Rye stared at Hank in bewilderment. "Okay, so, what exactly happened that made you run in here and start wasting the stock?"

Hank raised a brow, confused. "What? I'm getting drunk faster."

Rye pinched the bridge of her nose. "Mixing drinks like that won't get you drunk faster Hank. It's just gonna fuck your stomach up even more." Hank looked at the bottles he had pulled out as if they had personally betrayed him. "Look, just, stay there and I'll fix something up for you." With a sigh, Rye returned to behind the bar, and began to place the bottles Hank had taken back to their original places.

Thinking for a few seconds, the bartender decided on a drink, and began her mixing. Rum, gin, tequila, vodka, triple sec, some lemon juice, and cola. Throughout the entire mixing process, Rye could feel Hank's eyes watching closely, likely wondering just what she could possibly be making. Once the drink had been mixed, Rye poured the concoction into a glass, placed a single lemon slice at the top, and put in a straw. Hank tilted his head. "That... just looks like tea."

Rye smirked, a bit proud in showing off to her friend. "I would certainly hope so. It's Long Island Iced Tea. Take a sip and let me know how you like it."

Hank took the glass, and pulled down his mask to sip the drink through the straw. The man's eyes widened a bit from behind his goggles. "That's a lot smoother than I was expecting." Taking a few more sips, Hank let out a small hum of approval. "Y'know, despite not really having the whole 'taste' thing, this is actually pretty alright."

Rye beamed, proud that Hank, with his limited taste, could still enjoy something she had mixed. "Alright, well I think I found you're drink. Now lemme go get Sanford his addiction." With that, Rye went to get some wings for the shirtless man.

With the two left on their own, there was a comfortable silence occasionally broken by Hank sipping from his drink. After a minute, Sanford decided to fill the silence. "So, you said that you had a day today. You, uh, you mind elaborating on that, or-"

Hank breathed in deeply, and slowly exhaled. "Well, Doc had me run a mission at some nothing place looking for verification on something. It went fine enough until I found what I was supposed to be looking for." Taking another few sips from his drink, Hank wondered just how to word what he wanted to say. "Alright, so you know how I don't exactly care about kids, right? They're loud, they can't sit still for more than a damn minute, and usually they're covered in dirt or mud or whatever they're playing in. So yeah, kids are a big no from me. But..." Hank let out a sigh. "When a kid gets hurt, all I can think is how pathetic they are. They can barely take a hit, and then they start crying for their mom or some bullshit. So I'm standing there, in a morgue, and I'm wondering why the hell I'm looking at a kid. And the worst part is that I can't even see anything wrong with him, like, what the hell happened to that kid? Why the hell is he in some Agency morgue, and why the hell did Doc need that kid's name?" Hank put the straw in his mouth, and found that his next sip was mostly melted ice and air. "God dammit. Anyway, Doc said it had something to do with Ragnarök, but he didn't really explain. So now I'm wondering if that was one of their kids, or if they were the ones that killed him, or..." Hank slammed his head against the bar, letting out a small groan. "I'm not the one that's supposed to think about this shit. That's literally everyone else's job. I just get pointed to a place, get told what to do, and I do my job."

Sanford sat there, not exactly sure what to say in response to Hank's rant. After a few seconds, Sanford slowly reached out and tried to pat the man on the shoulder, only for Hank to jerk away as soon as he felt the contact. Sanford spoke up in response to Hank's raised brow. "Looked like you could use some kinda reassurance or something like that. I mean, I'm pretty sure we all have some sort of line we can't ever cross. You just found something somewhere over that line."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because if it is, that was dogshit."

"Look, we don't really have breakdowns. Most of the time it's whatever fucked up things you do to those Agents that get us to think about things a bit. Like, what would happen if you, in some alternate reality or some shit, started actually working for them? I'm pretty sure we'd be super fucked, and the only people that can take you down reliably are Tricky and good ol' Jesus, and I really don't want to talk to either of those guys. So, Deimos and I usually try to take our minds off of things like that, shoot the shit, play whatever games we can find, things like that, y'know."

"Yeah, well I don't really want to spend time playing cards or whatever bullshit you guys do on your time. I kinda don't mind not wanting to kill both of you."

"Okay, well, have you, I don't fucking know, tried redecorating your place or something, some small shit like that?"

