Hank slowly opened his eyes, blinking a few times to clear his vision. He let out a low yawn, feeling better upon waking up than he had in a long time. In fact, he felt good enough to just lie in bed for a few hours more, basking in the comfort of his bed and the sleeping woman holding him close. WAIT A FUCKING MINUTE. Hank quickly lifted the covers, letting out a sigh of relief seeing that he was still clothed. Okay, crisis averted I guess. With that knee-jerk reaction done with, Hank's mind slowly recalled the previous day.

Rye had brought over some things for her stay with the killing machine, and they had mostly spent the day sort of just hanging around watching TV. Hank let out a hum, wondering if he should get something to pass the time if Deimos or Sanford needed to spend a few days at his house. Maybe he could get a board game or some cards. Hell, even a jigsaw puzzle would be a better way to pass the time than that shitty TV he had.

Hank was brought out of his thoughts as he felt Rye stir behind him, burying her face into his neck, which brought the damp feeling of his bandages to his attention. Bringing a hand up to the damp feeling, Hank shuffled out of Rye's grip. "Ah, what the fuck?!" Hank tumbled out of the bed, startling the woman that had just drooled all over his neck in their sleep to consciousness.

"Huh? Wha..." Rye let out a cute little yawn, rubbing at one of her eyes. "Oh, hey. What happened?"

Hank pinched the bridge of his own, letting out a sigh. "You fucking drooled all over my goddamn neck in your sleep. Now I have to change these bandages." Rye shrunk into the bed a bit, wrapping the cover over her head.

"Sorry..."

Hank had felt like he had physically kicked Rye. Usually people made comparisons to kicking dogs, but Hank found Rye much cuter than some flee ridden mutt. Walking over to the bed, and sitting on the edge, Hank reached over to Rye's form hidden under the cover and pat her head. "It's okay. I'll just have to remember to take them off before I go to sleep. It's not that big of a deal."

Rye slowly emerged from under the blanket, as if she was exposing herself to danger by removing the blanket. "So, uh, how often do you have to change your bandages anyway? Like, once a week or something?"

"I change them often enough." Hank couldn't really give a solid idea of how many times he changed his bandages in a month, but it was usually only when he had taken a bullet or a blade to the gut. Why waste perfectly good bandages when the ones he was wearing still looked fine? Rye let out a hum that he knew from experience meant she wasn't buying his bullshit, but wasn't going to say it to his face. "Well, you do whatever it is you do when you wake up."

"Right. Hey, where's the shower?"

After some time, in which Hank had changed his bandages, and put on his usual outfit, Rye had found her way into what passed for a kitchen in Hank's house. Opening the fridge, she found it nearly completely empty, which didn't really surprise her. There was a half empty egg carton, some milk that was getting close to its expiration date, and two oranges. Rye really wasn't sure she had ever seen Hank eat even an apple around her, and she was pretty sure Hank would be the type of person to not bother with peeling an orange and would just bite into it like the psychopath that he was.

Shuddering at the mental image of Hank's metal jaw ripping at orange in half, Rye decided on some basic eggs for breakfast. The bartender had made a plate just as Hank came into the kitchen, looking confused. Rye glanced up from the stove, cracking two more eggs and pouring the insides into the pan. "Hey. I uh, made some breakfast. Hope that's okay with you."

Hank sat down, looking at the plate just sitting there on the table. Pulling down his mask, Hank scooped up a forkful of runny eggs, opened his jaw wide, and dumped the food into his open mouth, and swallowing almost immediately. Rye stared at Hank eat for a good while, only returning her attention to the eggs when the smell of burnt eggs reached her nose. Yelping, Rye quickly killed the flame, and began to frantically scrape at the eggs, hoping to save them by just turning everything to scrambled eggs.

In the end, the eggs came out with noticeable burn marks all around them. Rye set the plate down, and took her seat across from Hank. The killing machine let out a sigh, and slid his eggs over to Rye. "Just have mine. It's not like I can taste most of what I eat anyway."

Rye looked at the burnt eggs, and the eggs that Hank had taken a single bite of. She was about to bite the bullet and slide Hank's plate back to him, but her stomach grumbled, and she felt her cheeks flush. She quietly slid her plate to him, and took a bite from the eggs he had offered to her. "Thanks..." It was a little weird, taking the eggs that she had made for him. Even stranger was the fact that he had willingly handed the meal over to her.

