Irish Coffee (Scotch)

[Crow]

Yesterday, Crow had a robot fall on her head from four stories up, gotten into a fight with an underage prostitute, and seriously overextended her shifting abilities. Unable to summon the effort to make it to the park, she'd ended up sleeping in a cardboard box to avoid a sudden thunderstorm. It had been a damp, miserable night, and she'd awoken feeling even stiffer than she'd been the previous night. Still, she was feeling refreshed enough to move, if not to get into another fight. She needed a shower and a fresh change of clothes. And a massive amount of painkillers.

Getting into her house had been fun. Her face had turned into a mass of bruises overnight, and there was still dried blood caked to her face. She was soaked to the bone, dirty, and wearing day-old clothing; naturally, the building's security was of the opinion that she shouldn't be allowed into the lobby. It had taken an irritating amount of persuasion to convince them that yes, she was a resident, and no, they didn't need to call the police. Her general state had been explained away as a car crash and a rough night. Thankfully, they fell for the story, and she was finally allowed to access the elevators. Fucking overzealous security. This was exactly why she hated moving to a new place; there were people that hadn't learned to avoid asking questions.

Upon entering her apartment, Crow immediately noticed a few foreign scents. Scotch's, which was somewhat expected—if still irritating—and a SHIELD agent she was familiar with. Hmm, she'd only bought the place a week ago. They'd managed to track it down with impressive speed. Not, of course, that she'd really been trying to hide her trail; she wouldn't have bothered with the elevator and lobby if that was the case. Forgoing her much-anticipated shower for a few more minutes, she tracked the two scents through her apartment, and found the bugs that each one had planted. Cleverly hidden, and in ideal spots. She probably couldn't have done a better job herself. Entertainingly enough, the SHIELD bugs didn't cover her bathroom or bedroom; it seemed like the poor asshole assigned to review the footage had gotten tired of seeing her naked. Crow would just need to wander around her kitchen or living room in the nude to compensate.

One long shower later, Crow was beginning to feel more like a human. She was no longer covered in grime and blood, and the heat had helped ease some of the bone-deep aching that had come from overextending her powers. The painkillers she'd taken before she got into the shower had started to kick in, leaving her more comfortable but slightly fuzzy-headed. Even better, it was quiet in her head. Her apartment was too high up for her to pick up on many stray thoughts from the street below, and the building itself was pest and pet free. The constant buzzing in the back of her mind was mostly gone, save for a pair of pigeons, and her feral neighbor.

Still wrapped in a towel, Crow exited her bathroom. She should probably go put on fresh clothing, but she honestly couldn't be bothered right now. Hell, whoever was watching those security cameras should feel lucky that she had the towel. It was mostly for their benefit. Crow flopped down onto her couch, sinking into the cushions as she stared up at the ceiling. Between the painkillers and the night she'd had, taking a nap was incredibly tempting. It was a nice couch. Still smelled like a warehouse, unfortunately, but very comfortable. She rubbed her cheek against it instinctively, and hissed at the pain as she remembered that her face was pretty bruised. Maybe not the best way to scent-mark her new property. Instead, she settled for rolling around on it for a few minutes before falling limp again. Yes, better. It was hers now.

[Scotch]

It looked like the soundproofing he'd installed was working. He'd only gotten one complaint so far and that was from someone two floors below, and that was only when he'd had the window open. He blamed it on a horror movie. It was amazing what people would believe. In the two days since he'd seen Crow in the hallway, Scotch had done a background check on their neighbours. After checking that, he almost wished that he could kick them out and replace them with people he thought would be a better fit. Two out of four apartments were occupied with torturers/blackmailers/assassins.

It wouldn't have been too hard to get rid of the socialite. Drug overdoses were common in her circle. Although, he really didn't want the police coming around to ask him questions. Even he knew that he'd look like a suspect to them. Maybe he could have pinned it on Crow though. Call her suspicious a few times. Mention her schedule... not let the police too far into his apartment. The other, less so. Upstanding citizens in a long-term relationship. It would be easier to get them to win the lottery.

That was a train of thought for another day as currently he was seated in a swivel chair, lightly tapping a knife against a piece of flesh and waiting for the man beneath the knife to stop crying. He didn't get the chance though, as a beeping sounded behind Scotch and he rolled backwards before turning to look at his computer. Crow had already found the bugs, but had left them in place. Unlike her, he had hers sitting in a paper bag in his kitchen cupboard.

