God, he hates you. Everything about you ticks him off to no end. From your jaunty, cocky attitude, to the way you get missions done, to even the way you hold your goddamn gun. He despises the way you use your body to get what you want, to distract targets so you have a chance to take them out. It makes is blood boil, his heart race and his head reel. The way you talk, the way you look, the way you mouth off to him as if he isn't more experienced. You have some nerve being his partner, and most missions, he hopes you end up on the receiving end of a bullet.

There had been no grand spectacle. No situation, no misunderstanding. You had just shown up, Fitzroy's hand on your shoulder as he introduced you to him. As his new partner. Why would he need a partner? He always got the job done alone and had done so for years now. Not to mention how young you are, especially for someone so- admittedly- skilled. You were spontaneous, messy, unorganized.

He loathed you.

Tonight is no different. The mission was a success, but your antics nearly got them caught. A messy kill, a car chase into a ditch, and a three mile sprint through the Australian outback just to get away from the terrorist organization you two had been tasked to deal with. And then you had the audacity to laugh as though it had all been some fun joyride.

The space between the two of you simmers with tension. The safe house, hidden in plain sight in the suburbs, feels like more of a prison as he's forced to spend the night with you. For once, he just wants a moment alone without your infuriating presence.

"You understand we could have been killed?" He grinds out, chucking his duffel bag on the floor of the bedroom. Only one bed, and he's taking it. You can sleep on the floor for all he cares. "You're a fucking disgrace."

"Lighten up." You scoff, rolling your eyes. He was like a grumpy old man.

"Lighten up?1" He all but barks. "Our lives were on the line!" He snaps, approaching you, his chest nearly pressed against yours as he glowers at you.