hostileworkenvironment | do you want cyborgs?

do you want cyborgs?

[barry or cyril-- those were the two choices archer had for this stakeout for a JUNO executive. it's a simple mission; shoot him in the head and tank their stocks so malory can get their own agency a step up and dug further into the (presumably) legal espionage operations they're running like some kind of hellish tick filled with alcohol. it's morally questionable, but sympathy only goes so far when JUNO agents have spent so long trying to drop all the...

...what's the new agency called? archer, unsheathing his combat knife, realises he doesn't know. people seem avoidant on the topic, the same way they were about lana when he'd first woken up.]

God damn it, we better not still be the Figgis Agency, [he mutters to himself, twirling the blade around for a moment before driving it into the motel's shitty plaster wall. figures malory had skimped on lodging-- she seems to be very fond of the excuse that barry being a cyborg means that they technically only need to pay for one room. archer's inclined to agree.

they may have bonded on that factory mission, but that doesn't erase literal years of being terrorized by a criminally insane cyborg. that, and... he's actually pretty sure barry literally doesn't even need to eat or sleep. archer makes a mental note to kick the guy out before he inevitably blacks out drunk-- don't need to wake up to barry standing over him with those red eyes glowing in the dark. he's had enough nightmares that ended like that.

archer pulls the knife up through the wall, idly starting to leave his mark while barry's in the other room doing all the work. it's kind of annoying how hard it is to get a rise out of him now. not like cyril, who'd practically had a mental breakdown at the idea of spending more than ten minutes alone in a room with him. he smirks at the memory, completing the gigantic dick on the wall in a minute or so.]

Hey, dickhead! [he calls out, sauntering into the kitchen and grabbing some scotch out the fridge. god, at least this place is stocked, though... that box of take out probably shouldn't be opened.] Have you calibrated the...

[pop goes the top of the bottle as he twists it off.]

...Whatevers yet?

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The heat sensors? Yeah, buddy, a few hours ago- hey, should you... really be drinking right now? [ Barry narrows his eyes in thought, something he is, rather surprisingly, still able to do despite a prolonged period without any muscles to control. Thank you, Krieger, and also dubious advances in modern medicine. ] What with it being a mission and all.

[ It's obvious that Archer's an alcoholic—among other things, or maybe because of them. The old him most certainly would have had... some sort of unhelpful jab about it, something he tries not to cringe at as he glances down at the half-finished paper box of fried rice in his hand and scans it for any bits of egg he might have missed the first go-round. The man's sick and not emotionally ready to acknowledge it yet, and he deserves sympathy. Especially from someone who chose to reside in that space as long as he did.

Partly because of this guy, who's taken efforts to remind him of how annoying he used to be before the whole...cyborg...Framboise...thing. It's okay, though, because it's not acceptable behavior, but he has the emotional skills to deal with it now, and it was never entirely about what Archer did to him, at least according to Dr. Fleischer. There was always something going on there. Common in kids brought up in the system, he'd said.

So, in a way, maybe he owes it to the guy. Not wholly, because Jesus Christ, that was a lot, but a lot of it was also him, and if Archer hadn't found his mother, well, he'd probably have gone on telling himself he was content being miserably unstable. He would have needed to get help sooner or later either way.

Barry grabs another piece of egg with the cheap bamboo chopsticks that came taped to the top of the styrofoam takeout container and tosses it into the wastebasket with the small collection he's already exiled. ]

[archer snorts like barry's just told a funny joke. he might as well had -- should you be drinking, honestly. he takes another long drink as if to defy the very notion of it, a little unsteady on his feet even with his cane as he joins the cyborg in the front room. archer rests it against his thigh when he flops into a chair, reaching over to take one of the sensors and actually do 0.5% of his job by making sure the detector screen is clear. lotta dust in the air in this shitty place.

he looks over when he sees barry's hand move on the chopsticks, clearly expecting something, and when nothing happens and he's just left with a furrowed brow and a mild confusion of why a cyborg even eats or gives a shit about eggs. for a moment the tension in the air rises like he's about to say something but, miraculously, seems to decide against it.]

Don't know why Mother didn't just have us put a pipe bomb on his car, [he mutters to himself irritably, like barry isn't even in the room, then wrinkles his nose as a thought occurs to him:] Ugh, this better not be personal for her...

Sniper's in the other room, [he says, suddenly, directly to barry. most certainly an awkward attempt at conversation. it's almost like he doesn't know how to talk to anyone when it doesn't involve being a vitrolic drunken bitch.] so, you know, if you see him first or whatever. I loaded it and everything.

