Re: Tony
It'd been a long fucking day. Meetings and crisis and shooting a dude in the head. One of those days. Now Nick just wanted to sit down in his recliner with a bottle of whiskey and his cat in his lap while he caught up with Dog Cops on the DVR. Apparently, these were only distant dreams, because Nick walked up to his apartment door and had to draw his weapon. The door, with its many locks, was flung wide open and Bart sat outside the door, letting out a plaintive meow when he saw Nick. Someone had broken into Nick's apartment, let the cat out.
Nick picked up Bart with one hand, drawing him close to his chest, and held his weapon ready in his other hand as he crept inside. The living room and kitchen were clear. No one was there, nothing was missing. All his stuff was there, but the bedroom door was ajar (and he was pretty sure he hadn't left it that way; Fury always closed doors, it was a constant safety precaution). Closing the cat quietly into the bathroom for it's safety, Nick busted into the bedroom and swept his gun over the room, training the muzzle on a lump in his bed. Flipping on the light behind him, Nick gaped for a minute and then re-holstered his weapon. "What the fuck, Stark?" he snapped, incredulous. “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”