[Hank frowns at him, still feeling sour about the whole commiseration thing, still feeling weird about it.

His arm’s getting tired of holding him up so he thinks about that instead, for a second. If he lays back down he’ll be looking up at Connor at an awkward angle; if he sits up, he’ll be giving in to Connor’s stupid little lecture. He flops down onto his back.]

What do you mean when you say that? You’re a machine, Connor, what the fuck do your ‘losses’ even look like?

[Then he adds, defensive-]

I mean, I’m sorry, but that’s what you are. You told me enough times. How the hell would you even know what loss means?