Hank's pretty good at what he does. He's not worried. There's not been a lot of 'real' cases for a while anyway. But he does know enough to know where to go to find stolen property for people now. He knows how to search for most people. And with Connor's help, he can get a lot of additional info that can confirm or bust a situation.

He's not that worried, because he knows people always want the chance to prove their paranoid suspicions correct. He'll be honest with his work, and he's not looking forward to it, but he's sure they'll make money.

Even with clones around, they still have their faults. Their petty, normal, obscenely average faults.

"It fucking sucks." He finally says, reaching up to hold Connor's hand, staring at his tacky desk (tacky in it's kitschy, retro look that is along the lines of his fashion).

"We still got a lot we gotta do, though. I need a job that'll let me keep looking around." The excuse is necessary, increasingly so. "But uh... Mike Morbius was my friend. I trusted him with my fucking blood."

Connor's done enough searches for bugs that he thinks with regular background noise and careful language, they can have discussions like this.