hostileworkenvironment | 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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[ 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?

do you want cyborgs?

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