Wow, that's actually... really considerate of you. [ Worded as though it's a surprise, because it is. It's also a pleasant surprise that Archer holds himself back from saying whatever he's clearly tempted to say at the admittedly rather bizarre sight of a cyborg eating.

(Because it makes him feel human. Closer to a person than an object— ]

No offense, of course. It's just that with everything back then, well, it's still something to get used to. You get it.

[ It was a mutual hatred, after all. A beat. ] Hey, is there any ginger ale in there? Pepsi or something? I'm not so sure about the tap water in this place. [ And, again thanks to Krieger, the human parts of him are still very much able to get....whatever poisoning. ]

[he mimes speaking after barry, you get it, then rolls his eyes. archer's default is still to try and get a rise out of people, try to needle them relentlessly even when it would literally do nothing but bring hell down on his shoulders. the only difference with barry is... it's pretty much half-hearted and nowhere near the level the other agents get. probably just seems like he's going through the motions a lot of the time, like he's doing it because he literally has no idea what else to do. having their attention, positive or negative, has to be something, right? it's better than them just looking right the fuck through him.

archer shrugs a shoulder and glances back to the kitchen doorway, shifting to get up.]

Uh... some tonic water and what looked like food poisoning in a box. [he grimaces as he straightens up again.] I'm pretty sure I saw it come out green, which... ew. Totally knew I should've lifted the Black Titanium card from her desk. Did you see that place, like, two blocks away? They probably use goddamn bullions as doorstops.

[he's halfway across the room by the time he realises he's been chatting like they're old friends, and he shakes his head lightly, brows furrowed.]

You... idiot. [yeah. definitely half-hearted.]

[ Real mature. Still, he's probably going through a lot... Best to just ignore the antagonism. He's an asshole, yes, but a lot's happened to him, and he's probably under some pretty extreme stress. These types of experiences tend to change people. And even if Barry did still hate him, they have a job to do here, and rising to the antagonism is only going to create a more unpleasant environment for both of them.

There's also the very real possibility that he just doesn't know how to be nonabrasive. There was a pause there before the insult. ]

I did. TripAdvisor said that place has a pool. And a continental breakfast. [ Barry glances toward the kitchenette and grimaces at the discolored grout between the linoleum tiles. ] Fewer cockroaches, too, though it does kind of make me feel like I'm back in the Soviet Union. Kind of rustic.

[it's more thought than most people give him, deserved or not. well, other than the really obvious pickings people make about the issues he swings around and makes everyone else's problem like his stupid dick.]

Fuckin' continental breakfast? [yeah, that drink is definitely catching up with him-- he almost slurs for a moment, there. probably easy to guess he had way more than just that one, though he makes it into the kitchen to grab the bottle of tonic water and another scotch with no problem. he only got it because he wanted the scotch for himself. he's not being helpful. shut up. he shakes the hell out of the water anyway, so enjoy opening that.] I'd literally kill someone for some bourekas right now.

[good thing they actually are out here to kill a guy! archer falls silent at the soviet union comment as he sits back down, taking the open bottle of scotch and staring down at it like it has all the answers. swirls it around a bit.]

Well, you can get even more nostalgia when you're sleeping on the floor, Barry. Or... whatever, plugging into charge.

Edited 2020-11-17 00:20 (UTC)

On the floor. Or I could stay awake, either one really. Powered by photovoltaics, remember?

[ Barry studies the tempest in the bottle of Schweppes that Archer just set on the counter bar and narrows his eyes. Yeah, no way he's opening that. Better to go thirsty, especially because he doesn't actually need to drink much at all.

Speaking of- ]

I... seriously think you've had enough there, buddy.

[ How Lana and the rest of them dealt with this day-in and day-out prior to the coma is mystifying, because at this rate he's going to be too intoxicated to actually shoot by the end of the hour. The mark isn't expected until tomorrow morning, but what if he comes early for any number of reasons? What if he stops by to check the location for possible gaps in security ahead of time? If this was supposed to be a solo mission, Mallory would have just sent him, or maybe that Cyril.

And he'd just feel kind of weird not saying anything with this playing out right in front of him. He's done a lot of pretty horrible things; there's no need to add being an enabler to that list. ]

[how any of them did indeed-- there's a reason why they were all thriving without archer. missions succeeding left and right without him there to complicate or outright ruin them with his... archerness, despite his insistence that they need him. it was one of the first things archer seen when he got back, and no doubt barry's either read the reports or heard how badly the all-around quality has dipped. probably from lana, which archer hates even more.]

