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[nostalgiabomb]

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[nostalgiabomb]

Ziegler? [ That's a new name, and he frowns. Part of him assumed that this Winston guy was all they needed to meet. ]

Go on, then. Not like I'm goin' anywhere.

[twelveoclock]

Closest thing to a literal angel I've ever met. She'll get ya patched up.

She ain't gonna take no for an answer, either.

[ But he stands, fishing a phone out of his pocket and dredging up a cigar from somewhere. ]

Won't be a minute.

[ With that, he steps outside. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ w e l p. Peter's pretty sure the guy stepped outside for privacy, but fuck that.

He carefully moves to the door, and while his first inclination is to press his ear against it, he also knows that's a rookie mistake. Easier to get caught there, as logical as the position is for eavesdropping. Instead, he presses his back against the wall besides the door, trying to listen in. ]

[twelveoclock]

[ This ain't McCree's first rodeo, so to speak. He's moved away from the door, leaning against the back of the Jeep and keeping his tone low as he chats with Winston. Peter will have to really strain to catch snippets of this conversation, but it's all pretty standard stuff. He relays what happened in the crater. He relays what Peter said about his team. He arranges a ride out of there for the next day.

Winston has a few things to say to him, as well, and he mostly responds with quiet "uh-huhs".

He's about to hang up when he pauses, and says softly, ] Hey, Winston? Do me a favor and have Athena run a search for the name "Peter Quill" and send me the results.

[ Yeah, he's having the Overwatch AI dig up dirt on Peter. Sorry bro.

He snuffs out his cigar and heads back into the room. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ wow rude

Peter frowns as he focuses, but he only manages to get bits and pieces. Nothing that manages to catch his attention. He thinks he hears his name, but doesn't think much of it – he offered that up freely, after all, and there was surely no way that could possibly bite him in the ass.

As McCree is saying his goodbyes, Peter moves away from the door, carefully lying back in bed, ankles crossed and one hand behind his head. When the door opens, he quirks an eyebrow. ]

All good?

[twelveoclock]

[ He saunters back in and tucks his phone away in his pocket. ] For the most part.

Winston tells me somethin' crashed into the moon. You wouldn't know anything about that, would ya?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He feigns a look of annoyance. ]

What, you think all aliens know what's going on outside of Earth? I'm pretty sure that's discrimination.

[twelveoclock]

Figured ya might at least have an idea. There’s an old research facility up there, and whatever it was came mighty close to takin’ it out.

But I guess if it don’t pose any kinda threat, it doesn’t matter. [ He meanders over to the closet and pulls out a folded up roll-away cot. He wheels it over to the foot of the bed and begins setting it up ]. Might wanna make good on that nap a’ yours. We’re leavin’ first thing in the mornin’.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Circumstances being what they are, Peter does not feel guilty in the slightest for claiming the bed and watches McCree setup the roll-away impassively.

He also does not make good on that nap of his, deciding to frown instead. ]

Since when was there a research facility on the moon?

[twelveoclock]

[ He shrugs, taking a seat on the edge of the cot and kicking off his boots. ] Been there for a while. It’s where Winston’s from.

… Ah, oughta warn ya. Winston’s a gorilla.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Flatly, ] Winston’s a what now.

[twelveoclock]

A gorilla. Or are you askin’ ‘cause you don’t know what that is?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He waves a hand dismissively. ] I know what it is.

You’re taking me to see a scientist gorilla from the moon. [ A pause. ] What.

[twelveoclock]

We got robots vyin’ for civil rights– [ he waves a hand towards the TV ] –and that’s the part you’re havin’ trouble with?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He shrugs a shoulder. ] Eh. I saw Blade Runner. Robots becoming self-aware is kind of old hat.

[twelveoclock]

[ Flatly, ] You saw Blade Runner. What, the last time you were here?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Peter quirks an eyebrow, the look he offers one part challenging, two parts smug. ] You work with a gorilla from the moon who’s a scientist, and me seeing a movie once upon a time is what you’re having trouble with?

