Sauntering in, quiet as the stalking of a cat, you hugged your files to your chest, and the surprising warmth of the building flowed through you like electric through hardware.
You look to your left and admire the simplistic décoré of the main office, and you spot an older man with shaggy grey hair notice your awkward arrival and he fixes you with a curious but fed-up stare.
Your face doesn't give away your anxiety and portrays the steel nerve you'd developed since childhood.
"Ah, Miss... Y/N L/N, was it?" A superior officer steps out from around the corner to the right. Caught off guard, your composure slackens and your face strains out of nervousness, but is quickly replaced with a happy grin. "Yes sir, that would be me!"
He huffs, amused, and hands you yet another file. "Come with me, I'll show you to your new desk. You'll begin as an apprentice, of sorts, given your younger age than most of the seasoned officers here, and then we'll weigh up your compatibility for the team." He holds out his hand, and you happily take it. "Of course, sir. It would be my pleasure to experience field work in training - of course, I've done my homework and studied hard for my degree, but nothing would compare to on-scene work." You chime, and the officer seems impressed. "I can't say I don't agree, Miss Y/N. I'm Detective Fowler; my office is the furthest in the room, beside the corridor to the evidence room. Don't hesitate to knock if you need anything." He gestures you to enter the large room of desks, and your eyes enlighten in wonder. "Beautiful station, may I say, sir."
"She is, yes," Fowler responds. "Here we are." He takes your folders off of you and places their bulk upon the translucent desk. "This will be yours for the time being. Opposite you is Lieutenant Anderson, isn't that right, Hank?" He pronounces his name as if he was expecting objection. The man grumbles in response, making you giggle lightly. This catches his eye and he frowns at you, confused.
You smile knowingly, and shrug your lightly covered shoulders.
"Good luck, Y/N. I will set you some work on the terminal and your instructions will be there. Do you have any lunch with you?"
"Of course, sir."
"Good - there is, however, a canteen for whenever you don't have your own."
He claps his hands together in conclusion. "Right, I'll leave you be then, if you need anything-"
"Fuck off already, Fowler. The girl knows what she's doing." The grizzled man interjects from the other side of the desk. You refrain from snorting, although your face is contorted in an amusent only he can see, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips.
As Fowler grumbles and does exactly that, you set yourself up at the desk, filing your bulk of starter paperwork into an organised order of chronological due date.
The man on the other side of the desk grumbles. "Fuckin' technology." You glance up at him. "Sir, are you alright?" You chime. He sneers. "Kid, once you get used to this job, you'll want to call everyone names worse than 'shithead' - lose the 'sir', will ya?"
You laugh and arch an eyebrow, resting your elbows upon the desk teasingly. "Oh yeah? What can I call you then?"
He eyes you. "Hank. Call me Hank."
You shrug and raise your hands. "Sure thing."
As soon as you settle into your work, you begin progress on a spreadsheet of rising crimes in the city. You're halfway through as the clock strikes exactly 10AM, and suddenly a begrudging figure bursts through the door. From your peripheral you break down his appearance; square jawline, cocky walk, short hair glued to his head with gel.
An absolute asshole, you judge, and lift your nose to the ceiling whence turning your head back to your computer.
"That's Reed. Gavin Reed." Hank murmurs from across the desk, and your eyes flick up to meet his. He wasn't half bad for an old man - he could spot your incredibly obscured watchman-like tendencies even from there.
And wasn't that a feat.
As soon as your eyes lock, the man on the other side of the room spots your unfamiliar presence and saunters over.
You feel a prickle at the base of your neck as Hank raises his eyebrows and gently nods his head; you feel nervous as to what your going to do, and from the way a small dimple at the side of your mouth stresses into shallow grave he glances over at Reed and nods more assuringly.
You cock your head slightly in the vague manor of his actions, but then instantly realise you had his support.
Nodding back, you swivel your chair around to face your opposition.
"Hey, sweet-cheeks. You're new around here, ain't ya?" He muses sweetly, voice purring like the traction of tires on concrete.
You refrain from cringing, and step up to meet his eyes and find yourself having to peer up at him.
From this closer perspective, you can now see his weaknesses.
Gun slipped in the back of his belt, the beginning of an untied shoelace and-
Unguarded crotch.
Oh, this could be fun - it may make a bad impression for a first day, but if he dared to touch you, his would be even worse.
"You haven't seen me around before. Let's skip your ego and get down to business. What do you want?" His eyes flash in vague annoyance of being turned away slightly.
"Hey, just wanted to meet the greenie officer in the station... especially as she's a badass girl." He leans closer to the warmth of your body and his fingers get dangerously close to touching your shoulder.
A sickly smirk is soon wiped off of his face upon seeing too late your hand fly towards his face with the speed of a scorpion's sting, and you soon smash the base of your palm square into his nose, then duck, swinging your left leg beneath him to trip him over.
"Don't touch me, you ass. I could smell your kind as soon as you walked in here - don't bother me unless you're here for business purposes only. With asshats like you," You crouch down and pull his collar close to your chin in a semi squat position," Unless you want to see me do paperwork or offer me something other than your dick, I suggest you keep walking."
He shudders in shame as you sneer sadistically in his face, then push him away and feign defeat. "Oh no, what will I do? This bad man has come to offer me his phone number in return for a night at his trash can, what a choice to make!" The sarcasm drips from your voice like crimson blood from a gunshot wound. Reed scrambles backwards and wipes his nose that slowly stains his upper lip a beet red, flips you off then saunters away in shame with a deadly glance of ignorance over his sloped left shoulder.
You plop back down in your seat with a satisfied huff and stare at the desk for a split second before looking back up at the dumbfounded lieutenant. "How was that, Hank?" You ask innocently - no trace of what you had just done in your voice at all.
He raises his eyebrows and buries his head in his desk, before pulling out a bottle of whiskey and passing it over the barrier between your desks and to place it down beside you. "You're gonna need this, too." You laugh genuinely and thank him, and your mind plummets into paperwork.