Wouldn't that mean you'd power down at night...? [he sounds genuinely curious for a moment, finishing the scotch and haphazardly tossing the bottle into the wastebasket full of exiled eggs. predictably, it shatters and covers the eggs, releasing the scent of potent alcohol content in the process. that's just archer in a nutshell, isn't it? breaking things he didn't need to, taking over someone else and topping it all off with more booze than any human should be able to consume. archer shoots barry an irriated look again before he continues:] If I stop, then it'll be because I've reached the perfect level of blood-alcohol content to deal with you staring at me all night.

[he reaches over for the other bottle, squinting at the label for a moment.]

...Which might be black out. I've yet to decide.

[archer plops it back on the table, stretching out, his bad leg cracking loudly from the knee up to his hip as he settles back in the chair properly. he slides his cane into his lap to fiddle with it before giving up and pointing at the map of the target hotel pinned to the wall with the base of it.]

So I don't know if you've dealt with these gigantic, gaping assholes before, but they tend to whip out the RPGs if a goddamn moth so much as farts near them. We could probably just throw a smoke grenade into the midst of the guy's entourage and they'd blow themselves up in the confusion.

[a beat, then:] ...I mean, it would save setting up the motion detectors...

Edited 2020-11-19 16:31 (UTC)

[ Barry, of course, doesn't miss the familiar sound of cracking joints; it's odd to hear it come from someone else's leg and not his own, enough to make him feel momentarily estranged from the manufactured body he's occupying. They've talked about this feeling at great length in therapy; he takes a slow breath through his nose just to remind himself that that's something he can do again. ]

Archer, no. Mallory was very clear about property damage in the briefing. We just have to wait.

[ It's hard to tell whether the suggestion is coming from his usual poorly-thought-through way of doing things or a desire to end this interaction as soon as possible, but at least he's thinking about the mission, Barry supposes. Speaking of that aversion, though— ]

And I'm not gonna stare at you while you sleep, buddy. I mean, even if I wanted to, which I most certainly do not, don't you think it would get kinda boring to just stare at someone in the dark for eight hours straight? [ Some of it's clearly coming from fear and not residual dislike, so he figures he might as well toss out a piece of logic for his brain to affix itself to, as well. ]

She's usually pretty clear about that. [and archer usually doesn't listen. but-- maybe it's the block he still has, maybe it's something else, but he doesn't seem keen on making a move to pull his usual bullshit. he's been texting both pam and lana when his anger gets the better of him... it's a strange feeling, not being able to channel it back into running out and doing something stupid as well as he usually did. maybe that was barry's plan with that "connection" all along. he makes a mental note to check with krieger that remote hacking of his cane isn't possible. archer's about 60% sure the other shoe is going to drop directly onto his skull.] We'll... just have to see how it goes.

[that is the tone of someone who is still undecided about ruining Everything and part of archer resents that he can't just take it at face value and trust the fact barry didn't actually betray them on the last mission, even though he knows it's well-founded. it would be nice for one thing in his life not to be a flaming shit-fire, is all.]

You tell me, Barry. [he still says the name like it's weird in his mouth, even though it was one of the first things he said when he woke up. the horrifying versions of barry that haunted his subconscious in the coma... well, archer's not really come to terms with any of the changes, why would he with this one?

he belatedly realises that he would need to lay into the alcohol; he wouldn't sleep with barry around, anyway. too keyed up. ugh.] I don't exactly have stalking experi...ence...

[he pauses, looking at the set up they have in the room and the equipment by the window, to essentially stalk a guy.]

Shit, I mean-- whatever!

Hey, hey, easy there. I get what ya mean. Point remains, though. Besides, I could use some sleep. The old processor gets tired.

[ It's a joke. Get it. Cyborg...brain...processor- Well, even if it doesn't land, the point remains. His body's fine, of course, but its single original organic component still needs to recharge in the way nature intended. That was probably part of the instability, according to Dr. Fleischer. Sleep deprivation makes people do crazy things, and without the cue of physical fatigue, it can be difficult to recognize the need for it. Might've been nice for Boris or any of those Soviet charlatans to mention that.

Easy. That's the past. ]

[...weird, weird for archer to consider him in the same vein as someone not stuffed full of metal and microchips. what's even inside him now that he downloaded into a new body? archer decides he's happy to stay ignorant on that front.]

Go, then. [he shoots back, irritated. just like every time barry calls him buddy, archer feels like on a knife-edge of shooting back and telling him to shut the fuck up. or literally! with a gun. he gestures to the bottle.] I got my friend here. We'll have a long talk.

Edited 2020-11-22 18:22 (UTC)

Yeah, again, I... think you've done enough talking for one day. Pretty sure your mother wouldn't be thrilled if I let you get alcohol poisoning.

