"Would you put the mask on, already?"
Once they'd arrived at the scene of the raid, a five-story building bustling with SWAT activity and surveillance vans, Hank had made a beeline for the safety equipment. His goal was to get Gavin to wear some kind of protection - though whether it was a bullet-proof vest, a gas mask, or sunscreen he couldn't care less. "It's a drug den in there," he explained, though this wasn't information that the would-be Sergeant wouldn't already be aware of, not that he acted like it. "Go in exposed and you won't be able to think straight for more than a minute." He tossed it at Gavin, forcing the detective to catch it on reflex.
Scowling, Gavin turned the mask over, "The whole point of me coming here was to make me look good for the cameras, right? Kind of hard to do that if nobody can see my face," then placed it back in the van with the other equipment.
Hank exhaled through his teeth, looking very much like he longed for a beer, if only so he could chuck it at Gavin's thick skull. "It's even harder if you're dead, tough guy."
Their arguing must have attracted some attention because Captain Allen looked up from the surveillance feeds he was studying, nodded to the man in full body armor standing next to him, then strode over, "Are you the detective Captain Fowler said would be observing our assault?" Gavin introduced himself with a smarmy grin. The more he spoke, the more the captain's neutral opinion of him visibly soured. The captain pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "So, what you're telling me is you're using my operation as a publicity stunt?" The disbelief and frustration in his tone was sharp enough to cut. Hank winced. "My team has been tracking activity in this building for weeks. I'm not about to have some hotshot detective screw it up for a promotion."
Before Gavin could open his mouth again, Hank hurried stepped in front of him, "And I hear ya. I promise ya I'll keep an eye on him." He hadn't actually expected it to work, but having been the youngest lieutenant in the precinct and lead on the Red Ice raids must have still carried some clout with it, because the captain backed off, returning to the surveillance feeds with an impatient mutter of, "See that you do."
Apoplectic at having been dismissed so handily, Gavin shucked off his brown jacket, then tugged a bullet-proof vest and unholstered his firearm.
There were explosives attached to the front doors. That was where the vanguard team would be infiltrating. Gavin stood at the front, his lips curled and a dare in his eyes.
After pulling on a vest and a mask - he hated photos, anyway - Hank begrudgingly joined the group. Once he found Gavin, he grabbed the errant detective by the arm, "Hey, John McClane, did you forget that we're only here to supervise?"
"Then stay behind me, old man," Gavin shot back, shaking him off. His posture shifted minutely as he waited for the charges to blow, like a runner waiting for the starting horn. "I've got this in the bag."
Drawing his own firearm, Hank settled back with a sigh. "Cocky little shit." He'd now promised two separate people that he'd keep this kid out of trouble, not that Gavin was making things easy on that front, so he tried his hardest to get in the right frame of mind. It was like riding a bike, really. Finding that old rush of adrenaline, the mix of fear and excitement from back when raids like this one were all in a day's work.
He'd made a name for himself doing these once. Surely, he had one more left in him.
The charges exploded in a flash of blinding light, smoke billowed from the building's entrance as metal shrieked and warped. Reporters captured the moment, keeping it frozen even as it lurched forward, and they charged in, the SWAT spreading out to subdue and arrest the occupants of the curtained rooms down the hall, one after another.
The Red Ice users were easy enough to identify. Their eyes were dilated and bloodshot, their noses red and irritated. Some of them sported streams of scarlet trickling from their nostrils, meaning they'd wrecked the delicate tissue within.
As more SWAT rushed in, Gavin made his way up the stairwell. He cleared the second floor, then the third, with Hank doing his best to keep pace. It wasn't until they reached the rooftop that Gavin finally stopped, and it didn't take long to parcel out why.
There was a man standing on the ledge.
Late twenties. Curly blond hair that reached midway down his back.
And Red Ice crystals under his fingernails.
Hank pulled off his mask. "We should scope out the area first. Make sure it's clear." The roof didn't have much on it besides several storage containers and an air duct, but any one of those was large enough to conceal a full-grown adult.
As per usual, Gavin ignored his advice, marching ahead with his customary swagger, "You do that, old man. I'm gonna make sure he doesn't end up a stain on the sidewalk."
Before he could get far, Hank placed a hand on his shoulder. "Our first priority has to be our own safety. You can't help him if you're dead."
Gavin stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. "What've I got to lose?" He pulled away, crossing the rooftop slowly with his hands raised, before making his presence known to the user, who shouted at him to stay back. Instead of listening, Gavin climbed up beside him.
It was a breach in protocol, but for all that Gavin could be an insufferable jerk, he hadn't gotten promoted to detective for nothing. While he attempted to talk the guy down, Hank notified SWAT over the comm about the jumper, putting in a request for reinforcements on the roof and a blow-up cushion on the ground.