"Eh, don't mention it. Especially not to Deimos. Asshole won't ever let it go." Rye let out a small snicker in agreement. Deimos was cool and all, but he was the kind of guy to milk something until the last drop.

"Yeah, I'm sure he'd say some stupid shit like this being an indirect kiss or something just as dumb." Apparently that wasn't the best thing to say, or maybe she should have waited for Hank to finish swallowing his current mouthful of eggs. Hank inhaled the eggs, unchewed food lodging in his throat, and began to cough violently, just as he did with so many other actions. "Oh shit!" Rye jumped up, knocking her chair over, and quickly rushed over to her friend, and slammed her hand down onto his back.

Hank coughed up the unchewed egg onto the table, and took a few deep breaths. Rye rubbed his back a few times, clearly concerned for her friend(?). "Shit, that's a new one. And it was only a little bit better than what I was expecting."

"Better?! Hank, what the fuck?!"

Hank could only shrug at Rye's vague question, and went right back to eating his eggs. The rest of breakfast had passed in silence, neither wanting a repeat of what had just happened. With both plates cleaned of food, Hank set them into the sink, and plopped himself onto the couch, idly tapping at his thigh. Glancing over to Rye sitting down next to him, the man asked, "So, how long until you're heading out to work?"

Rye glanced around the empty living room, looking for a clock. Finding absolutely nothing on the walls, she shrugged. "Well, I'm not sure. You got the time?"

Hank dug into his clothes, pulling out a communicator that thankfully had a clock on it in the case Hank needed to synchronize his actions with Deimos and Sanford on missions. "Eh, about 7:50. What time do you usu-"

"What?! Its nearly eight?! Fuck! Hank I need a ride to the bar right now, please!"

"Calm down, it's about a five minute drive from here."

"HANK YOU DON'T HAVE A CAR!" All that Rye got in response to her outburst was a blank stare, before walking over to a bare wall, and pushing at a section. The section pushed further into the wall, and a section of the wall lifted up about ten feet away from Hank. Rye stared at the newly made doorway, having more than a few questions. After a few seconds, she decided that it wasn't really worth it.

After arriving at the bar, Rye had taken stock of everything, and after an hour, opened for business, with Hank as the first customer of the day. For a few hours, it was business as usual, or about as usual as far as Hank could see. After downing his third glass of whiskey, the killing machine felt a tingling sensation at the back of his head, something he felt whenever things were about to get complicated. "Hey, I'm gonna use the bathroom real quick."

"Uh-huh, don't take too long or I'll charge extra."

Hank simply waved the joke off, and slipped around the corner, pressing himself flat against the wall. It seemed to be just in time as well, as he heard the door open violently from the other end of the bar. Hank patted himself down, and let out a small huff of frustration when he realized he only had a few knives on him. The man grit his teeth, and figured he could probably throw one of them at whoever would be holding a gun. Slowly peeking around the corner, Hank was surprised to see only one man with wild hair, and a lean build. Although he seemed to be trouble, with the way he was grinning, and zeroing in his gaze on Rye. The mystery man was wearing a leather jacket with fur cuffs and collar, leather fingerless gloves, dark blue jeans, and- wait who the fuck wore dress shoes to a bar? Narrowing his eyes, Hank could see surgical scars around the mans fingertips and mouth. Something happened to him, but he couldn't possibly guess what. The man sauntered up to the bar, taking a seat next to Hank's, and leaned against the counter with a lazy grin on his face. Hank wanted to punch this man in the mouth, wipe that grin off of his face.

"Hey, could I get some service here?" The man tapped the counter, sitting up and holding his chin in an empty hand. "Heard this place was kinda good."

"I'll be with you in a second." The man nodded, tapping a finger against the counter idly. After a few moments, Rye turned to the newcomer, a polite smile on her face. "Alright, so, what can I get for you?"

"Eh, I'll have a rum and coke." Rye nodded along, and set to mixing the drink, quickly setting it in front of the man. "Mm, pretty girls and good service? Man, the guys really weren't fucking with me. Hey, I heard some rumors about a few people that come here often. Think you can confirm them for me? I'm sorta curious."

