Gavin doesn't really do caring, especially when it comes to his own well-being and nobody else really cares either, which is fine by him.
But maybe, somewhere deep down inside he kind of wished some one did.
Stumbling through his front door, he feeds the cat before heading straight for the bathroom. He smelt of alcohol (and he didn't even drink), old garbage and piss, but then that's to be expected after spending the night out cold in some back ally behind a grungy old pub. He didn't know who had delivered that last hit but boy was it a doozy, his head was still pounding from it. He needed a shower cause he sure as hell wasn't going into work smelling like Hank.
His sides felt tender and a sharp throbbing shot through him with every breath he drew in, he'd likely earned himself a bruised rib or two. His knuckles were bruised and swollen, the skin split on more than one of them. He stripped off his clothes and walked over to the cracked mirror above the basin, he was greeted by an even uglier mug than usual, busted bottom lip, an already darkened bruise forming over his nose and left eye. A deep gash over his left brow left half his face painted in dried blood. It was Gavin Reed in his most natural state, covered in scars and bruises just like he deserved. He just hoped he still had a couple butterfly band-aids left.
All in all he could have come out a lot worse, considering it was two against one. Beside one can't expect to come out looking too pretty after starting a fight they had no intentions of finishing them self. Sometimes a good beat down was just what he needed.
Turning on the shower as hot as it would go, which wasn't very considering he had a cheap system rarely worked on the best days, he made quick work of scrubbing himself clean and patching himself up before pulling on some jeans and his favourite green long sleeved tee and jacket. Opening the small window above the chunky old AC box so the cat could go out if he wanted, pouring a little milk into the empty cat bowl and making sure the water dish was full, before leaving.
Catching a few eyes as he made his way through the front lobby, past the bullpen and into the kitchen to make a coffee before slumping into his chair. Taking a big sip of his drink he powered his terminal on, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them again and blinking a few times to try and chase away the blurriness that was creeping in as he logged on. He should have taken a fucking aspirin before heading out.
He had a shit tone of work to get through, had to finish writing up his report on the Fanning case, some prick who beat his wife half to death, assaulting the first response officer while he was at it. Had a few loose ends to wrap up on his last murder case before it was officially closed, hand in a statement for Ben and log a list of recovered stolen items for Tina. Because despite popular belief he did actually help others out once in a while.
He had been at his desk for almost two hours, other officers passing by as they went about their business, several had glanced him over as they passed. Chris had even walked right up to him, eyes darting about as he try not to stare while he asked for a file on a scene they had both been present at before hurrying back to his own desk. He looked like a walking fuck domestic abuse billboard and not one person in the whole precinct had even questioned it or hinted to ask about his well being.
He hardly expected an office pity party but maybe he had kind of hoped at least someone would care enough to fucking ask. His eyes were drawn to the Lieutenant then, as Hank ambled into the bullpen, his plastic pet trailing at his heels. And for some reason he felt something spark deep inside as the man glanced his way, brow raising in question as he altered his course to pass by Gavin's desk. It fizzled out just as quickly though as Hank snorted.
"Looks like karma finally decided to pay a visit, huh."
"Fuck off prick." He shot back flipping the man off, honestly what was he expecting. It wasn't as though he and Hank were friends, hadn't been for years now. Grabbing his mug and his cigarettes he strode off to the kitchen refilling his mug before going out back for a smoke.
So he and Hank were partners once it's not like it had lasted and their camaraderie ended around the same time. Gavin had stopped putting in the effort to keep the partnership going the moment he realised he was putting in effort in order to keep the man's attention. He didn't need to be baby sitting some depressed jackass who no longer gave a shit about anything but his own fucking problems. He got way more work done by himself than he did with Hank by the tail end of that partnership.
Not that it was overly unexpected, it never lasted long when he was partnered with others. His first partner back when he first joined the force, a man who meant more to him than even his own fucking mother ever had was killed in action. After recovering from the shit storm that was the next year of his life, his next row partners went as quick as they came, then he was partnered with Anderson for three years. And he hadn't managed to keep one for longer than two months since.
There was certainly a reason for that, he wasn't exactly the easiest guy to get along with. His people skills had never been the best, not many people could tolerate his sarcastic and often times flat out crude sense of humour. And all in all he was an asshole, its who he was and it wasn't likely to change any time soon. Some people put up with it the rest could go fuck themselves.