"Sanford, I'd have to have actually decoration in my place to redecorate. Besides, it's not like anyone besides Rye would actually see it. I'm sure as shit not letting you and Deimos into my place, I like having a working stove."

"Well, then get her to help, I'm sure the place could use a normal person's touch. Besides, you're living together for a while, it would probably help her feel more at home than whatever the fuck you have going on."

Hank breathed in deeply, wishing he still had more alcohol in his glass. "I'll think about it."

After a few more minutes of silence, Rye came back with a plate of hot wings, placing it in front of Sanford, who licked his lips hungrily. "Alright, here's your crack. And, oh geez Hank, I'll get you a refill real quick." Quickly mixing another glass, Rye's concern for Hank shined through clearly. "So, you want to talk about it?"

Hank took a sip from his refilled glass. "Not particularly, no."

"O-okay, well, uh..." Rye was a bit at a loss as to what to do to help Hank feel better. She was pretty sure that drowning him in alcohol wasn't the solution for this one, and she had no idea what sort of hobbies Hank had, if any at all. Did he just clean his gear or sleep whenever he wasn't on a mission? With nothing else coming to mind, Rye slowly reached a hand out, and pat Hank's shoulder. Unlike with Sanford, Hank didn't immediately pull away, instead barely even acknowledging that he was being touched in the first place.

The rest of the work day had been mostly the same for Rye, tending to customers, making sure that Hank was doing- well, 'okay' wasn't the word that she would use especially considering Hank hadn't even tried to kill someone when they had spilled their drink all over him. On one hand, no cleaning blood and bodies, but on the other, whatever was on Hank's mind was enough to override his naturally murderous tendencies. It was honestly a little bit unnerving.

Now, after suggesting that they get out of the house and maybe do something else, Hank and Rye were at the nearest general store. Hank simply followed along wherever the bartender went, staring blankly from behind his goggles. Rye had tried to make some suggestions about things to buy to help pass the time, or spruce Hank's place up, and the most she had gotten were quiet affirmations.

Sighing, Rye returned vase from where she had grabbed it, and turned to Hank. "Alright, look, I don't know what happened, and I'm sure it's rough, and you probably don't want to talk about with people just yet, or maybe you think I can't handle it, but whatever it is, you can't just bottle it up like this. You can't just pretend you're not feeling whatever it is that's going on inside your head."

Hank blinked a few times, looking like he had been lost in thought. "Huh? Sorry, I was distracted, did you say something?"

And that was the straw that broke Rye's patience. "God dammit Hank! Fucking talk to me! Tell what just what the hell is bothering you so goddamn much! I'm not made of glass or some other bullshit, I know the kinds of horrible, fucked up shit that you can do! I can handle it! Whatever it was that you saw, or did, just fucking tell me!" At the end of her outburst, Rye was breathing heavily, only just realizing how much Hank's difference in attitude was affecting her.

Hank was taken back a bit from Rye's small rant. During all the time they had known each other, Rye had never confronted him as directly as this. In the back of Hank's mind, his respect for her grew a bit. Meanwhile at the front of his mind, he wasn't really sure how to go about this. It was probably better to just get it out and over with, but he really didn't want to have another conversation about that kid. Sighing, Hank tried to make a small compromise. "Fine I'll tell you. But only once we get home. I have a reputation and I don't want anyone thinking I'm some killer with a heart of gold or something just as stupid."

Rye bit her cheek to keep herself from telling him to quit being a mopey asshole and just tell her. She just needed to be a little patient, get some shopping done, a car ride home, and she'd finally know what the hell was bothering Hank so much. "Alright. Good. Now, just give me a straight answer, not a 'I don't care', or a 'Whatever you think looks good'. This vase," Rye held up a stout brown vase that was less ornate than most of what he had seen so far, then another, taller vase that was definitely more vibrant, and looked like it would liven up wherever it was set. It was purple from the bottom to the neck, and faded to an orange that reminded Hank of the sunset before he had killed the sun.

Looking at the purple-orange vase, Hank glanced up to Rye's face. She was glaring at him, seemingly daring him to give her a noncommittal answer. Sighing, Hank pointed to the taller of the two. "Fine, that one. It looks... nice."

"Alright. Good, progress. Now, let's go see if there's anything else you think looks good to you." Smiling, Rye gently deposited the vase into the shopping cart, and grabbed Hank by his wrist, dragging him along.

