[any bodies rumlow has to deal with while he's on hammond duty are more likely to be in need of a coffee and a reunion with their clothes than they are burying in some shallow grave. it might be boring, but tj's never so much as been to an open casket funeral - if it weren't for his own near-deth experiences he'd never even have brushed by mortality in passing.

maybe there's a certain tint to the blood in tj's veins that means, were he trained for it, he'd be an adept at the art of murder. maybe there are even keywords locked in him, capable of flicking that ability on like a switch.

maybe.

right now, though, he's clueless and partially dressed, examining rumlow's outstretched hand like it's a party favor before reaching to shake.]

If you're going to run into a random weapon, it's probably gonna be attached to the random man.

[what? if he has to live with this new babysitter, he may as well be out about what he's got to expect. tj studies him carefully (the one thing about the security services is how many of them are republican at heart, and nothing unnerves a tough guy like a harmless homo).]

Just saying.

[though he takes, and shakes, the offered hand, then tugs a little by way of invitation.]

And it's TJ. Just TJ. So this is my place. It's cleaner after maid service come by.