He wasn't one of those sad sacks who rated their self worth on how many friends they could maintain. He was good at being alone, he didn't need to be pampering up to people for attention. Tina Chen was probably the closest thing to a friend he had, it certainly wasn't the throw each other birthday parties, go out for a drinks and chat for hours on the phone type deal. They were more inclined to have a quick chat while on a coffee or smoke break at work, or tossing around jokes as they passed each other on the job. On the odd occasion they might text or call, but their interactions usually only happened inside work hours.
He had his life, she had her's, and neither pried into the others personal life. And maybe Chris, still not exactly friends but they did get sent to the same cases often enough to interact on a fairly regular basis. Though Chris was just an all around good guy who somehow managed to get along with everyone. He didn't have friends or preferable work colleagues or what ever Tina and possible Chris came under outside of work. He didn't have friends and he didn't have family, at least any that he wasn't actively trying to remain unassociated with.
He supposed he had Acid, and wasn't that just sad when your cat with an attitude problem is the closest thing you have to family. Well apart from Mrs Jacksits, though he doesn't talk to her very much any more. He probably should visit her more often, but after the dead of her husband he just...
The precincts back door clicked open and Reed looked over to find officer Wilson had stepped out for a smoke. So Gavin snuffed out what little remained of his own with his boot and went back inside. He really didn't want to suffer through any more of Wilson's ex-wife woes.
He spent the rest of the morning busying himself back in work while trying to ignore the constant pounding in his head and looks he could feel the android across the way throwing his way every twenty minutes or so. Eventually he had to stop, staring at the screen was starting to make him nauseous and his knuckles were starting to swell something chronic which was really slowing his typing down. He should probably have something to eat anyway so he decided to break for lunch.
He wasn't really hungry so he opted to get a cold soda from the vending machine to try and ease the swelling a bit. He parked himself at one of the tables thankful no-one else was around to bother him as he rested the cold can against the knuckles on his right hand. Unfortunately his solitude didn't last long until he heard footsteps approaching and he looked over to find the last fucking thing he wanted to see right now. The damned robot walked straight over to him too, stopping just across the table as brown eyes glanced over his discoloured hands.
"You know you should probably ice those with an actual ice pack and then wrap them in a bandage to help reduce further swelling." Connor stated. And damn did he hate the way the androids eyes seemed intent on studying his bruised face.
"I couldn't help but notice you have massaged at you temple several times this morning, I've noticed people tend to do that when experiencing a headache. That along with the way you keep squinting at the screen and seem to struggle to keep your focus, along with the bruising on your face, suggests a high probability that you've likely sustained a minor concussion. You should probably speak to Captain Fowler about taking the afternoon off so you can go home and rest."
And wasn't that just what he needed of all the pricks in this pace it's the plastic fucking one who decides to attempt to show concern. The last thing he needed right now was some tincan's faked pity, even if they supposedly had souls or whatever now.
"Didn't ask for your plastic opinion, asshole." He huffed back, turning his back to the table as an open show that he planned to pay no further attention to the thing. Thankful that the android took the hint rather quickly and soon exited the kitchen. Whatever, he didn't know what compelled the idiot to pretend to care but he didn't fucking need it. How pathetic must you be if a god damn machine shows more concern for your well-being than any actual living beings.
Go home and get some rest. Wasn't that the stupidest thing he'd heard, going home was the last thing he needed. The last thing he needed right now or any time really was to be at home with himself. It was too quiet at home, there were far more distractions at work. He could loose himself at work, but there was no escape at home. Okay maybe there was one, but he had been trying so hard to avoid jumping back down that rabbit hole. It would be far better for his health and sanity if he just pushed through the pain and threw himself back into work. Maybe stay back an hour or two if needed.
Besides he deserved the pain, he thrived off it. Always had done. Fuck any therapist who try to tell him otherwise. It was like an addiction and god knows he had an addictive personality, was likely why he openly sort out fights so often. Why he liked to sir up those he knew he'd get a good reaction out of.
When he heard footsteps approaching again he didn't look to see who it was, just swapped the warming soda can to his left as he stare at the wall. There was the sound of something being placed on the table behind him, then the person retreated back out of the room. He waited a good 30 seconds before turning to find and ice pack, a pair of scissors, some tape and a roll of bandage laid out on the tabletop.
Fucking android.
He swapped the can of drink out for the ice pack, he would need to be able to continue typing after all. Maybe he'd bandage his hands, like he should have done this morning, but he sure as hell wasn't going home to rest.