The first thing he'd been asked that morning, and every morning for about a week, was if the Yank was still living in his apartment. To which Pete responded what do you fookin' care, do yer own work, and didn't talk to anyone until after lunch. Which meant yes, the Yank in question was still there, and Pete was mostly ignoring any questions because he didn't have answers. He bought actual groceries and takeout. He brought his clothes to the living room so she could have more room in his bedroom, and he wouldn't have to barge in when he left in the morning. He complained about the hot water, and her mindlessly going at her keyboard day and night with no real hint at what she was doing.
Tracking bad guys, obviously. Well they were doing that too, from their end. Pete's people were on it, and he also informed Barton and SHIELD so if anyone in the US got in on it, they might neatly be able to whisk all the miscreants out at some point. He kept out of her hair, mostly. He drank and smoked and watched football, and occasionally attempted conversation to his new flatmate. She was on a mission, and he could respect that. If he gently pushed her toward bed a few times when she was up on the computer too long, or had a pot of coffee left behind when she woke up, he wasn't going to admit to any of it. It was no big deal.
He was in a fairly good mood, and thought they might have a lead on her case. On top of the fact he closed a few of his separate ones, the ones he didn't talk about at home or at work. Spies. It was better that way. Pete brought back a delicious smelling pizza and a bloody case of her disgusting Red Bull, and stepped inside his apartment, kicking his shoes off and locking the multiple locks like the paranoid man he really was. No one ever got into his apartment, but apparently all it took was pretty brown eyes and be a mutant in need to move in. "Pryde, you're going to feel the overwhelming desire to hug me right now, but try and get a hold of yerself woman, right?"
That was when he glanced up, pizza and Red Bull in hand, and saw her tear stained face and the fact she'd taken out some of his favorite whiskey. The good whiskey too. He kept it at the back for bad days .... or good ones. Pete would've been pissed if it was anyone else, but instead he eyed her and set the food down. He approached her carefully, like someone would a wild animal ready to bite. "What happened?" Someone else probably died. Did someone else die? He should check his phone.