the 3 am snack he’d made last night, when he got in from his last mission. a melted cheese sandwhich he’d barely been awake enough to microwave and had made with his eyes mostly shut and lucky nosing at his hip. he’d thought the cheese had been really nice. he hadn’t really put it together, but yeah, that was tasha’s. tasha’s weird russian thing.
tasha had killed his coffemaker over her weird russian thing and had been standing there waiting for him. this was definitely strike three.