[For a minute Hank doesn't answer. For a minute Hank just stares up at the sky, feeling lower than the dirt under him and twice as shitty. He doesn't apologize. But once he manages to shove the nasty, aching feeling far down enough that he can answer at all his voice is flatter, honest.]

I don't know what you want out of me, Connor. And this'll shock you, but I don't know how to... 'commiserate' or 'remember what we lost' or, or any of that shit.

[Whatever traces of anger he was able to muster burns out pretty quickly and Hank's left speaking slow, sounding defeated.]

I can't help you, Connor.

Sorry.

[Hank swallows, and closes his eyes.]