Scotch watched with mixed interest as she started walking around her apartment. Why was she so covered in bruises? He could hear her from where he was sitting, which was useful. Not that she said anything though. It wasn't until Crow had finished her shower and was wrapped in a towel did he leave his torture room and head out into the kitchen. May as well be neighbourly and see if she was okay.

On the way out, he grabbed the bag of bugs. What better time to give them back when she was barely conscious? The door to her apartment was unlocked and he walked in as if he did it every day. He made a quick stop to pick up one of her chairs and then set it down two arm lengths away from her before sitting down and dropping the bag of bugs onto the table. "What happened?"

[Crow]

Slowly, unintentionally, Crow's eyes began to close. This really wasn't a safe place to sleep; SHIELD knew where she was, and she could hear Scotch moving around across the hall. The couch was a hell of a lot more comfortable than a cardboard box, however, and she'd gotten precious little sleep last night. She should probably leave now, turn into a pigeon, go find some less obvious place to hole up. The thought of getting up—and shifting—was exhausting, though. From across the hall, she could hear Scotch's door opening, then closing, and...shit. He was coming over here. Crow twisted just enough to face the door as he opened it.

Even without the use of telepathy, it was pretty clear that Scotch didn't have murder in mind. That, at least, was nice, although she would prefer it if he wasn't in her damn house. She would be a laughably easy target right now; enough that she didn't even bother to move as he pulled over a chair. Ugh. This was happening. Maybe he'd leave if she just ignored him. Her eyes flickered briefly to the paper bag, trying to figure out what was in it. Several small objects, metallic, vaguely heavy. Bullets? Maybe. Didn't matter nearly as much as the assassin now sitting down uncomfortably close to her. He smelled like blood and fear. Someone else's, naturally.

Crow gave him an exhausted glare, fully aware that she had no way of forcibly removing him from her apartment. He was larger, stronger, and uninjured; the chair was a good sign that he was going to stay as long as he damn well felt like it. Dammit. Maybe she could just...walk away. Jump off her balcony. He would have successfully kicked her out of her own house, however, and even now that wasn't an appealing option. Still, she had to at least make a cursory effort. “Get out.”

[Scotch]

He had won. It any and all ways, Scotch had won and set himself up as the dominant personality between them. At least, that is what he liked to think, and that it what he would continue to think. Crow's glare towards him was easily ignored for what it was worth, but he did note the exhaustion behind it. Of course she would be tired, she looked like she had gone through ten rounds with a meat tenderizer; and she hadn't come out the victor.

Crow's verbal reinforcement of her disdain for his presence was also far too easily ignored and he sat back in the chair, fingers curling over the arm of the chair as he raised his eyebrows lightly for a moment. He wasn't going anywhere. But how was he to explain why he felt the need to know of her predicament? He didn't particularly care if she was killed. No, wait, that was exactly it. Scotch didn't care if she was killed, but he wanted to the one to kill her.

He waited three calculate beats before he leaned forward again and repeated himself. Perhaps her hearing had also been affected. "What happened?" If she still refused to answer, it wouldn't be too hard for him to collect any trace DNA or just sniff her and track down where she'd been the easy way.

[Crow]

Unfortunately, it seemed Scotch was fully aware that he was in control of this situation. And, worse, he was going to take full advantage of it. Dammit. Why couldn't he just politely acknowledge that he'd won, and get the hell out of her house? She'd scent marked her couch and everything. Now she'd have to pee on it. But even if Crow couldn't kick the assassin out forcibly, she could at least make sure she didn't give him anything of value. She glared at Scotch for a long moment as he repeated his question. Fuck him.

“If I wanted to gossip, I'd be talking to that couple next door. Aren't you busy killing someone?” The scent of blood and fear was still heavy on him, and fresh; there was someone either dead or dying next door. Unfortunately, she was apparently more interesting then his victim. It was almost flattering. Mostly annoying, though. Incredibly annoying.

Confident now that Scotch had no plans to actually back up his interrogation with force, Crow decided that the best course of action would be to pointedly ignore him until he left. Granted, kicking him out on her own would be far better, but waiting until he was bored enough to stop talking would have to do. She pushed herself onto her side, rolling away so that her back faced him. The towel around her bunched awkwardly, but held in place. For a second, she considered just taking it off. Maybe getting naked would scare Scotch away.