[ Nor would he be thrilled himself. Archer's in a fragile state right now, and the last thing he needs is to end up in the hospital again, especially with anything that could cause loss of consciousness. Because that's seriously not good for you.

To say nothing of the fact that he's resumed drinking like a full-time alcoholic and not a man who's been sober for three years. Not like they run Everclear into those IV lines. He suppresses a shudder at the memory when the tangle of tubes and wires running in and out of Archer's body comes back all-too-vivid, right alongside all the times he's watched morphine and saline and rocephin and dextrose drip into his own body, back when he had one.

No. Stop that. You still have a body. You can sleep, you can feel pain, you can breathe. You're a human being. He dredges up Dr. Fleischer's voice, slow and even and touched by a trace of Upstate New York: Would you call somebody with prostheses less human? ] Come on. You've been totally dry for the past three years. You're going to spend the rest of the evening throwing up if you have any more.

Hah!

[he barks that out and it's not clear if it's because he's not all sure how his mother would deign care about it should it happen and... he's also not sure if he can get alcohol poisoning at this point.]

Uh, no, I'm not. [archer takes the bottle, wiggling it at barry.] Mother gave me a glass of this stuff before any water which-- actually probably wasn't a great thing to do, but whatever.

[he doubts he would've stopped drinking regardless -- he's not a huge fan of being sober.]

Dollars to friggin' donuts I could drain this guy and another and still hit that dickhole with the sniper dead on. First shot. Done it before!

Yeah, when you were actively drinking something like ten standard drinks a day.

[ The annoyance finally starts to crack through his tone—something tells Barry this mission isn't going to go as smoothly as the factory did. At least Archer's not going to presumably double-cross him, though. Well, he might. But he's basically unkillable now, though this body can, thanks to Dr. Krieger, feel pain like the last one. Pointless to give him real skin or any organs without also installing the reflexes to protect it, he'd said. Followed by something about 'Build-a-Leper Workshop'. Barry sighs. ]

Look. I know you're dealing with a lot right now, and that we have quite a history. You're probably pretty on-edge being alone with me. I get it. But if I wanted to hurt you, don't you think I would've done it by now? Or when you were in the hospital? All drinking is going to do is make you less equipped to deal with all this in the long run.

Edited 2020-11-22 21:32 (UTC)

No, literally when I woke up. [a beat, then:] Shit, that definitely wasn't good.

[ah, well. she said he'd need it and he really did. it doesn't really cross his mind how malory is the root cause of it all.]

I'm not fucking scared of you, [he snaps, obviously something someone who is not scared of the person they're in the room with would say.] it's not--

[he pinches his nose and uneasily stands up, turning on his heel.]

I'm going out. If there's a problem then work it out yourself.

Archer, no. [ Jesus, he's barely even steady on his feet. And, undoubtedly, what he has in mind for the night involves more liquor and anonymous sex, neither of which are particularly good choices for a man who very recently woke up from a coma and is currently on a stakeout. He doesn't make any particular effort to not sound genuinely concerned, because it truly is a distressing thought. ]

If it'll make you more comfortable, I'll get another room and file it as an expense when we get back. The last thing you need to be doing is going out and getting shitfaced in an unfamiliar city because you're mad at me.

[ Really, though, is it him? Or is it the situation on the whole, all of the changes he's been forced to suddenly adapt to as though he was there for their gradual arrival? ]

[that's what he likes to tell himself, every time he does it since he woke up. going out to party like the old archer did instead of ending up drinking alone in a corner of a bar consumed with self pity and self loathing when he realises, again, that he's too hung up on and hurt by lana to actually even want to lean too hard into the anonymous sex.

well... that and some really confusing feelings about barry that have popped up at the worst possible times.

he stops in the doorway for a long moment, shoulders tense as he deliberated on this. it's cold out and while he isn't worried about finding a place to shack up in, the cold really fucks with his leg. god, is this what barry meant when he said it hurts when it rains? archer fucking hates knowing he can relate now.

finally, he turns back.] How kind of you, Barry. Consider this your official kicking out of my room.

I'll be right next door, Buddy. Or... wherever they have an open room. I saw housekeeping go in there when I went to get ice, though, so probably that one.

[ He'd honestly prefer it that way, because leaving Archer completely unattended screams "bad idea" from every conceivable angle. Especially the 'prior experiences with blackout drunk people in college' one. And the First Aid and Field Training Review one. Speaking of— ]

And hey, swear you'll lie down in the recovery position when you go to bed?

