( Yeah, once you've been in and out of a freezer for decades, lost your mind, and traveled through time (or universes, more accurately), the passage of it gets a little nebulous and a little less important on a macro scale. Deadlines are one thing — the earth is gonna explode next week, sure, that's worth keeping track of. Peacetime passages, though? June, December, March, what the hell's the difference? Especially in the damn desert.
Still, he appreciates the sentiment.
He wakes up at the crack of dawn every morning, sleep or no sleep, Sam's not wrong about the status here. He has, as it turns out, slept — nightmare free, even. Go figure. That means the day's already off to a good start.
It still takes a minute for him to answer the door, though. Old habits die hard. He's got to pull a shirt on, tuck a knife in his belt, and do a little scoping before he opens it. Paranoia, et al.
Not exactly what he expected there. A few puzzled seconds pass before he scoops up the haul, squints in either direction looking for the body that dropped them off, and then retreats back into his quarters.
The letter comes first. It leaves him snorting softly, amused and a little fond. The contents get turned over and studied, the knives tucked away on his person, and eggs cooked with a couple pinches of the spice blend.
It's not bad, he's gotta admit.
Come just after lunch, he goes to knock on Sam's door. Once opened, his greeting is a mock-official: )
no subject
Still, he appreciates the sentiment.
He wakes up at the crack of dawn every morning, sleep or no sleep, Sam's not wrong about the status here. He has, as it turns out, slept — nightmare free, even. Go figure. That means the day's already off to a good start.
It still takes a minute for him to answer the door, though. Old habits die hard. He's got to pull a shirt on, tuck a knife in his belt, and do a little scoping before he opens it. Paranoia, et al.
Not exactly what he expected there. A few puzzled seconds pass before he scoops up the haul, squints in either direction looking for the body that dropped them off, and then retreats back into his quarters.
The letter comes first. It leaves him snorting softly, amused and a little fond. The contents get turned over and studied, the knives tucked away on his person, and eggs cooked with a couple pinches of the spice blend.
It's not bad, he's gotta admit.
Come just after lunch, he goes to knock on Sam's door. Once opened, his greeting is a mock-official: )
I believe drinks were discussed.
( Play acting, obviously. )