The dwindling light between calloused, ungloved fingers was a dim contrast to the rainy weather outside. He sat there, twirling the cigarette between his fingers like he had nothing else to do. MacTavish wasn’t too keen on filling out paperwork, regardless if he had to.

With a slight grimace, he put the cigarette out, throwing it in the ash tray and rubbing his face with a hand. His eyes flicked up to the sound of a soft knock.

“Come in.” He dryly mumbled, raising his brow slightly.

You.