[ Barry wishes that he could do more, that he could confiscate the massive fucking bottle of Scotch currently sitting in arm's reach, but there's a slim chance he'd be able to do that without getting shot at. And Mallory really was pretty emphatic about the property damage point. ]

[he makes a non-committal grunt at that, seemingly not at all interested in barry's further existence in his room.

and that's that! it doesn't really lend well to archer's slowly strengthening belief that he never actually woke up from his coma for barry to respect boundaries like that (space comes to mind, and he belatedly wonders if barry ever actually would've killed him - he seemed to like the chase too much) and without argument.

archer does what archer does best when he is left to his own devices: he drinks. he... makes a new voicemail prank, too, but mostly just drinks. the night comes and starts to go and archer gets to the point where all logical thought evaporated a long time ago.

he finds himself lonely and unwilling to lower himself to going and knocking on barry's door.

with difficulty - mostly due to his intoxication and less due to the lack of light; the sun is starting to peek over the horizon - archer clambers out of the big window in the bedroom and shimmies along the stone guttering to the room next to his. he has no idea if it's the right one and absolutely doesn't have the mental capacity to care. he pulls the window frame open and falls in face-first, springing up with surprising agility. he's numb to the pain of his nerve damage right now, anyway.]

Where did... [he leans on the small dresser by the window to steady himself, floorboards creaking under the heavy combat boots he still has on.] shit! Is this even the right... floor?

[ Krieger apparently did a pretty decent job on his metaphorical wiring, as it turns out, because as soon as the window sash creaks open Barry's head reflexively snaps in the direction of the sound and he sees... Archer, clinging to the dresser, cane nowhere in sight, greyish in the cast of his almost monochromatic night vision. He looks a lot worse than he did a few hours ago, and he sounds a lot worse too.

You should've stayed with him. He could've choked on his own vomit and gone back into a coma or just... died. What's wrong with you? Do you want him to die, deep down?

Barry returns the bookmark on the sheets beside him to its place in When Bad Things Happen to Good People and sets it on the bedside table, then switches on the twin wall lamps directly above to get a better look at him and plants his feet on the carpet. And also to somewhat lessen the chance of Archer stumbling and falling, which could really, seriously fuck up that leg. ]

Jesus, buddy. How did you— [ That's not what matters right now. ] Are you okay?

[he probably sees archer flinch back at the sight of those eyes, before he remembers why they're like that.]

I feel like... the how is pretty obvious, Barry. [archer staggers over to the bed, flopping down on the edge of it. it never occurred to him that it was bad to see him treat himself like this when he's just spent three years in a coma. he never really thought or wanted people to care.] No, I'm--

[he pinches his nose for a moment, head swimming. his hair is sticking up all over the place -- possible evidence that he at least tried to lapse into unconsciousness earlier.]

--not going to puke. I'm fine. It, listen. I'm... shit, this carpet is cleaner than mine... [he shakes his head again, struggling to concentrate.] Asshole! Listen. I'm, I'm sorry for being such a dickhole earlier. Really! I'm not-- this isn't a joke. We're friends now, right? After Russia?

[god and it's a good thing he's too hammered to hear the desperation in his voice there.]

I'm not mad at you! You're my... non double crossing buddy, defier...er of Asimov. I am going to puke.

[look, he can still walk without his cane for a short time but his bad leg is clearly not taking a lot of weight and maybe help him before that carpet is nastier than the one in the agency's mainframe?]

[ It's everything Barry's wanted to hear for the past two years, all at once, but any joy it would've elicited in another context is largely overshadowed by the fact that his sudden houseguest (room...guest?) is about to vomit and may actually have alcohol poisoning. He's quick in bringing over the little hotel trashcan and setting it down in front of him, because it's a walk to the bathroom and he's not too sure Archer has it in him, then leans into his side and drapes an arm over his midback, under his far arm. ]

Okay, Buddy. Easy. You should sit down before you lose your balance and mess up that leg. [ Especially because leaning forward while blackout drunk and caneless seems like it couldn't have any outcome other than falling. ] Can you do that for me?

[ His friend. They're friends. Archer sees him as a friend. ]

[oh god, barry was my friend. this coma thing's been hard.

he'd said that offhandedly when he'd thought barry was dead, that he'd made another connection just like he had with ramon only for them to fucking drop and leave him behind like they always do. like malory did when he was young, like woodhouse and lana did--

(maybe one day he'll be more consciously aware of how he drives them away, instead of lodging himself into denial and pretending they leave him out of spite.)

it's an old song and dance for him, to have a bucket shoved into his hands as he empties his stomach contents into it. predictably, it's all alcohol -- when did he even last eat, anyway? figures he'd be lucky enough to be able to maintain his muscle mass without needing to care about it. everything always works out for archer, doesn't it? he slumps a little towards barry when he's done, plopping the bin back down onto the carpet for now. upright! he's being that considerate at least. or maybe it was just another little perfection for the man who gets everything he wants.

a deep sigh escapes him and he shifts his arm a little in a way that could be construed as trying to put his arm around barry's hips while they're sitting on the edge of the bed... or just trying to get more support so he doesn't fall forward. could even be both. his head lolls onto barry's shoulder and he slips forward slightly, languid enough that it seems for a moment he's passed out sitting upright.

whatever line of thought that had pushed him to go from laying around in the other room feeling sorry for himself and up into breaking into barry's room is less clear and more like a fly catcher that's been swung around into everything in the room and tangled up on itself. a little groan escaping him indicates that he's come back to reality from wherever he went.]

