As far as mornings went, it was pretty terrible. Gavin got to the precinct later than anticipated thanks to traffic. He didn’t even have time to stop off at the little bakery for breakfast. His plans to grab something from the breakroom were interrupted by a suspect brought in making a dash for it. It wasn’t Gavin’s fault he was the closest so he dropped everything in favour of dashing after the idiot.
A not so thrilling ten minute chase on foot later, Gavin lost the suspect. He’d rounded the corner to a busy street filled with market stalls. No matter how much Gavin scanned the crowd, he couldn’t find the suspect and had to slink back to the precinct empty handed and out of breath.
Of course Fowler hauled him into his office for that. Gave him an utter bollocking, firstly for dashing out without backup and secondly for losing the suspect. Gavin stood with his back straight, shoulders back as he let the dressing down continue. He knew the nosy lot in the bullpen were rubber necking to watch his semi-public shaming and he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of cowering and apologising.
At first he didn’t realise what was going on. And odd cold settled ominously through him and he could feel his heart rate suddenly drop. His ears started ringing, louder and louder until he couldn’t hear Fowler over it while his head felt heavy.
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