Life at the DCP had an ebb and flow that often changed abruptly, though not without warning. Holidays, for instance, could always be counted on to be a whirlwind of criminal activity. While those in other occupations were busy pounding down eggnog or choking on fruitcake (sometimes literally), the officers in the DCP were thriving on the coffee in their veins and whatever sleep they could steal from power naps in the break room.

This, however, was not one of those times. It was the lull before the hurricane and, sitting slumped at his desk, bored out of his skull, Gavin was damn near close to getting on his knees in the middle of the precinct and praying for a murder.

"Tina, please," he moaned, spreading out over the desk with one hand raised to rotate the fidget spinner she'd dropped on his desk for this exact circumstance, "I'm dying." Those last two words were spoken matter-of-factly, as though he'd only just become aware of his impending doom. Predictably, Tina rolled her eyes, putting her typing on pause to sigh, "Always with the melodrama. Why don't you shake things up a little and try working quietly?"

"I see... a white light approaching."

"Stop."

The gate separating the bullpen from the lobby swung open, and he squinted in the direction of Anderson as he strode into the precinct with Connor at his side,"Oh, wait… False alarm. It's just Anderson's hair," stopping Hank in mid-conversation with his plastic partner. Gavin grinned at the pair, waiting eagerly for a retort that would at least mildly relieve his boredom.

Instead of taking the bait, though, Hank just tossed a casual, "Can it, Reed. You'll be lucky to have hair when you're my age," and continued on to his desk where a stack of new cases awaited review.

Tina took one look at the blatant shock on Gavin's face at the flippant dismissal and cackled, already turning around to resume her own workload for the day.

Gavin worked his jaw, struggling to process what exactly had just happened. Before he could dig too deep into that, though, Fowler marched out of his office, slammed his hands on the railing, then announced to the precinct in that booming near-growl of his,"Lieutenant Anderson and Detective Reed! I'll see you in my office." Then he returned to his desk, allowing the glass door to slam shut behind him. Had any other captain behaved in a such a manner, his officers would have probably assume the worst, but Gavin was pretty sure a broken water fountain in the lobby was an emergency worth slamming doors over in the DCP.

Not moving, he caught Anderson shooting a bemused shrug Connor's way before rising heavily to his feet, looking every bit as pleased at being forced to stand after sitting down seconds earlier as a patient in a dentist's chair about to get their teeth pulled. Once he started heading towards the office, Gavin pushed off his desk to follow, though not before stopping at Officer Chen's space with the spinner clutched in his hand.

He held it out to her, ignoring the impatient tapping of Anderson's foot as he waited for him at the ramp,"You can give it back to Louis for me." The photo next to her holoscreen of a young boy with a gap-toothed smile and almond-shaped brown eyes sat in the same spot on her desk as always, along with a picture of a women slightly older than Tina with pin-straight hair and smile lines, her arm slung around his shoulder.

Tina scoffed. "What, so you can snag it again next time you come over? Lou says you need it more than he does."

"Your nephew's twelve. What does he know? Tell him I'll get 'em a new one." Regardless of what his mouth was saying, Gavin was already stuffing the Marvel shield spinner into his pocket.

"Reed!" Gavin turned to see Hank standing in front of the ramp, jabbing a thumb towards Fowler's office. "Are you coming or what?"

Gavin glowered down at a stapler, forcing the retort on his tongue to remain locked behind thinly pressed lips. There was a difference between toeing the line and using it as a tightrope, and hollering across the bullpen at the captain's favorite washed-up alcoholic was definitely gearing towards the latter. A glance down revealed Tina making a shooing motion, and he scratched at the stubble on his neck, sighed, then crossed the floor to catch up to the lieutenant, waving goodbye over his shoulder like he was leaving for death row. Once Hank saw him coming, he strode briskly into office without him.

Cursing under his breath, Gavin jogged after him, slipping inside the office shortly after the glass door slammed shut. Fowler and Hank both turned to look at him, as though he'd shown up fifteen minutes late with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand instead of fifteen seconds. Judging by the stern frown, Fowler wasn't amused. "So glad you could join us, Detective Reed," he drawled, making use of a baritone that, while undoubtedly intimidating, had the unintentional side effect of giving the general impression of an overworked principal about to scold a pair of delinquents. "Mind taking a seat?"