It wasn't that he didn't have complete and utter confidence in Gavin's ability to be a sensitive and empathetic listener, but…
"If you were really suicidal, you would have jumped by now," Gavin noted, sounding bored. "So, what was it? Your girlfriend dumped you?" The blond-haired user's face turned an interesting shade of puce at the suggestion. Gavin kept fishing. "Mom kicked you out of the basement?" He gasped mockingly. "Was someone mean to you?"
Hank told the SWAT team to double-time it on that cushion.
The user glanced at him, his brows raised. "Are you sure you're a real police officer?" At least he wasn't thinking of jumping off the ledge, anymore. The only downside to that was pretty soon he'd probably be considering pushing Gavin off it.
"Right?" Gavin chuckled. "I'm as surprised as you, but they even gave me a badge and everything." Taking it out, he tossed it into the air, caught it, then tucked it back into his pants' pocket. "Have you ever been talked off a ledge before?" The boy dazedly shook his head. "Oh, good." Sighing with relief, Gavin added, "I've never talked anyone off a ledge before, so I guess it's a first time for both of us."
"Hey, is it okay if I smoke?" He dug through the pocket he'd stored his badge in until his fingers closed around a cigarette. Wordlessly, he held it up to the user, who actually pulled out a lighter and lit up the end for him. "Thanks." He took a long drag. "I mean, you're high so it's only fair that I get my fix, too. Captain's always up my ass about smoking in the precinct, even though you can't go two steps in Detroit without stepping into a No Smoking Zone." Then he peered over the edge, grinned, and crushed the bud against the ledge. Turning to the user, he said, "Actually, I kind of hate my job, and the only thing waiting for me at home's my cats, so if you really wanna jump, I'm more than ready to go with ya. Course, they'll probably think you pulled me off or something, but you'll be dead, so who cares? I get to go out a hero and you get to die. I just can't see a downside."
In spite of the Red Ice in his system, the blond-haired kid went deathly pale. "You're insane."
"Yeah, yeah," Gavin waved off his concerns, "I've heard it before." He leaned forward with a sneer. "Now, are you gonna jump or do you need me to push you?"
The kid stared at him blankly, terror short-circuiting his higher functions, before he twisting around. "Help! This guy's gonna kill me!"
At first, Hank thought maybe the kid was shouting at him, but then a figure with a gun came darting out from behind one of the storage containers. Blazing pain raced up his leg, "Hank!" and he went down hard, but not before getting a shot off at the kid's shoulder, forcing him to drop the gun.
Making good use of the distraction, Gavin dragged the other guy down to the cushion waiting for them below, the latter screaming the entire way down and well after they'd landed, while Hank struggled to get on his feet before the SWAT team stormed in to take care of the rest.
Back in Captain Fowler's office, Gavin watched with mounting horror as Anderson gave him full credit for the rescue and subsequent arrest of the Red Ice user on the rooftop. "It's all thanks to Detective Reed here that nobody got hurt," said the man with the cast on his leg. The worst part was that he actually seemed to mean it. Even the local newspaper that had reported the raid painted Gavin's involvement in a positive light, which was exactly what he'd thought he'd wanted.
So why did he feel so rotten about it?
Once Anderson had finished giving his version of the events, Fowler asked if he could speak to Gavin in private, and he nodded, glancing once at Gavin before limping out of the office. When he reached the ramp, Connor rushed up with his crutches, then helped him the rest of the way to his desk. Connor hadn't spoken a word to Gavin since they'd returned to the precinct, but Gavin knew it was only a matter of time before that teapot boiled over.
Fowler aimed a skeptical brow his way. "Are you going to corroborate his bullshit, Detective Reed?"
"Abso-fucking-lutely not," Gavin blurted, glad for the opportunity to finally set the record straight. "I fucked up. He tried to warn me and I ignored him..." Running his fingers through his hair, Gavin deflated. "Guess I lost the promotion, didn't I?" It didn't surprise him in the least. In fact, he'd been waiting to hear the news from Fowler for days.
"Actually, no," said the captain, surprising him. He rearranged a stack of documents on his desk, then continued, "I can think of no greater punishment, Detective Reed, then placing you in a position of leadership and responsibility."
That didn't sound right. He didn't deserve a promotion. He'd gotten one of his fellow cops shot, nearly botched a month-long operation due to his carelessness and ego. That he might be promoted in spite of all tainted the very idea of becoming a sergeant. "Are you that desperate to give someone around here a promotion?"
"Oh, I don't think you deserve it, Reed," Fowler was quick to assure him. "But now that your head's out of your ass, maybe you can start doing something to earn it."