The man was SSR through and through, yet here and now Mike wasn't wearing his own cut at all. O'Hare never bothered to wear it while he was working in the garage, not when he ran the risk of getting grease all over it. Instead Rigs just wore his causal clothing, and left his own leather jacket and cut hanging up in the office. It wasn't like anyone around would be stupid enough to take it; not when that was a sure fire way of getting the shit beat of em. When he heard the passenger side car door suddenly close Rigs sat up with a start; hand moving inhumanly fast and brandishing the knife he wore on his belt. When he spotted her though a soft sigh fell from O'Hares lips, and with a sheepish, apologetic, smile he resheathed the blade. "Sorry, babe."
Ever since the car bomb incident Mike had been a bit jumpy. Even sleeping with a fully loaded shotgun resting within reach beside his bed. War had a way of straining the nerves a bit, and losing limbs and an eye...well even someone usually cool under pressure like him could still be a tad on edge when startled. "I was just chilling for a bit. Finished tuning up my baby, and figured catching a little shut eye would be good." Granted he rarely slept much these days, at least not with the pain meds to help at night. So when the rare moment to actually relax came around he did his best to take it. "Anyways, what are you doing here? Thought you'd be out on the job for another hour or two?"