Don’t gotta thank me, Connor. Could’ve done it on your own time — thank you for, y’know. Not.

[One last pat on Connor’s back before he starts working on putting away the leftovers on his plate. Appetite more than a bit spoiled.

The pan can go in the sink... once it’s sufficiently cooled. Hank doesn’t have fancy android skin like Connor.]

Should be swearing at me for letting you do it, maybe. Calling me a stupid old fuck. Wouldn’t even argue with you there.