But when Hank actually slid into one of the seats without protest, Gavin had a feeling this was more than another behavioural intervention. For one thing, he hadn't even been antagonizing the old man - much - lately, and for another, there were holoscreens floating around the tight office space, each of which depicting a decrepit looking, structurally unsound building filled with drugged out layabouts that scrambled into the shadows to get away from the headlights of the drone filming them, some even hissing and batting at the device like feral rats.

Their eyes were sunken into their skulls, deepset and nearly black in the poor illumination. And under their nostrils, the tell-tale raw and irritated rash left behind from snorting red ice crystals.

Gavin watched Anderson take in the footage with a grimace that looked almost pained, before he averted his eyes from the screens, his pallor a shade greyer than before.

Though he wouldn't dare touch him in that state, not even for a nudge, Gavin wasn't above slyly noting, "I think you guys disbanded the Task Force a little too soon."

His blue eyes unnaturally bright, Hank turned to look at him. Jaw working fruitlessly, lips parted as though on the verge of spitting out some venomous retort.

Whatever it was he'd been about to say, Fowler beat him to it. "Reed?"

Gavin glanced up. "Yeah?"

"Shut your goddamn mouth." Startled, Gavin unconsciously sat up straighter in his seat, feeling rather like he'd stuck his hand a little too close to the fire. From his seat, Fowler held his gaze, quietly and dangerously furious, until Hank got over whatever hang-up he'd been dealing with and waved him off.

After a singular nod, the captain settled into his chair, and the tension lessened to a degree that Gavin could almost convince himself he'd imagined the whole bizarre experience. He'd always known the captain and Anderson had gone to academy together, but they'd never really seemed to be on the best of terms... so what was that about?

Fowler flicked an icon on his touchscreen and the images shifted to a montage of a square-jawed SWAT leader preparing his team for some kind of operation, and judging by the sheer numbers and amount of footage, it was an ambitious undertaking, probably involving months of planning. "Captain Allen is organizing a raid," Fowler said tiredly. "He was also in charge of Connor's first test op in the field," predictably, Hank perked up at that, "and suppression of the deviants, though he's since expressed a disinterest in taking part in continued efforts against them." Except ceasing opposition against the androids once they were legally granted equal rights wasn't exactly all that worthy of note. Scrutinizing both of them to gauge their reactions and to impress upon them the gravity of the situation, Fowler intoned, "It'll be the start of the most ambitious campaigns against red ice on the streets in years-"

Hank stood up, his gaze glued to the screens. Probably reliving his glory days. "And he wants my support, is that it?"

"He could use your experience," the captain admitted, remaining seated. "And he's requested the aid of Detective Reed, as well."

"What?" Gavin scoffed. "Trying to bump off your crappiest detectives now that you've got plastics on the payroll?"

"For your information, Detective Reed," that pressure from when he'd mouthed off before returned as the captain pinned him with a cold glare, "Lieutenant Anderson is one of the best."

This time, however, Gavin was determined to stick his hand in the fire. "Was one of the best. Has-been hasn't had his head out of a bottle in years."

Instead of replying, Fowler shot a meaningful glance at Hank, who replied only with a casual shrug. Gavin wasn't sure what riled him up more. The fact that he was being looked down on, as though he were some kind of outspoken child, or the fact that Anderson himself made no attempt to deny it, always relying on others to defend his name and reputation in his place.

The man used to be a legend.

"This isn't up for debate," Fowler said firmly. "I expect you two to attend an early morning debriefing to familiarize yourselves with the procedures of Captain Allen's operation, and be ready to take part by Saturday at 0600." Honestly, the thought of waking up early was leagues more upsetting to Gavin than the thought of risking his skin in a drug bust. Even his cats didn't bother him until around seven, though with that said, they did have a nasty habit of waking him up by lying on his face. "It's not a lot of time to prepare, but I have trust in your abilities." Plucking a remote off the desk, the captain hit the power switch and the holoscreens flickered off, leaving nothing but empty wall in their wake. Addressing each of them, Fowler quietly said, "Don't let me down." Then he leaned back, staring off into the distance. "Detective Reed, you're dismissed."

Gavin shot Hank a look of accusation, fuming at being singled out, though Anderson looked mildly bemused by the singular dismissal as well. Wordlessly, Gavin pushed off his chair then, with storm clouds on his brow, strode stiffly out of the room.

Only Anderson watched him leave. Fowler, on the hand, made it a point not to.

"He's up for promotion next month," came the captain's reluctant admission once Gavin was out of earshot and the door had slammed shut behind him. "Sergeant."

Hank shook his head. "He's not ready. Not even close."