Ugh... [he's still seeing double, triple, feeling like he's whacked his head real hard, maybe he did, maybe he's just coming down to an uncomfortable level of lucidity after throwing up most of what he spent the last few hours drinking.] Some idiot puked in your bin.

[attempt at a stupid joke or is he genuinely that out of it? unclear.]

I dreamed about you, [he says after a moment, snorting a half laugh.] God, you stole some biker's get up and looked so fucking stupid in his leather cap.

[ He lets Archer have that one, both because he probably needs to laugh and because it takes him a moment to process that the guy was dreaming about him. Was it because Archer heard him, somewhere deep in his unconscious brain? Did it actually make any difference? Or was it just that he already occupied his thoughts as a villain- Was I the bad guy in his dream? Was he having nightmares about me?

Barry pushes the thoughts to the side, though he knows already that this isn't the last time he'll be seeing them. It's nice to be touched, to have human contact to ground him in his own body, though he's less focused on that than he is on keeping Archer conscious and talking, two things which sort of go hand-in-hand. ]

Yeah?

[ The nearest hospital is what? In like, Denver? Jesus, this is just like The Shining. Well, at least the book. ]

[fortunately, he seems to be showing less signs of alcohol poisoning and more signs of just... being really drunk. he'd done what he'd done to try and avoid his problems, and look where it got him.

leaning on one of his problems and kind of... vaguely fascinated with the firmness of barry's muscles right at the back of his mind.]

Yeah. Krieger fixed you up. Did you tell me that when you visited?

Uh- Yeah. I think. One of the times.

[ And then he had to do it all over again when Lana sold him out like he was a nonsentient piece of scrap metal, but he doesn't bring that up because it's not about him right now, it's about Archer. The betrayal still stings when he thinks about it, granted— but at least Archer seems sincere in his clumsily worded, still kind of off the mark assertion of "robot" personhood. ]

It was good of him to do that. He didn't have to, and I didn't deserve it.

[ A beat. And then, though he doesn't know why he mentions it— ]

I can breathe. Eat. Feel pain. I have a pulse again for the first time in... three years? I think?

[ It's hard to really place that period of his life on any sort of coherent timeline; it's all more or less just a depersonalized, deeply unstable blur, one long episode of psychiatric instability. Sometimes he wonders how much of it he doesn't even remember, but with effort he chooses not to think about that either. Instead he turns the palm of the hand that isn't supporting Archer's side toward the ceiling and extends it across his chest, in Archer's general direction. ]

You can feel if you'd like.

[ Partly because it might make him less fearful. Partly because it might make him acknowledge that he's leaning against a human being, the kind of validation he still finds himself thinking even after three years of therapy. ]

[he reaches out a little hesitantly, not unlike a kid being given a new toy and told if they lose it then they'll get their tiny bare ass slapped with a ping pong paddle. archer also doesn't deign go into more detail about dutch dylan and some of the horrific things his subconscious put forward the cyborg was capable of.

he ends up sliding his palm over barry's, fingers awkwardly resting on his wrist like he's already forgotten what he was doing with it.]

Warm, [he mutters, then starts to slightly tilt forward again.]

Hey, hey, don't do that. You have to stay up, okay?

[ Yes, he was in a frat and yes, he does have experience with this exact situation. Barry would honestly prefer to just... stay like this for a while, feeling the movement of Archer's shoulder against his in time with his respirations (which he's been keeping a figurative eye on since his mission partner sat down), the slight weight of someone else's hand on his arm, but he doesn't, instead sliding his other hand under Archer's near arm to straighten him up a bit. He's more likely to stay alert that way. ]

Do you think you can hold down some coffee? Maybe some water?

[ Because he is going to be insanely hung over come morning. ]

You don't have to act like this is my first time, you... Barry. [he says petulantly, hand staying where it was over barry's arm even after he's retracted it like his brain is still processing it's not there anymore.] I'll take coffee if it's coffee liqueur.

[barry still thinks archer can get hungover, or ever sobers up enough to be hungover. that's cute. archer burps into his hand.]