The shopping trip had improved after Rye's confrontation with Hank, and he seemed to actually be there when she asked him for his input. Once the duo had returned to Hank's abode, they had started putting up the few decorations they had actually gotten. It had all been free, thanks to Hank's terrifying presence and reputation scaring the absolute shit out of the cashier into letting them leave without so much as paying a cent.

Holding the purple vase, Hank glanced around for a place to put it that wouldn't be bumped into and send it crashing against the floor. He could see anywhere in the front room that fit the bill, so he moved to his bedroom, and set it on a nightstand tucked in a corner of the room. Stepping back, Hank looked at it for a bit. It probably wasn't the best place to put it, but he liked it just where it was.

Hank wasn't sure how long he spent looking at the vase when he felt Rye's hand gently nudge at his shoulder. Glancing over, he noticed that Rye had furrowed her brows, something she only really did when she was done with someone's shit. "Alright, you made a promise Hank. It's just us. Tell me."

Moving to the bed in the center of the room, Hank took a deep breath as he sat down, Rye sitting down next to him. "So, Doc had me run that mission earlier, and it was simple data gathering, verify something. It wasn't supposed to be that big of a deal. I take a few people out, and I find what I'm supposed to." Hank was silent for a few seconds, before he let out a slow breath. "He's in the morgue, and all I need is the name. All I have to do is just look at the tag and give Doc the name. But then something about the tag catches my attention, and I see the age. I look at the body, and I see that it's a kid." Hank is gripping at the edge of the bed hard enough to rip through the fabric of the blanket, his tone gaining an edge to it. "And now hours later, I'm just sitting here wondering why the fuck Doc needs that info, why he needed me to go check on some dead kid's body, and I'm sure if I ask, he'll just tell me that it's on a need-to-know basis." Sucking in breath through the remaining teeth he had, Hank slowly loosened his grip on the bed, the tension slowly draining from his body. "Right now, I just want to know who the hell that kid was. Why was he in some Agency building?"

Rye was silent for a few seconds, and eventually scooted closer to Hank, and quietly reached for his hand, grabbing it before she slowly entwined their fingers together. For a bit, the two just sat there, the sound of Hank's breathing slowly returning to it's regular pace being the only thing to fill the silence. Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, Rye spoke up. "You have Deimos on call y'know? Well, not really, but Sanford probably stays in touch with him, and you can ask him for a favor, get Deimos to look into some stuff, maybe get some answers that you wanna know?"

Hank let out a huff, and flopped backwards onto the bed, Rye following shortly after. "Yeah. That's definitely the smart thing to do. Maybe I can wait until Sanford needs some support on a mission, then I can tag along to ask him the favor. Don't want to accidentally send it to Doc, he might get on my ass for lookin into things that don't really matter."

"Right. Besides, how long can it take for you two to go out and do a mission together? Like a week?"

"Nah, considering Deimos needs to lay low for a while, chances are we'll get paired up in a few days. We aren't constantly out killing Agents, but there's only so much anyone can do on their own. I mean, I'm pretty sure it'd take all of us to get to whoever the hell is at the top of the Agency. And I'm not sure we'd do it without someone biting it halfway through."

Rye shuddered at the thought. "Yeah. Hey, what are you gonna do after the Agency's done with? Go out and do whatever you want?"

"Chances are I'll head out and see who pays the most for whatever they need doing. Who knows, maybe I'll get attached to you, maybe see if I can't end up as the bar's bouncer or something like that. I mean, who's gonna make trouble when I'm around?"

Rye chuckled at the thought. "Yeah, although I might have to report to my boss if you break any property, have it come out of your pay."

That would have put a smile on Hank's face if he was capable. "At that point I'd be working for free." Glancing to Rye, the man let out a hum. "So, think we should get back to decorating?"

"Mm, nope. Let's just destress for a bit. You could use the time." For a few minutes, the two just lied there, just taking in the air, before Rye broke the silence. "Hey, so, uh, feel free to say no, but... Would you maybe be okay with cuddling a bit?"

Hank blinked, before he turned his head to look at Rye, her face flushed. Hank rolled his eyes. "Sure, go ahead."

"Yay!" Rye turned over, and quickly snuggled up to Hank, burying her face into the crook of his neck. "Lo-" The bartender quickly cut herself off, and buried herself even further into Hank.

Hank chuckled, and wrapped his arm around Rye. It's the little things that keep me sane...