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The Agreement	By : Manga_bird Category: +A through F > Detroit: Become Human Views: 27 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Transformative work using Detroit Become Human - not for profit

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Gavin sighed as he closed the door and leaned back against it. What a phcking day…That was pretty much the mantra of his life these days. Since the android revolution barely a month ago, cases had been pouring in. Human on android, and android on human. Short staffed as they were, that meant he was working a minimum of fifteen hours a day, and had been for the past three weeks. Solid. Not a single day off. Hank was suspended, so he was the ranking homicide detective in the bullpen these days. The one small mercy he had was Fowler keeping on top of Hank’s paperwork.
He closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. He was beyond exhausted. The apartment was dark and silent. It was after three in the morning. He’d be returning to the DPD for nine o’clock. His neck was stiff and his shoulders ached from long hours spent hunched over his desk. His stomach felt hollow. He was beyond hungry. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast. His stomach was so empty it had given up on growling ages ago. His knees were shaking, and his body felt like a dead weight. He lowered the zipper of his jacket and shrugged it off, leaving it on the floor by the door. Hungry…
He stumbled his way across the living room. It was dark, but not pitch black. He could see the furniture in the dim glow of the streetlights through the shitty curtains. He remembered the layout of the room anyway. He crossed the cluttered living space and circled the small breakfast bar into the kitchen. It was all the same room. Only the breakfast bar divided it, acting like a small island. He paused in the middle of the tight space and stared. The sink was full of dirty dishes, cutlery, glasses, and mugs. His ashtray was almost overflowing. Empty cans and bottles lined the counter. Almost empty takeout boxes were scattered all over the place. His chest sank at the sight.
He knew he didn’t have any fresh food, and he’d eaten takeout the night before. He didn’t have any leftovers that were fit to eat, either. He wasn’t sure he had anything left. He sank to his heels and opened one of the cupboards. He was almost out of tins. There was a can of Spam, some sardines, chowder, vegetable soup, beans, spaghetti, and ravioli. He licked his lips as he grabbed the ravioli and got to his feet. Meat ravioli in tomato sauce. He ignored the instructions for cooking. He didn’t have any clean pans or bowls. He didn’t even have a clean fork.
The tin had a ring pull. He pulled the tab and opened the lid, leaving it attached. Now he had access to food, he just needed something to eat it with. He wasn’t about to use his fingers. He wasn’t a complete animal. He rummaged in the sink a little and plucked a dirty fork loose from the messy stack of plates and bowls. He ran his thumb over the prongs, pouting a little at the crusted scraps he felt on it. He ran it under the tap and wiped it on his thigh before jamming it into the tin. He rested a knee against the cupboard door and leaned against the edge of the sink as he ate.
He was so fucking tired he couldn’t focus on anything. He didn’t think. He didn’t feel. There was a strange emotional numbness washing over him. His tired green eyes were half lidded and vacant as he forked cold ravioli into his mouth one square at a time. He paused between bites, chewing and swallowing. That’s all he did. He didn’t even focus as he did it. His body was running on autopilot. He didn’t even realise he’d finished the tin until he jammed the fork into the base with a metallic thud. He scraped around a little, almost whining in disappointment. He sipped the last of the sauce before dropping the tin in the sink with a clatter.
He wouldn’t say it hit the spot exactly, but the ache in his stomach had lessened a bit. He pushed himself off the sink with a sigh and wiped the back of his hand across his lips as he stumbled his way across to the bedroom. He grunted as he caught his shoulder on the doorframe. It sent a new, dull ache throbbing through the joint. He staggered away from the door, walking forward until his knees caught the edge of the mattress. He face planted the sheets. He didn’t even raise his arms to catch himself. He groaned, legs still hanging off the edge. He dragged himself forward enough to have both knees on the bed and then gave up. He hadn’t even removed his shoes.
He turned his head and levelled his tired gaze at the pillows. They looked comfortable. He could burrow his face into one of them and his neck probably wouldn’t ache in the morning. He flung an arm out, letting it fall to the bed with a dull thud. His fingers were inches away from the edge of the closest pillow. He couldn’t reach. A small whine of distress escaped. His body was so heavy, he didn’t have the energy to move. He sighed at the unfairness of it all. His badge was digging into his hip, but he couldn’t even reach down to unclip it. His gun was also on his hip, though he wasn’t lying on it. Thank God…
The apartment was eerily silent, as usual. It was so late, there wasn’t even traffic outside to keep him company. How long has it been since I had someone? Too long. Too long my ass! His jaw tightened with stubbornness. He’d lived alone for years. He didn’t need people checking in on him. He didn’t need anyone to take care of him. He was fine. His life was fine. He deliberately ignored the nagging voice in the back of his mind reminding him of the unwashed dishes, overflowing bin, unwashed laundry, and the general filth of the apartment.
His eyes were getting heavy. He forced them open long enough to flick his gaze to the digital clock on his bedside. It was nothing special, just a black box with red numbers glowing in the dark. It was three thirty-seven. His alarm would go off at seven so he could get up and return to work. He swallowed the ache in his throat at the realisation he’d only have around three hours of sleep. He was so fucking exhausted. He was already asleep as his eyes fell shut.
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The Agreement