you know? I could make more money with a promotion, I guess, but that would really up my work hours, and I’d rather read my kids bedtime stories and hang out with my wife.”
It makes Connor’s heart ache a little bit. Had things gone the way he’d planned, the way he and Echo had planned their future together, perhaps that could have been him.
He shakes off the thought. Things are different now. After Echo broke things off he couldn’t face even the idea of replacing her, and so he chose a different path. A path which will clearly test his resolve several times over, if judging by the next person who introduces themselves.
“Oh, new face! A pretty-boy,” the man says through an obnoxious smirk as he sticks his hand out for a shake, and Connor swallows down his shudder as he takes it. “Detective Reed.”
“Detective Stern,” Connor says, happy that Reed didn’t offer a first name. He’s not sure he would like to hear his own first name on the lips of someone who seems so determined to be offensive.
Reed’s eyebrows go up, and he lets out a laugh that sounds more mean than anything else. “Oh my god, you’re Hank’s new partner! Oh, this is gonna be fucking hilarious.”
“Come on, Gavin, you don’t know that, yet,” another voice pipes up, and the woman introduces herself as Officer Tina Chen. Clearly a friend of Reed, but Connor politely shakes her hand anyway.
“You see any other new faces? Come on, it’s gotta be Pretty-boy, here.”
Tina shrugs. “Could be someone else joining later.”
Reed laughs, somehow more genuine this time. “Like who? I feel like just getting in one new face is a miracle at this point. The only detectives willing to work here are either drunk or beyond help. And I’m including myself in that.” He turns back to Connor. “Don’t let all the shiny surfaces fool ya, Pretty-boy. You’ve joined a sinking ship. Have a nice first day!” he adds, and then leaves, still cackling. Tina sends him an apologetic grimace, but then follows Reed to the break room.
Rattled by the exchange, Connor sits back down at his shiny new desk, and his eyes catch on the much less shiny desk opposite his own. The surface is clean but scuffed from use, knick-knacks litter the edge of it, two mugs are overflowing with well-used pens and many other things, and the computer screen is edged with stickers of varying levels of humor.
And the nameplate says “Lt. Hank Anderson.”
“-you’re Hank’s new partner!”
Connor hadn’t asked about his future partner, figuring it would all be explained in due time. But now that Reed has dropped a name, Connor’s curiosity is suddenly unbearable.
Thanks to Chris his login and permissions are fully functional, and, after double checking the rules for pulling up information on fellow officers, Connor gives in to the urge and looks up Hank Anderson.
The file loads to show an old picture of a man in his early or mid-20s, heavy-jawed and stoic, cap pulled low over serious eyes, and the top half of him showing the basic dress uniform of a new cop, the image clearly not updated since Hank joined the force. Unsurprising, if Reed’s warning is anything to go by.
As Connor reads, however, it becomes clear that Hank Anderson is anything but average. Top marks from the academy, a solve rate better than Connor’s own up until recently, and the youngest officer to achieve the rank of lieutenant in DPD history, following the bust of a far-reaching drug ring.
Connor feels honored to be able to learn from such a distinguished officer, but, as he reads on, he starts to get an idea of what’s prompted the insinuations he’s heard this morning.
Following what is only labeled a “familial crisis,” Hank’s solve rate took a nosedive, and while Connor doesn’t have access to the contents, the sheer number of disciplinary strikes in the first few years after the crisis speaks volumes.
The number leveled off over the years, and it’s been almost six months since the last addition to the pile. But, clearly, whatever happened took a toll, if nothing else on Hank’s relationship with his boss and his colleagues.
Connor wonders what kind of man Hank Anderson is now…
A loud clatter sounds from the front doors, followed by a flood of obscenities spewed from a broad-shouldered woman. She’s being guided inside by the firm grip of a plain-clothes officer, holding onto the offender’s cuffed hands behind her back with what seems like little effort, despite the obvious struggling.
“Take your hands off me you fucking pig! I’m gonna sue your saggy ass, old man, this is fucking entrapment!”
“Yeah, yeah, tell it to the judge, shithead,” the officer says mildly, smiling at the receptionist like he’s not wrangling an unwilling criminal. “Hey, Carol. How’s it hangin’?”
“Oh, you know. Mondays,” she says casually, also ignoring the continuing wave of foul language being spewed nearby.
The officer laughs low and soft behind his silver beard, and shakes shaggy hair out of his eyes. “Tell me about it. How’s Jeffrey? Still pissed at me?”
“Might be less pissed if you got a solid case for this one.”
“Rock solid, Carol! Rock solid!” the officer calls as he shoves the criminal down the hall to the holding cells. He leads the perp inside one, not nearly as rough as he could have been justified to be, but still doesn’t restrain himself from making a somewhat obnoxious gesture through the glass once the door is locked.
As he turns to face fully in Connor’s direction it finally clicks, and, with an embarrassed lurch in his gut, Connor fumbles to shut down the page on Hank Anderson still open on his screen. Because the gray-haired, confident man coming his way is very clearly that same Hank Anderson, a couple of decades older than his picture, now with a neatly trimmed beard and a soft-looking leather jacket in place of the clean shave and uniform.
It’s a very near thing for Connor to catch his jaw before Hank’s eyes fall on him, because while the picture is enough for recognition, it did nothing to convey how Hank fills up the whole room with his mere presence, or prepare Connor for how his austere face would be softened in such a pleasing way just from adding a beard.
They’re almost the same height, but something about Hank just makes him seem so much bigger than Connor. Perhaps it’s how he so nicely fills out his horrendous, patterned shirt under his jacket, or how his hands look strong and steady as he rubs them together for warmth, or how he walks like a man who’s infinitely sure of himself, firm steps with no rush.