[twelveoclock]

[ They have a staring contest for a couple of seconds; McCree breaks it first, rolling his eyes. ] Beginin’ to wish I’d just left you in that crater.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Peter flashes him a winning smile. ]

Aww, thanks. I’m starting to warm up to you, too.

[twelveoclock]

[ McCree’s not truly annoyed- it takes a lot to rile him- but he scrunches his nose up all the same. ]

Hooray.

[ He eases himself off the cot, going about the business of getting ready for bed– mostly he just takes off his gun belt and drapes it over the chair with his hat and serape, within easy reach. He flips off the lights, leaving only the one on the bedside table on. ]

I’m serious about gettin’ some shut-eye. We got a long trip ahead of us.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Peter’s own routine isn’t any more involved; with his jacket already off, he merely kicks off his boots and pulls his blasters out of their holsters, setting them aside, ready to grab at a moment’s notice. Once McCree settles in, Peter reaches over and clicks off the light on the nightstand, and the darkness that settles in masks the suspicious look Peter sends his way.

Despite his wariness, though, and his every instinct screaming at him to keep his wits about him, exhaustion catches up to Peter pretty quickly, and he falls asleep not too long after his head hits the pillows. ]

lmk if this is okay

[twelveoclock]

[ He’s surprised at how quickly Peter’s breathing evens out. He expected the guy to just stare daggers at him all night, not actually fall asleep, but apparently his crash landing had taken its toll.

McCree is a light sleeper out of habit, so he dozes for an hour or two before his phone buzzes softly and wakes him. He props himself up on an elbow to take a look- apparently Athena found some things after all. He keeps the screen dim in the darkness of the room as he flips through a few articles from a paper in Missouri, featuring a less-than-happy looking school photo of an eight year old boy named Peter Quill who had gone missing. Presumably kidnapped right outside of the hospital where his own mother had recently died. His grandfather had been devastated, but the search died down quickly, which struck McCree as odd. Maybe something happened to the grandfather? Who knew, but that was going to take more digging than Athena could manage by just running a cursory search, so he lets it lie for the moment.

He glances over at the form of the other man sleeping on the bed. If he had to guess, he’d say Quill seems about the right age for this to match up, which meant what? That he was literally abducted by aliens when he was a kid? That he ran away to spend the rest of his life in space? There are some big old holes that need filling, but it does line up nicely with the pop culture references, and where his current events knowledge seems to stop.

Might be worth asking, but he wasn’t kidding about the trip ahead of them, so he sets his phone aside and catches a few more hours of sleep.

The sharpshooter rises with the sun, and starts gathering his things to load into the Jeep. Once he’s mostly ready to head out, he nudges Peter’s leg with this prosthetic hand. ]

Up and at ‘em, sleepyhead.

we good

[nostalgiabomb]

[ A few thoughts lurch through his head when McCree wakes him.

First: Whose bed am I in right now?

Second: What the hell time is it?

Third: Is this fun pain or bad pain?

Because he wakes up stiff and aching, and while his deep sleep kept him from moving around too much, his broken arm throbs angrily at him, and his body feels like some giant picked him up and slammed him repeatedly into a brick wall. Bad pain, he decides. ]

Shit.

[ It’s the only coherent thought he offers, breathing in sharply through his nose and exhaling through his teeth as he waits for the ache to fade. The disorientation is enough to keep him from immediately reaching for his blasters – which wouldn't have been a fun start for either of their days –and he squints at McCree once he manages to wrench his eyes open. It takes some time, but the events of the past day or so come back to him, and he lets his head fall back against the pillows. ]

Shit. [ Maybe that’s how aliens say “Good morning”? ]

[twelveoclock]

[ That whole scene would almost be comical if McCree didn’t actually feel bad for the man. ]

You need a minute, or-? [ Or some high-end painkillers? ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He lets himself wallow in self-pity for another second or two more before pushing himself up into a sitting position.

His voice is rough with sleep when he speaks. ] What’s going on?