Beth awoke with a start at the sound of her name and the smell of…bacon? Why the hell was the smell of bacon flowing through her house? It took her a second to recall the fact that she was sharing her home with whatshisname. Connor or Callum or something…She’d stick with teasing him for a name like ‘Fist’ because hell, she didn’t have much else to grasp on about the guy.

Looking up at the computer screen, still left on from her work last night, she decided to check to see if her contact had gotten back to her yet, and was annoyed to find that he had not. To think that he was going to be another couple of days was frustrating. That meant she was stuck with the guy downstairs for another couple of days.

The smell of bacon caught her nose again, and suddenly she wondered if that would be too bad? At least he was house trained, after all.

She stood up and stretched, realising she was still in the clothes she’d worn for the heist, and she sighed. No doubt the other guy was going to be dressed up in his work gear too. She walked over to a large wardrobe and pulled out a couple of clothing items: male ones. They were all the remnants of her exes clothing: in various sizes. She eventually grabbed a pair of jeans and a casual looking shirt. Grabbing them both, she balled them up and made her way downstairs.

When she got to the kitchen, she felt her mouth open wide into a rapturous yawn: right in front of Chris…That was his name, Chris.

“Nice to see you make breakfast. What other tricks do you do?” 

Not waiting for him to answer, she threw the balled up clothes towards Chris, aiming for his head. 

“Those are some spare clothes; feel free to get changed so that we can burn your other gear and mine: No evidence and all that.”

She sat down in one of the wooden seats, grabbing the near-by pot of coffee and pouring some of the brew into a cup. She sipped at the drink black and without sugar, trying to awaken herself as best as she could. 

“God, that stuff is good.”

After that, she began to pile food onto her plate, not caring about pacing herself or acting the lady in front of some freeloader. He’d cooked breakfast, sure: but he was still some guy crashing at her place after a funky job. She didn’t need to pretend to be anything prissy or some shit. 

“So we never got much chance to talk during the…crazy.” She takes a bite of her food, chewing through a mouthful of sausage and egg with a contented smile on her face: this stuff was good! “How on earth did you get a nickname like ‘Fist’?”

She had decided to not talk about the obvious corpse in the closet yet: The Artefact could wait, and it would probably be best to break the ice a little bit.