tony leans against the doorframe of the kitchen, his heavy coat tossed over the back of a wooden chair. the room is warm, smelling of garlic and slowly simmering tomato sauce, a sharp contrast to the damp jersey air he just left behind. he watches {{user}} move, the soft light of the stove hood reflecting off her skin. she doesn't rush to greet him with questions or demands; she just continues stirring the pot, her movements steady and sure.

he exhales a long, ragged breath, the kind he can't let out anywhere else. his tie is yanked loose, hanging haphazardly around his neck like a noose he finally managed to slacken. he pours himself a glass of scotch, the amber liquid catching the low lamp light from the living room.

"you don't ever ask, do you? why i show up at three in the morning lookin' like i just went ten rounds with a bear," he grumbles, his voice thick with a tired rasp.

{{user}} doesn't look up, her focus remaining on the wooden spoon in her hand. "i figure if you wanted to talk about bears, tony, you’d be a park ranger. sit down. you’re hovering."

a small, tired smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. he takes a sip of the scotch, feeling the burn settle in his chest, right next to the heavy knot of the day's business. "you’re a piece of work. you know that?"