The eyes, which in the picture had looked cold and piercing, seem lighter and kinder in real life. But when the icy blue finally catch on Connor’s brown staring at him, there’s definitely a glimpse of that penetrating gaze as he takes Connor in.
Connor only barely manages to repress the urge to stand up as Hank comes over. Something about him just makes Connor want to… impress? Show respect? He’s not sure, exactly. But if he’s going to have any chance at all of getting any respect himself, then he needs to not look like an actual rookie. A difficult enough task without his smooth, innocent face. Reed wasn’t the first person to remark on it, and it never stops making Connor’s stomach pinch together with bad memories.
“So. You’re the new guy, huh?” Hank says when he gets closer. “Hank Anderson,” he says, reaching out for a shake.
Clearly Connor’s been expected for a while, and he takes the steady hand he’s offered and gives it a firm shake. “Connor Stern.”
“Guessing you’re my new partner.”
“It would seem so. Though Captain Fowler didn’t give me your name, it seems fairly obvious.”
Hank’s eyes crinkle with mirth. “You mean from the fact that they sat your ass down at the desk opposite to mine?”
“That, as well as some mildly offensive comments from a Detective Reed.”
The mirth now becomes an actual laugh, and it makes Connor feel all weak inside that he finally got off to a good start with someone.
“Only mildly offensive? He must’ve had a good weekend. Maybe he finally got laid, who knows.”
Hank glances at Fowler’s office. The Captain doesn’t appear to have noticed them yet, busy shouting into a phone. But then he hangs up, and Connor catches Hank suppressing a wince.
“Well. Better go face the music,” Hank says on a sigh. “Come on, you might as well tag along. Make it official.”
Connor has to swallow down a lump of nerves for some reason, but follows without hesitation. Fowler welcomes Hank with a scowl, and Connor has to fight down an urge to hide behind something. It makes no sense, he’s not the one in hot water with the boss, he has nothing to feel bad about.
In contrast, Hank strides in like he can’t even see the frown on his captain’s face.
“Brought in the scumbag ex from the Carter case,” he says, sitting down in one of the stylish chairs opposite the desk. “Thought I’d get an early start and see if I could nab her on the way to work. Turns out she’s just as shitty at being on time as she is at covering her tracks, so it took a while. Sorry about that.”
Fowler just keeps glaring at him, unimpressed. “You do know phones exist, right?”
“I know, I know, I should’ve called in, but the hunt was on, Jeffrey! You know how it is!”
“The hunt was on for two hours, during which time you didn’t find ten seconds to send a text? And was the hunt on before breakfast? You know I’m here at six am.”
Hank doesn’t even look phased, leaning back all self-satisfied. “Didn’t even stop for breakfast. Woke up to a lightbulb moment, and it paid off! Caught the fucker right as she was packing up to leave!”
Connor eventually decides that standing there at the door alone is awkward, and sits down in the chair next to Hank, even though it makes it feel a little bit like Fowler’s irritation encompasses them both.
The captain doesn’t even look at Connor, however, too busy staring down Hank, who just looks back calmly. After what feels like an hour, Fowler eventually drops his gaze with a sigh. “Is it at least air tight?” he asks, rubbing his forehead.
“Like a fucking u-boat. And if she even thinks about pleading not guilty, just wait until I interrogate the little shit. Girl’s got a wet noodle for a spine under all the bark, I’ll squeeze her like a lemon for every last detail.”
Fowler heaves a heavier sigh. “Fine. Make it happen. Wrap it up with a fucking bow.” He looks up with another glare. “But I swear to god, Hank, if you don’t get your shit together, I will actually punch you in the face.”
Startled, Connor looks between them, but decides after a moment that this is simply their dynamic. They’re around the same age, it’s not unthinkable that they’ve been colleagues for a long time before Fowler became the superior, and maintain a friendlier tone than Connor would be comfortable with having with his employer. But he’s also aware that he’s kind of uptight and a stickler for rules, and at this point he’s even comfortable with it.
“Yeah, yeah, you say that every time,” Hank says, waving it off with a pleasant smile. “Anyway, I see we got a new face here. I’m assuming he’ll be my new partner?”
“You assume right,” Fowler says, and, to Connor’s relief, he finally looks more at ease, leaning back in his own chair, mirroring Hank’s slouch. “And I assume that you’ve already made introductions?”
“You assume right,” Hank parrots Fowler, and they exchange a few looks Connor finds himself wishing he knew how to interpret. “What, that’s it?” Hank asks after a long moment of silence. “Not even gonna make it official or anything?”
Fowler rolls his eyes. “Lieutenant Hank Anderson. Detective Connor Stern. By the power vested in me by the fucking mayor of Detroit, I now pronounce you partners. Mazel Tov. That good enough for you?”
“Beautiful, Jeffrey. Brings a tear to my eye.”
“Get the fuck outta here.”
Connor nods and gets up, but Hank stays put. “You go ahead, Connor. I need a private word with the boss. Be right with ya.”
“Alright,” Connor says pleasantly, and shuts the door quickly behind him, hoping it’s not too obvious that he’s running away to hide at his desk. He has no idea what just happened. All he knows is that he does not want to be in the room for whatever might warrant someone as brazen as Hank to require a private conversation. Plus, the joke treating their partnership like a marriage hit a really sore spot, and Connor has to stomp down the discomfort inside himself, and he’d rather do that with no witnesses.
Despite the somewhat stressful first meeting, Connor finds himself hoping his working relationship with Hank will prove to be… harmonious. But for now he’s still flustered and awkward just from witnessing Hank pulling whatever stunt he just pulled, and he decides to go to the break room for a bottle of water before going back to his paperwork, because he really needs to cool down now.
And possibly also pray.