Lemme just get a quick power blackout into the mix and I'll be good to kill some idiots.

Archer, no. And it is your first time getting blackout drunk in three years, and while I think we've kinda passed the point of your liver returning to its natural state, at the very least your tolerance has clearly gone down.

[ God, it's hard not to get irritated at the guy, even knowing he has a disease, even knowing he just woke up from a coma and is probably just trying to cope in the only way he knows how. Barry can't imagine Mallory's parenting was particularly hands-on. Or loving. Or... parenting, really. ]

Look, why do you want to get drunk right now? Be honest with me.

[it kind of throws him for a moment to be asked why. he doesn't have some deep, self-reflective answer ready even if he is vaguely aware of why he does it. there is a huge collision of multiple concepts in his brain right now; barry being his friend (big one, underlined, lots of question marks around it), barry giving a shit about him, everything he's dealing with on waking up (imagine sparkly poop emoji stickers around that one) and the fact his usual bullshit isn't working. the fact he doesn't actually really want his usual bullshit to work.

realising that last one is... sobering. he doesn't want to fuck this mission up not because he cares about it but because he doesn't want to upset barry.

that in itself is pretty hard to reconcile. he never even really felt like that when he was on missions with lana.]

I'm already drunk, [he mutters a little lamely, clearly uncomfortable, clamming up now it's all going beyond surface level. archer runs a hand through his hair, suddenly very interested in not looking at barry at all.] It's not because of you, or anything. I mean, shit, Barry, not everything is about you.

[the insult falls extremely flat, and archer is all too aware of the fact he doesn't actually have an answer to the question. he taps his hand on his knee a little awkwardly, cogs in his brain almost audiably grinding away to try and find something to fill the silence with.]

Wasn't saying it was, Buddy. I think there's some underlyin' problems here.

[ It's not like he intends to force Archer into talking about them or anything, because you don't really achieve anything with force, emotionally speaking. They're probably dealing with a lot more than just the aftermath of the coma here, honestly. This has clearly been building up for a while. ]

I think it's about how much you're going through right now. The world kept moving but you're still the you you were three years ago and that's hard. And the physical therapy- look, I know. When I shattered my femur it took months for me to be able to walk properly again, to say nothing of how long it took to return to the field. [ He gives Archer's shoulder a gentle squeeze. Thank you, Krieger, for making sure the fine motor skills on this factory model got returned to what they were when he was residing in a purely organic body. ] I know you're doing the best you can.

[no shit, he thinks. he'd spent those three months after he'd woken up doing nothing but "void stuff" and hating himself for not being able to walk properly. drinking all day and awkwardly shuffling around his penthouse-- it was like a glimpse into his damn future that he didn't care for.

you're not ready, is the thought that keeps echoing in his head, even though that's not a concept sterling archer should recognise. he always bounces back. he's the world's greatest secret agent. if he can't do that then--

his shoulder is tense under barry's grip and something flits across his expression for a moment, something like he expects barry to keep squeezing until the bone splinters under his fingers like it was a matchstick.]

I'm sorry, [he says.] about your leg. I should've just pulled you up.

[he's said sorry about the femur before, when trexler tried to snipe archer into odin employment to piss malory off, but archer never really seemed genuine about anything. he sounds it now-- with all the weight of actually coming closer to understanding how much barry had suffered with the damage he'd done. for no reason.]

I. [ That's some major character development. Barry doesn't really know what he expected - that they'd just move forward and disregard it? Did he think Archer was incapable of feeling remorse? Either way, he's... caught wildly off guard, because Archer's different, too, now, and he hadn't expected to get this kind of treatment. ]

Thanks, Archer. I'm sorry about... everything that came after that.

[ He doesn't bother to elaborate, because there's no need to, and also because listing out all of the evil shit he did would probably take all night. ]

Huh.

[an extremely small step, maybe, but it felt good.]

Guess we're both pretty fucked up.

[he snorts at that - humourlessly but not derisively - like it's some serious food for thought.]

I'm, uh. I'm gonna pass out now.

[it's a controlled descent; he shifts so he flops down face first onto barry's bed, breathing evenly and snoring slightly.]

[ It feels wrong to keep an eye on him, because that would be watching him in his sleep and that would be a violation. So instead Barry just kinda... takes off his shoes and poses him in the recovery position like a very heavy Barbie, like, one of the new ones with the moveable joints and the leotard or something, and then makes himself comfortable-ish in the bathtub and hibernates—no, sleeps, they've been using humanizing terminology.

