open post;

[nostalgiabomb]

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[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?

[twelveoclock]

Train's leavin' the station.

[ He motions to the Jeep outside with a jerk of his thumb ] Best get on it.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He grimaces for a second before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Apparently he’s in no hurry as he goes through the motions of gathering his own things. ]

Where are we going?

[twelveoclock]

Airport. [ In spite of his metaphor abut trains. ] Little private affair a coupla hours away.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He gets to his feet slowly, gratified to see his guns and jet attachments haven't been tampered with, and slides his blasters home into their customary holsters at his hips. ]

And after that?

[twelveoclock]

After that, we're gettin' on a plane.

[ This is payback for being a butt the night before. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Once he has everything he came in with moves toward the door, following McCree's lead.

He also says, ] You're an asshole, you know that?

[ but at least he says it brightly, so— he's probably just joking. Probably. ]

[twelveoclock]

I been called worse.

[ He grins around the unlit cigar clamped between his teeth, tossing his things in the back of the Jeep. He then slides into the driver's seat and motions to the radio. ] You can pick the station if ya want.