Rye couldn't stop herself from fidgeting in place, feeling Hank's eyes staring blankly at her even through his goggles. It wasn't the most awkward moment the two had shared, but it was definitely in the top ten. "So, uh, y'know. Be really cool if you let me crash at your place for a bit."

"And I was the first choice for places to stay at? You didn't go to Sanford or Deimos?" Hank blinked slowly, as if his brain were rerouting all of its power to why Rye had even gone to him in the first place. Which might be happening.

Rye let out a sheepish chuckle, scratching the back of her head, her fluffy, soft looking hair swaying gently with each movement. Hank briefly wondered how it would feel to run his hand through her hair. And as quickly as that thought entered his mind, the sociopath ejected it from his head with the efficiency of a man that had done so a thousand times. "Well, see, I tried to text them, but they're not answering, so they're probably busy on a mission or something like that."

Hank rubbed at his face, trying to think of a reason to deny Rye's request. "God dammit…" Unable to come up with anything, Hank simply resigns himself to his fate, just like he has so many other times. "Fine. But you get a week at most. Not even a day more than that. Got it?"

Rye's face lit up, and before Hank could react, she had flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, nuzzling her face against his neck. "Oh, thanks! I'd say you won't regret this, but I'm sure you already do."

Being caught in his first hug in who the fuck even knew how long, Hank just couldn't bring himself to correct her. "Yeah, whatever. Now get off of me." Despite his words, the killing machine made no effort to dislodge her from him.

The bartender let out a hum, her grip tightening. "Just a bit longer."

Hank let out a sigh. For a few seconds, he just stood there. Then, slowly, Hank brought a hand up, and held it against her back, causing the woman to let out a faint coo. Hank closed his eyes, and let himself pretend, for just the tiniest moment, that her hug was more than just a friendly gesture. That she really did feel the same way about him.

Hank's hideout, because it was clear this wasn't any home to the man, was about as spartan as one could get, with a single couch in the living room, a table with three chairs in the kitchen, and a single bed that was weirdly in the center of his room. Zero decorations, barely anything that wasn't essential. And yet, it was somehow more than what Rye was expecting. She had imagined a literal bunker under miles of dirt, with guns lining the walls and canned foods and MREs piled in a single storage room.

"So, I guess I'm taking the couch-" Rye barely gets the question out before Hanks shuts her down.

"No." It's a single word, and yet, coming from someone like Hank, it's more than enough to stop anything she has to say before the thought can form in her mind.

Rye blinks, confused. "No? So, what? I'm gonna sleep on the floor?" The bartender folds her arms, ready to push Hank back on this. Sure, he may be letting her stay here, but there were limits to what kind of bullshit she was willing to take from him.

When Hank clarifies, Rye's heart may have skipped a beat or two. "No, we're sharing my bed. It's big enough for both of us, and I'm not about to force you on that piece of shit couch."

Rye blinks once, her brain rebooting and processing his words. "Uh, you sure about that? Won't we be a little, y'know... close?" The idea isn't one that she's against. But Rye would like to be a little more prepared to something like that. Maybe even be the one to suggest it. Maybe flash him the puppy eyes and have him stare blankly before reluctantly complying just to get her to shut up about it.

"Yeah. Is that a problem for you?" From the way he asks, it's clear that he doesn't really care what her answer is.

"No, it's just..." Rye can't help the blush rising to her cheeks.

"Just what?"

"I didn't really pack any... sleep clothes."

"Okay, so just sleep in what you're wearing."

Rye lifts up her tinted glasses to rub at her eyes. Sometimes Hank could be adorably stupid, and sometimes he was just fucking stupid. This was one of the times of the latter. "Hank, I'm not going to sleep in a fucking turtle-neck."

"Fine, I'll get you a t-shirt or something, it's not that big of a deal."

It turned out that Hank's t-shirts were a little big, just enough for Rye to be comfortable, and slip off of one of her shoulders the tiniest bit, revealing the smooth, flawless skin. Okay that's enough being creepy about that. Hank and Rye had spent the rest of the day watching shitty TV and roasting the fuck out of whoever and whatever they could. It was nice. When it came time for sleep, Hank had slipped out of his usual outfit, and put on a pair of sweats. It was only when he wasn't wearing his usual clothes that Rye realized just how fucked up his body actually was.

Seeing his metal jaw, Rye reaches out to it before she even realizes what she's doing, and gently glides her hand over it. Hank freezes at the touch, not really feeling her hand, rather feeling the smallest touch vibrate through it into his actual skin. The bartender stops as soon as she realizes Hank's stillness. "Sorry. I... does it hurt?" She's not sure why that's the first thing she asks, but it is.

Hank lets out a small breath through his nose. "It did at first, but I got used to it pretty quick. Most of the time I don't even realize it's there." The sociopath can barely remember what his real jaw felt like, but the metal jaw's presence usually reminds him of its existence whenever he needs to eat.

"Sorry." She's not even sure what she's apologizing for, but she feels the need to. Eventually she settles on a reason. "For, touching it, and reminding you."

"It's fine. Let's just sleep."

And so, the two settle into bed, and awkward silence permeating throughout the room. After minutes of silence that feel like hours to the bartender, she shuffles closer to Hank, and gently whispers to him. "Hank? You awake?" She waits a few seconds for an answer, but when all she gets in return is silence, she keeps whispering, not wanting to wake him up. "Y'know, it's funny. Before I met you I kinda hated you. Well, not really "kinda". You were some psycho murderer that killed whoever you wanted, and when you walked into my bar with Deimos and Sanford, I just about had a panic attack. But, after getting to know you, I wonder what life would be like if you hadn't done all the things you did. Would you still be violent, but instead of letting it out you bottle it up until you explode?" Rye shuffled closer, and wrapped an arm around Hank's bandage covered torso. "Whatever would be different, I lo-" Rye closes her mouth as the word gets stuck in her throat. She can't say it, even when Hank's asleep and has no way of hearing any of the rambling bullshit coming out of her mouth. "I like what we have." She eventually settles on those words. It's not what she wants to say, but she's sure she'll get her chance to say it eventually.

Rye closes her eyes, and for a minute there's only the sound of their breathing, and she can barely make out the sound of Hank's heartbeat. But then, Hank's arm moves, and he takes a hold of the hand settled on his stomach, and intertwines his fingers with hers. Rye's eyes snap open in terror. Hank takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly. "I like what we have too."

Rye blinks a few times, and nearly yelps when Hank shuffles backward into her embrace. But, after everything is still again, there's a sense of peace coming from Hank that she's never thought he was capable of. And as she closes her eyes again, and nuzzles into his neck, she can't help but thank whatever sort of higher power exists for this moment.

She wouldn't trade it for anything.

AN: Go check out Ryeyumi over at youtube. Do it now. This is a threat.