Morning comes early. He's still sort of adjusting to Pacific time again despite having spent the first half of his life in its rhythm, and yet, it doesn't feel like he's gotten any extra sleep so much as it just feels weird. It's also weird to brush his teeth and step out of his temporary sleeping arrangements to see Archer unconscious in the bed that was supposed to be his last night.

Barry sets out a glass of water and some black coffee before he settles in for his own breakfast. He'd prefer to watch the news, but that might wake Archer up, so instead he just flips through a very old LIFE and reads last year's latest on... imprisoned actress Veronica Deane. Shit. Better throw that out.

He's in the process of dumping it in the kitchen trashcan when Archer's footfalls alert him to the fact that he's up, apparently, because the guy is surprisingly light on his feet for someone who just got monumentally shitfaced like five hours ago. ]

[archer's out cold until he wakes up, which isn't all that unusual for him. he completely forgets where he is and jolts upright quick enough that he almost pukes again when he realises he doesn't recognise the room and-- ah. yeah. right. he pulls himself to his feet and staggers out the bedroom with his cane (walking's always harder when he's been off his feet for the night), the shitty hotel carpet feeling like tinfoil under his bare feet and when did he take off his shoes?

he figures this could've gone significantly worse than it did-- he didn't fall off the edge of the wall and break his skull open when he was breaking into barry's room, barry didn't reflexively rip his head off. the target didn't show up early and judging by the lack of beeping on the tracker he has shoved into his pocket, they haven't missed their window. frankly, he could be doing a lot worse than his hair sticking up like he's been pulled backwards through a bale of hay and a nice pair of dark circles forming under his eyes.]

So I don't know about you, Barry, [he announces when he's within speaking distance to the cyborg.] but I'm ready to shoot this dickbag in the face then blow this roach infested shithole off to get a proper meal instead of whatever FSA nightmare they serve downstairs.

[ Barry reflexively turns his head at the voice and then tries to stifle the reflexive grimace at the face it came from. Archer looks... terrible, really really terrible. Should've supervised him. Really shouldn't have let this happen to begin with. It's jarring enough to see someone like Archer leaning so heavily on a cane, like, enough to hit the ground if it goes out from under him leaning, like he did for about four months after PT, but he knows that reacting to that in the slightest, even looking at it for too long, is going to get them into dangerous emotional territory. Barry shrugs. ]

Hey, I don't mind checkin' to see if he's already here. The less time in this place, the better. [ Because, seriously, he probably has enough human flesh to get.... something.... poisoning now. But as for Archer— ] Why don't you get cleaned up? I'll keep an eye on his room while you do.

Already ahead of you, [he says, taking the tracker out his pocket and placing it on the table. there's a chair opposite barry, but archer takes the one next to him, knee briefly knocking against his. he smiles, strangely boyish and leans back in the seat with crossed arms.] I was gonna put the coffee on. I mean, you can just punch through the wall to get to the sniper quickly if that thing starts beeping. These stupid walls are so thin I could probably kick through them with my shitty leg.

[his tone is... companiable, though the slight strain and desperation for contact that persisted in it last night when he was drunk with all his weight on barry is still there.]

Do you.. still drink coffee? Or is it all battery acid now? [then, in an attempt to cushion the joke he belatedly realises barry won't like:] At least I know not to put egg in it, am I right?

[ Barry almost corrects him on calling his weaker leg 'shitty', because that's even worse than referring to it as his bad leg like he himself spent so many years doing (well, prior to everything being replaced with metal...), but then Archer makes a crack about the robotics and he feels his face fall a little before he catches himself and levels it out.

Archer means well, probably even said that to try and bond, and making coffee without only making it for himself is pretty un-Archer of him, so Barry tries not to let it get under his skin. Which isn't really his skin, is it? Just synthesized, really. ] Ha. Yeah.

I could go for some. I usually put milk in it, but I don't think there actually is any here, so black, I guess? Thanks.

[archer doesn't say anything, but it's clear in the brief shift of his own expression he realises he messed up in a way he didn't want to. archer's so new to this whole situation and really doesn't know how to deal with it-- pam gives it back as good as she gets but when he quips at barry it just seems to make him kind of sad. what... else does he do?

he gets back up from the table, staggering over to the coffee pot to keep his hands busy with setting it all up, making sure it's not all disgusting and encrusted in slime. he crosses his arms and leans back against the little dresser while the water boils, opening his mouth a couple times, trying to work out what to say.

finally, lamely, because digging himself into a deeper hole is what archer does best:] I, uh, didn't... mean the battery acid thing. I know you don't do that.

[he tells himself, this is self-preservation, not pissing barry off will avoid him going nuts again and breaking his neck. that's all it is.]

...

...So, uh... where'd my boots go?

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