1111 (15)

                                    

                                          
Last Chance, Second Chances
                          
You had woke up with a sudden start, your head pounding slightly as you sat there sitting upright. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, then opened them again. The sun rays streaming through your bedroom window pricked your eyes like needles. You were so tired, and you had no clue as to why.

                          
You had just dreamt the same dream from two nights ago-- the one where you ran from the faceless men in the alleyway while scars grew across your dirtied body. Thinking about those scars suddenly frightened you, and you ran a soft hand over the skin on your arm to check for any interruptions in the dermis. You sighed in relief knowing that nothing was there. It was just you in your own healthy skin.
                          
You groaned as you stepped out of bed, the cold fibers in the carpet sending chills through your body as your feet hit the ground. You so badly wished for another day off despite being so eager to return to the station just days prior. You didn't want to be there anymore. You didn't want to have to face Connor anymore. You wished you could just run off forever and never come back, but your own stubbornness wouldn't allow that. You had a job to do. Besides, Hank would kill you if you had just left him alone to solve cases with that android out of the blue without any explanation.
                          
That android. Fuck. What was this world coming to?
                          
--
                          
You parked your 2018 Chevy Cruze in an empty spot in the station's lot and got out of the car, breathing in the fresh, wet scent of the air around you. As you shut the door and locked the car, you couldn't help but notice all of the dark blue paint chipping and peeling away off of the hood of the old metal. You pursed your lips, walking forward and patting the hood of your Chevy. This car was like, 20 years old, but you refused to get a new one. There was just something about those new self-driving cars that you didn't trust. Plus, you liked the feeling of being one of the many few that still drove an actual car. 
                          
You breathed out a puff of icy air before grudgingly deciding head inside the precinct before anyone walked out and thought you were a weirdo for staring at and petting your car. You took out the wireless earbuds that were in your jacket pocket and shoved them in your ears, not wanting to hear anyone or anything speak for the entire time you were at work. You just wanted to ignore and be ignored. However, you knew that doing so would most likely present itself to be a challenge.
                          
Fiery warmth encased your cheeks as you stepped inside, your eyes now burning from the heat of the insulated police station. You simply smiled at the android receptionist at the front desk and walked through the security gates as you entered, music blasting through the earbuds that stuck themselves in your poor ears. You had the volume at full blast, almost asking to be ignored. Hands shoved in your jacket pockets, eyes focused harshly on your desk and only your desk, and your hair falling in small pieces in front of your stern, yet tired, features: you were a force to be reckoned with.
                          
Your eyes couldn't help but wander curiously, however. You looked for any sign of that brown-haired android; your (e/c) orbs pinpointing him sitting on the inner part of the "L" that was Hank's desk. He was facing Hank, and the two of them seemed to be engaged in a conversation. For once, Hank's features were relaxed. He didn't look at Connor with any anger at all, and his lips were curled in a slight smile as he spoke to the android detective. Deep down, you wanted to walk over and engage in their conversation. You wouldn't, though.
                          
You took a turn to the break room instead, hoping to grab a cup of steaming coffee to soothe the remnants of your headache. Luckily, there was still some left over in the pot from early this morning; it was probably from Gavin's doing. 
                          
You poured yourself some into a flimsy, white styrofoam cup and sat down at the one table all by your lonesome. You took at long, slow sip from the cup, savoring the dull taste of morning-old instant coffee. It was still hot though, somehow. You closed your heavy eyes as you swallowed the hot liquid, the music drowning out every noise and care you had about the world. You didn't care about anyone around you: it was just you and this delicious cup of coffee. Extra sarcasm on delicious.