"He's also not a kid anymore, Hank," Fowler pointed out.

Gripping the armrests with white knuckles, a challenge was born on Hank's weathered features, as fiery and keen as he always was. He gestured towards the bullpen where the RK800 and RK900 currently worked tirelessly at their stations, "It's because of the andr- Connor and Nines, isn't it?" Fowler didn't blink. "You need proof that we're not sitting with our thumbs up our asses while they do all the work." Slumping, Hank placed a palm over his face, closing his eyes for a second, before letting it fall. He looked as tired as Fowler felt. "If androids really were better detectives than I'd say, yeah, fine. Whatever." It was as close to a concession as he was ever going to get, and Jeffrey was shocked to get even that much. Shocked, and to be completely honest, a little disappointed. "But," and there it was, "Connor makes the same observations and logical leaps as any other trained detective. He's better at catching deviants, sure, but that doesn't mean we're obsolete."

If it weren't for the circumstances, Fowler might have even smiled. It was the first time in ages he'd ever heard Hank express anything akin to pride in his work in ages. Instead, he replied solemnly,"It's not me you need to convince, Hank."

Hank leveled a scrutinizing glare at him for a solid minute, allow that to process. He'd heard rumors of replacing law enforcement officers with androids. The consulting roles were laughable when placed in that context, since they were literally training the plastics that would someday be doing their jobs, but with the revolution, the chances of those plans coming to fruition seemed unlikely.

Humans were antsy about trusting androids with guns even before it turned out they could 'wake up.' Now, while most of the deviants were friendly and apparently peaceful, there was no denying that their wants and needs didn't quite line up with the rest of humanity's.

Judging by the additional stress lines carved in Fowler's forehead, though, some of the higher-ups hadn't gotten the memo. Hank scowled. Leave it to bureaucracy to make things harder for the rest of them. "So what do you want from me, Jeffrey? I'm just supposed to make sure my name is in the report so it looks good on his referral? You and I both know it's not quite as impressive as it used to be."

Fowler pulled out one of the folders under his desk, then dropped the thick manila envelope so that it fell solidly on the desk with a resounding thack. "He's got good instincts," he muttered ruefully, "but his disciplinary file's giving yours a run for its money, Hank. He needs all the help he can get, and a good kick in the ass." As he sat down, a glimmer of humor entered his countenance. "Can I count on you for at least one of those things?"

"Yeah, fine." Hank scratched his beard. Truth was, with Fowler looking at him all hopeful like that, how could he say no? "I'll look after him." Before Jeffrey could thank him, though, he added quickly and with an agitated wave of his hand, "But if this promotion blows up in your face, don't come crying to me. We both know he's not ready at best and doesn't fuckin' deserve it, at worst."

From outside, "That's right you're benched for this one, tin cans," drifted in. They glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows to see Gavin bragging about the raid to Connor and Nines. Connor appeared nonplussed, as he usually did whenever Reed breathed in his general direction, while Nines looked about one good taunt away from dragging his appointed detective outside the precinct and throttling him in an alley.

"You know," Hank chuckled, "he should really be nicer to our future robot overlords."

Not surprisingly, Fowler appeared torn between reprimanding him for making light of a serious issue and agreeing. He sighed, "I think the real question here is am I ever going to hire an android onto this precinct that doesn't imprint onto their partner like a lost baby duck?"

Wondering if he'd missed something, Hank did a double-take at the murderously composed RK900. Then he reconsidered the comparison, thinking back to a certain half-a-year old prototype that quite suddenly developed a fondness for dogs and death metal.

On his way to the exit, he glanced over his shoulder, revealing an amused grin that sloughed off years, "It's not so bad."

But Fowler was still wistfully watching the ill-tempered detective making a fool of himself in front in front of the androids.

Instantly, Hank sobered. Hand on the door, he added, "I meant what I said, Jeffrey. I'll keep him out of trouble. You have my word."

And when he left, Fowler observed for a while longer, finally allowing himself a small smile as Hank inserted himself into the conversation, automatically taking the android's side, while Tina and Chris offered occasional commentary, Brown tried to add further fuel to the fire, Collins escaped to the break room, and Person attempted to buckle down and actually do her job. Resuming his own duties with a lingering smirk, Fowler lowered the shutters, blocking out the commotion. "Just make sure to get both of yourselves back here in one piece."

A/N: *slides in* Have ya'll ever seen this neat little movie called... Lethal Weapon?