There was a slight bonk to his head when Connor leaned him against the wall, whether that was intentional on the Android’s part or due to Zeller’s own uncoordination was up in the air. The pain hardly registered to the extremely intoxicated man who just giggled a bit at the funny sound it made, closed his eyes, and hummed as the other unlocked the door for him. Zeller had always been one to push the limits when it came to drinking, ever since he had that first sip as a thirteen-year-old at a friend of a friend of a friend’s house party. After a few more, he found that he no longer felt so inadequate and out of place. And a few more after that, he found that he could be fun, that he could make people like him with his drunken goofiness, that girls liked him more when they were drunk, that holy shit—maybe alcohol was his ticket to being GOOD ENOUGH. Or, well, at least feeling good enough, which was good enough for him.
However, in the past three years since the events, he’d become less of a social drinker and more of a lonely drinker, holing himself up in his apartment, cuddling a bottle of vodka beneath his blanket, letting the intoxication consume him as stared unfocused at Mad Men or Breaking Bad replaying for the umpteenth time on his TV until he eventually passed out. One time, he had woken up on the floor covered in his vomit and piss and he realized that he could have died with no one was around to get him medical attention. And an even sadder fact, he realized that he felt indifferent toward it. It had taken two and a half of those years for him to finally get out of the habit of drinking himself to unconsciousness every night. Now, he only does it a couple of nights a week and with less alcohol as he let his tolerance recede over time with moderation. Tonight just happened to be one of the nights that he needed it, as were most of the Friday bar nights for the DPD. It was a special occasion when Zeller was able to walk steadily out of the bar’s exit on those nights, everyone was accustomed to him overdoing it as he had the majority of times in the past few years. It was an escape, from himself, from everyone else, and especially from his regrets.
Guilt and regret. If they had a form, it would be a sticky black tar-like substance. He sometimes felt like his brain was drowning in it and one day it would burst from his orifices, dripping out of his eyes like black tears, seeping from his nose and his mouth like black blood. And then everyone would know that he was GUILTY. And so he drank, because that diluted it, made it thinner and easier to sink back inside himself, into that little rotten corner of his mind while the rest of it could enjoy itself with numbness and lack of inhibition. It was water on a grease fire, and it was burning himself and everyone around him. Hence he no longer had any other friends at the DPD besides Hank and Jimmy Price. And… Connor? That’s right, Connor was here. Zeller opened his eyes and, despite his distorted vision, could confirm it. He was speaking to him, but it took a few seconds for the message to register in his mind. Slowly, he pulled himself from the wall and walked with unsteady feet to the doorway.
“Nah, ‘sat’s good, thanks ‘slot, Connor.” The moment resting against the wall allowed the fatigue to wash over him and his slurring had gotten worse. Taking the keys from the Android, he made his way into his apartment and gave a wave of his hand to the other. “I can take it from ‘ere, I’ll see ya—” It was then that his left foot caught on his right foot and he pitched forward right into the credenza up against the wall separating the hall from the kitchen. His forehead grazed its corner before he crashed into the floor, the credenza toppling over him and spilling all the magazines, mail, and picture frames that it held. “Fuck,” groaned Zeller before it turned into a cackle as he slowly turned himself onto his back. “Oh my god, I’m such an idiot.” As he sat up, the blood seeping from his head wound began to pour down the side of his face, unbeknownst to him. “Oh fuck, not the credenza… my mom gave me this… it was her housewarming gift.” It was only when he saw the blood dripping onto the broken wood that he realized that he was bleeding. “Oh, ‘sat’s not… good…” He looked up at Connor with a dumbfounded expression as a stream of red coursed down between his eye and his nose.
𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍. perhaps too eager to leave—having kept drunk officers of the law enough company for the night—connor had had no real interest in making sure this particular officer could manage bumbling his way across his apartment and into his shower or bed. unfortunately, zeller hadn’t been able to do even that. just as connor had begun to turn away, he caught the light and shadows just out of the corner of his eye shifting rapidly and he turned back just in time to see zeller fall spectacularly onto his credenza, upending the piece of furniture and just about everything that had been on it. -52 snapped into action: SYNCING, COLLECTING, PROCESSING. ❛ detective, are you all right ? ❜ he maneuvered around the mess in one motion, lowering himself and with his hands reaching outwards just as zeller turned himself over and was ... laughing. connor blinked. he supposed that was one way of answering his question.
and it was also a good sign. whether out of shock or because of his dulled senses, zeller had apparently not yet noticed that he had sustained a head wound and was instead lamenting what had become of his mother's housewarming gift. -52 analyzed the wound and was relieved to discover that although the amount of blood running down the middle of zeller’s face would have worried anyone, the actual depth of the wound itself was not as bad as it could have been. head wounds tended to bleed more heavily due to the amount of blood vessels in the region.
and then zeller finally realized what had happened. calm eyes meeting zeller’s wide ones, his expression was just a hint imploring as connor stated, ❛ it’s better than it looks. ❜ the human body was both A FRAGILE AND DURABLE MACHINE and zeller had a knack for pushing its limits. ❛ you were lucky, detective. ❜ lucky that he hadn’t pushed too far beyond his limits this time. lucky that connor would be sticking around a little longer to help the man, for he had proven himself yet again to be a danger to himself. furthermore, although the wound itself seemed relatively superficial, connor could not account for the degree of head trauma zeller might have internally sustained from the fall and—to put it simply—HE DID NOT TRUST a drunk and disoriented man to be able to take care of himself in such a state. so connor would stay for the time-being, at the ready to call for an ambulance if the situation turned for the worst. it was better safe than sorry and at this point, the situation was already beginning to seem a little sorry.
❛ stay seated for now—i’ll clear the mess a bit. ❜ he looked at his face, his eyes, led blinking gently as he reanalyzed. ❛ ... are you able to hear me ? ❜
