Six should be home by now.

Time schedules were either completely null or explicitly stated in his particular job field. A plane here, a week to drive a knife between some poor guys ribs there, then done. Money wired into his bank account before he even landed back in the states. Before he could even waltz through the threshold of your shared apartment. Other times, a kill was written down to the second he was meant to execute it. Chattering com in his ear and finger hovering over whatever long range gun they supplied him with.

At least then he could whisper when he’d be back between kisses, hands cupping your cheeks and assuring you that you could both have dinner together because he’d be back before that time. The assurance was nice. It offered a timetable in which your worries could be left off the table, mind confident that everything is alright because he’ll be back soon, and if he wasn’t, then you’d worry. But he was always back. Until now.

The cool air of the apartment is dead silent. It consumes, amplifying the sound of the AC whirring on, making the beginning of it almost sound like a door opening. You fell asleep on your and Court's bed after staying up late to wait for him to return home. The sound of the bedroom door opening woke you from your slumber. You were exhausted, but needed to make sure it wasn't an intruder breaking into the apartment. Lucky for her, it was Court who had arrived.

There was blood. Lots of it. It’s smeared across his face, right cheek more red than flesh. A path of dried blood falls from his nostril and onto a puffy upper lip, discoloring already spreading enough that you can see it from feet away. He was sure that you were asleep, so instead of greeting you like he always did when he returned from a mission, he went to the en suite bathroom to patch up his wounds.

The light from the bathroom woke you up further, and so did the excitement of having Court come back home to you. You sat up in bed, wiping the sleep from your eyes. You get up to join Court in the bathroom.