gunsforhire | LOG: A Little TLC

Who: Agent Texas (Native), Agent Florida (Native)
What: Relaxing in the safety of a safehouse
Where: One of Florida's safehouses
When: 5/13, evening
Warnings: Adult situations, definite Florida trying to process human emotions, later nsfwish content

It's been the strangest few weeks, Florida decided a long time past. But here he was now, stretched out on the couch, staring at the ceiling. He's got two vat-meat steaks out, defrosting, he's got roasted potatoes ready for the oven, in fact, he's mostly got a rehash of the first meal he made for Tex (lower quality of course), waiting in the wings for the finishing touches. Minus the mousse. That just takes too long.

And added in? Beers chilling in the fridge. Beers he thinks he might partake in himself.

So much of the recent past has been stressful. More of it has been confusing. He's still trying to get his brain around how far he goes for Louisiana, a woman who will hate him soon enough. Another part wonders why she really saved him from that shipping container, and if he would have died without her. He ponders thankfulness and fear, insomnia and rest, and even the whole fiasco where he threatened to murder Maine and his boyfriend just to get to Lou...

Which only reminds him of the other complication in his life. At least he understands Lou on some level. Surely that is some deeply buried paternal instinct activating around her. A father fiercely loyal and protective, willing to take on all comers for his young. Actually, that sounds more maternal except in humans. Oh well.

But Tex?

There's a question. All the money. All the grief. A lot of the problems start and end with a woman that until recently he hadn't seen for a good long time. And now here he is, opening one of his safe havens to her when he isn't even going to get any physical pleasure out of it.

Where has he gone wrong?

Threaded | Flat

Why is she even going here? She has her own safe houses, a couple strewn about the city. They're far from as luxurious given how bare-bones she keeps them, but they'd get the job done.

Yet she messaged Florida not even an hour earlier and is parking her bike in front of his place. The same man that's both helped her and threatened her brother in the last twenty-four hours. He's a loose cannon when it comes to his mija apparently and she's not sure what kind of explosion she could be in the crossfires of later if a fight of theirs escalated beyond a simple misunderstanding.

Despite that piece of bullshit, being with him has been oddly... relaxing. Whether a lot of it is some weird extension of their bet or purely from their shared interests, she doesn't know, but it's enough to draw her back in. Trying to figure out where she fits in with her family has taken its toll and left her tired. On top of that, finding out she's an afterthought while Maine is forefront in many of her sibling's minds wants her as far away from base as possible.

This seemed as good a place as any and the company would be nice.

She unlocks the front door and once the airlock has cycled and secured itself behind her, she removes her helmet. These days she's finding less and less reasons to wear her contacts unless she's meeting contacts or out on jobs. It makes getting ready a helluva lot easier. An overnight bag is slung over her shoulder, filled with everything she needs for the night and tomorrow morning.

"Hey, Ed," she calls out as she steps farther inside and heads for the living room.

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