Hank tensed up, reaching for a knife, when Rye's voice spoke up. "Sorry, can't give out any details."

"Ah, damn. Cause, see, I heard from a few guys that went here a few times that they've seen Ha-" The man was cut off by something muffled in his jacket. The man let out a sigh, took a sip from his drink, and took out a radio. "What, you fucking idiots?" Hank couldn't quite make out the voices coming form the radio, but he could make out a few words. 'Targets' 'approaching', and 'priority'. The man growled. "They don't matter, Hank's the real priority, remember? If he's not here, I'm out. Find yourselves a different dog to sic on the other guys." Before whoever was on the end of the radio could respond, gunshots were heard ringing out from a distance. The man glanced at the direction the gunfire was coming form and let out a small sigh. "Well, looks like the boys found trouble before I could even really do my job." The man took his drink and downed it in a single gulp. "So, since my entire reason for having this job ain't here, I'll head out and make sure those dumbasses don't get killed." The man stood up from his seat, and Hank took the opportunity given to him.

Quickly grabbing the first knife he could, Hank emerged from the corner, and flung it straight at the man, aiming for the man's chest. Unfortunately for Hank, the mystery man had good enough reflexes to realize the danger, and shifted his body, only letting out a grunt as the knife embedded itself to the hilt in his shoulder. Hank let out a huff in frustration, and quickly readied another knife, dashing forward to meet the mystery man.

Mystery-Man let out a chuckled as he yanked the knife out of his shoulder, and tossed it away. "Well, shit! I just had to wait a couple-a seconds!" The man grinned, showing off metallic teeth that glinted in from the bar lights. Hank narrowed his eyes, figuring that accounted for the scars around his mouth. So then what the hell is up with his hands? Hank didn't really want to find out. Rushing at Mystery-Man, Hank swiped at him, only for the man to take a few steps back. "Ah, c'mon, I just wanna have a talk. Sure, the boys probably want you dead, but they can fuck themselves."

Hank hesitated for a split second, before he went in for another two swipes, one to the neck, and another to the stomach. Mystery-Man let out a chuckle, bending back for the first swing, then swinging and blocking Hank's arm from completing his second swing. The killing machine surged forward, shoulder tackling Mystery-Man away.

"Ah, come on! You're not even saying anything! How am I supposed to reveal that I'm betraying the Agency if you don't throw me a bone here?"

That stopped Hank in his tracks. "What?"

Mystery-Man grinned. "See? Just want a talk. But no, you had to be a goddamn psychopath and start swinging at me like some shitty horror movie villain. So, now that I actually have your attention, let's-"

Before Mystery-Man could finish, the door to the bar burst open, and Deimos and Sanford quickly rushed in, with Deimos firing another burst from his rifle before slamming the door closed. "YEAH, FUCK YOU TOO!" The two backed into the bar slowly, and then flipped a couple of tables over as makeshift cover for when the Agents came rushing in. "Hey, Ford, how you lookin'?"

"Well, I ran dry just before we got inside, so y'know. Got anything for me?"

Deimos reach for his back, and pulled out a .44 magnum. "This work?" Sanford nodded, and Deimos tossed it to his partner. "Alright, so as soon as they get in, I'll throw a flashbang, and we waste them."

Sanford checked the cylinder of his revolver, and nodded. "Sounds good."

Hank glanced to Mystery-Man, who fidgeted with his radio. "And what are you doing?"

Mystery-Man let out a scoff. "I'm calling those dipshits off. Now shut up." Hank shrugged, and watched Mystery-Man get in touch with the others from the Agency. "Hey fucknuts, stand down!"

The radio crackled, and a panicked voice responded. "What?! But, we're surrounding the building, we have them right-"

Mystery-Man interrupted the voice. "Hank ain't here, I'll handle them. Pack it in."

For a few seconds, the radio was silent, before the voice responded again with resignation. "Yes sir."

Mystery-Man smiled. "Well, with that dealt with, how 'bout we have a drink? Oh, right, haven't given you my name yet. Well, I'm not just gonna give it to ya, but you need to call me somethin'." The man held out a hand, grinning. "Just call me Fenrir. It's what everyone else at that shithole calls me."