The fact Fletcher didn’t hate Archie’s company is something he’ll forever wonder and sooner give up pondering because he’ll never come up with a logical answer. The guy was a prick, he knows he’s a prick and yet, Fletch’ll take the other man’s company over a fair few others that would crumble beneath the bonebreaker’s intolerance for bullshit – and also, to the high tolerance for liquor, he’s not exactly renowned for peeling lightweights from the sticky floor of bars and fortunately, for Archie’s sake, he’s not had to do that for the man quite yet. Though, every time he spends more than five minutes with the guy, the desire to land a hit on the guy’s nose soon comes to the forefront of his mind.
Again, the two men know each other well enough that Archibauld probably knows that too; can see it in the glint of irritation behind Hargrave’s hues and picks up the tells in the way he hand tightens on the glass in hand, nails drawing lines in the barside and the strained smirk that whispers onto the corner of his lips. But in Fletcher’s head, he’s not letting the visible perturbation show. Breathing a laugh, a small shake of his head; he twists to address the other male: “So you’re admitting you make bad judgement calls, I’ll note that, you dumb fuck,” there’s an eyeroll that follows, but he’s enjoying the wind-up; maybe that’s why you don’t hate his company entirely? He’s a prick you can tear into and he’ll scoff and throw it back. One of the few who’ll get away with it too.
Archibauld you’re one lucky fucker to be on that list.
Fletcher snorts, a genuine laugh at the choice of words the other gives. “A fucking quest?” it’s ridiculous, makes it sound like some child’s game in some fantasy land that isn’t probably some illegal hit that he’s working off the clock. And he’s not used to Archie being a little soft when talking about it either; so it meant it was important, and not just some simple hit. “Did you slay the fucking dragon and take its head too?” OK, now you’re mocking.
The moment of oddness doesn’t last either because it’s barely ten minutes into drinking and his comrade is making the pushing remarks that he very much knows get underneath the bonebreakers skin like knives under fingernails. “You’ll be drunk whether I intended for it or not – you can’t hold your fucking drink,” he mutters bitterly as though the frilly cocktail and its seventy different alcohols would hit the man like a tsunami and knock him right off the stool. Drawing in a breath, he hesitates on answering the ruse; withholds the bark of an answer that implies he really didn’t miss the idiot. But in the previous manner of the general’s discussion, he’s honest: “Missed your penchant to do reckless shit with me, maybe,” he admits under his breath; a grumble to past antics of rank jumps. His voice raises to add with an amused shrug: “Mostly missed punching your lights out and watching your face turn purple though, so let’s not push it,”
“I mean at this point I actively chose to hang out with you so yes I make bad judgement calls and some of them rather publicly too, I mean the idea of people seeing us together? You could ruin a guys rep Fletcher.” He pushes his buttons, he knows he does but that was always part of the fun with Fletcher. Seeing just how far he could tip him off of the edge without sending him tumbling. Each day was different with the bonebreaker, some days he could take a whole load of his crap and others, well Archie could tell with one look no more than a passing comment and beers were going to fly by that day.
Pair that with his ability to flip a switch when it came to work, to drop any facade of an idiot that didn’t know what he was doing and turn into the deadly reaper he had been trained for, to have Fletcher or anyone’s back? He was pretty sure that was why the other hadn’t taken him to the top of the hotel and thrown him off yet. “But I guess I will continue to make such hideous choices when you continue to look at me like that and do I...” Leaning closer to the blonde Archie let his nose sniff a little. “Fletcher, are you wearing new cologne? Are you trying to impress me?” He smirked, letting his hand reach for his cocktail that had now been placed in front of them without moving his gaze from the others. “Fletch baby, you know I’ve been ready to drop my pants for you for years, you just have to ask.”
If that ever happened though, at this point Archie was convinced that he would actually need five minute to get over the shock if he didn’t just have a heart attack there and then - after all he had never made the others males attractiveness to himself a secret, but damn he didn’t think he would ever take him up on it.
Falling quiet for a minute his dark eyes finally move away from the other male and he looked at the wood of the bar, his fingers playing with the edge for a second. “Not yet, but I’ll get the fuckers head one day.” He was still no closer to finding out what had happened to his dad, sure he had ruled out a tonne of possibilities, he’d ticked names off a list, he knew where he wasn’t - but still no clue as to what had actually happened. “One day....anyway, less of that and more of the drink talk. It’s been far to long since we had a merry walk back to the hotel together. And I’ve gotten quite the taste of handling my booze thank you, I drink Guinness now.” A necessity when he had been in Ireland apparently, fucking idiots they were. “And we can spar in the morning, those touches aren’t the type I crave tonight pretty boy.”
