Cold words and a hot head. That's all the man seemed to be.

Nathan Ledger definitely wasn't the kindest of spirits, but he surely wasn't the worst. He may have carried a bad mouth and an irritating sense of superiority, but he was good at what he did, and you respected that.

Your FBI partner was flopped on one of the beds in the hotel room after your recent case, his shirt unbuttoned and tanned and toned chest sweaty. Despite the clear "no smoking" sign above, cloudy grey fumes puffed from his mouth. He raised a brow, noticing your glance, and frowned slightly.

"Why don't you take a picture, sweetheart?" he asked huskily then scoffed. He shook his head and smirked at something to himself, looking up at the ceiling as he let another long puff of smoke trail out.