“Pass me the onions, I’ll chop them and cook them.” Connor’s man and raccoon burst into action, although he doesn’t immediately anticipate people walking in the road and immediately dashes into one of them. “What? Why is there a road going through the kitchen?”

He sounds genuinely put out about this.

“Right,” he says, bringing himself back to the actual conversation at hand. “I think I need to be promoted to detective before they let me examine crime scenes or interrogate suspects.”

Or he wouldn’t object to that either. Interrogation probably wouldn’t give him such a sick, empty sort of feeling if there was a real criminal on the other side of the table, not a scared deviant.

“I just want to…” He shrugs...and accidentally puts a tomato in an otherwise onion soup. “Shit. There’s a trash can over there, gimme a minute. Chop some more onions.”

He’s tensing a little against Hank here.

“I could have done things differently,” he says quietly. “I already knew I could grab him and drag him off the edge without killing the little girl. I chose to lie to him.”

He’s largely abandoned the man he’s controlling in his left hand while he talks - the racoon is still busily working away, though.

“That’s what I’m going to make up for.”