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When you approach Guy in the hangar bay for smooth departure, you find him leaning on one of the balustrades, thick arms crossed over his chest and a smile like he’s got trouble in his mind. As you wave over to him in greeting, that smile only seems to spread wider, laced with ill intent.
“Hey, hon,” he says, like he intends to say something else with the way he emphasizes ‘hon,’ “I hear you’re taggin’ along with the two of us.”
When he says ‘us,’ there’s something rugged, dangerous in the way he enunciates the syllable, those dark eyes dragging down your figure. Good ol’ Guy; you roll your neck as you prepare for what seems to be a long week ahead of you, growing ever-longer.
“Oh, Batman and J’onn thought it would be good to have either Beatriz or me tag along for this one.” You explain as you draw near enough that he has the opportunity to make detailed inspection of your outfit. At the mention of your mutual coworker, his eyes narrow ever-so-slightly, though that dogged smirk doesn’t lessen by any degree.
“So where’s Bea?” He asks, coming to his own conclusions as he awaits yours.
You think about how to deliver it in the most delicate fashion. “Um, she said, and I quote, if she was given a choice of tagging along with you two or getting her head crushed in an olive press…”
He makes a crude laugh at her choice of comparison and you try not to think about how you have a sudden hankering for Kalamata olives. He straightens up from the wall in an inelegant movement that makes clear the flex of muscle, the stolidity of his frame.
“Didn’t know she hated me that much,” he informs you, though you’re fairly certain you have a solid reckoning for the extent of her hatred.
You decide to opt on the side of caution. After all, you are stuck with him and your shared company for the foreseeable future. You shuck your hands in your pockets, rocking back on your heels. “Well, she doesn’t totally despise you.”
His eyes dart from the distance of the open hanger door back to you, making careful study of your face. “So what’s that make you, comin’ along to keep an eye on your ol’ pal Guy?”
Your ol’ pal Guy makes it clear just what he wants to think about this, from the way that his eyes linger down once more. You consider how to navigate this one as he starts to make the journey over to the yawning opening, though he keeps a diligent eye to your form behind him.
You offer a nonchalant smile that you can’t smother despite his advances. “Means I want to make sure that you come back to earth in one piece.”
“Yeah?” His brow cocks up at what he considers damning admission. “Which piece d’you care about the most?”
You chuff out a laugh at this, not rising to the bait he’s dangling before you. That he’s practically begging for you to snap up. “The one that tells us how we meet up with Lobo.”
He doesn’t take this lying down, keeping that tone sleek and unaffected. “And what about after we come back?”
You roll your eyes. “Let’s wait until we finish for me to let you in on the secret.”
That smile tells you all you need to know. “Don’t keep me waitin’ too long, alright?”
You’ve met Lobo before. As in, you’ve had the privilege of having conversation with him while he had conversation with your body, experienced the thrill of fighting besides him while he took every opportunity to manhandle you in the name of ‘saving your cute-ass hide.’
But you’ve never had the chance—not necessarily that you ever wanted it—to have him and Guy be the only two other people in the room. And you're coming to realize that his evaluative stare is not too removed from the one that Guy has been settling over you.
Though as you glance sidelong at Guy, you notice the rather affronted glare he’s settling upon Lobo. Lobo ignores him, still staring down at you—and you’re not too sure you’re fond of that ken in those red eyes.
“So Da Costa couldn’t handle hangin’ out with two real men, huh?” Lobo asks, though he doesn’t sound too broken up over it.
“Something like that.” You reply tactfully. “I’ll be filling in for her.”
He leans back on the massive bike he rocked up to this meeting place Guy arranged for the three of you. You'd like to get a closer inspection of all of the impressive details of this mechanical specimen, but you’re not certain that you’d enjoy the price you’d have to pay to get this exclusive access. A price you’re certain he’d thoroughly enjoy exacting from you.
“Yeah, you know, she’s easy on the eyes—”—Lobo returns offhandedly—“—But I think I could get used to having you around.”
“Is that so?” You ask carefully, wondering just what exactly you’ve done by taking one for the team.
“Sure is. You ever been to space before? Gets real cold an’ scary up there.” He leans in, blatantly confident as he asserts himself into your space. “Might need someone around to keep you warm.”
“Sure—”—Guy steps forward, though only you turn to look at him, surprised at his interruption—“—That’s what I’m here for.”
You’re so caught up in keeping the atmosphere nice and peaceable that you don’t know how to respond to this intrusion. You don’t have enough time to consider whether Guy is doing it out of the goodness of his heart—or because he’s trying to stake a claim. The only thing you do know is that the simmering anger on his face is undoubtedly the real deal.
Lobo is unmoved, though he does seem amused, looking from Guy to you. “Oh yeah, sweetheart? Guy’s your man?”
“He’s got my back, if that’s what you mean.” You say, because that’s the truth. Guy’s face doesn’t change, his shoulders plateauing wider at the admission, as though he wants Lobo to try and disprove your words. As though he’s eagerly willing for your go-ahead to disprove them himself.
“Ain’t that interesting, Gardner.” Lobo sets a long, implicative smirk Guy’s way before he turns back to you. “So when you get cold tonight, make sure to find me in the dark. I don’t bite.”
The look he gives you indicates that he very much does.
“I’ll keep it in mind, Lobo.” You say, and he nods slowly.
“Bet you will.” He gloats.
The mark the three of you are in pursuit of is supposed to frequent these race tracks, with these reptilian creatures that you suppose make decent substitute for horses. Even if they run on six legs and bear large chitinous crests and eat garish, fleshy tubers their alien jockeys feed from open palm.
However, while you seem determined to search for the criminal that you’re supposed to be bringing to justice, your companions are otherwise preoccupied. Namely, due to the tablet that they make passing comment and quick scroll through—the betting odds for the race.
You figure it’s best to let them do it if it keeps them quiet, and run a weather eye over the crowd for something that looks similar to the face you were made to memorize. That is, until you feel the corner of the tablet jab into your arm.
You turn and see Guy holding it out to you, jaw set but eyes alight with something indistinguishable. Lobo hunkers down onto one of the tiered seats beside you both, puffing away at a cigar that is probably not allowed on the premises. The ushers nearby seem best to let sleeping dogs lie and let him admire the prospects.
“You gonna bet on something, hon?” The tablet awaits you, and as you take a gander down to the screen, you see that he’s gone to the trouble to translate it to English. Perhaps it’s this small gesture that leads to you accepting it. It’s simple enough to squint at the translated names of the creatures, searching for the corresponding numbers over each of their kennels.
“I don’t even know how it works.” You admit, flicking through all of the calculated odds for your viewing pleasure. You regale Guy with a wary look. “Are you betting something?”
“Maybe I will.” He replies ambiguously, a corner of his mouth jutting up crookedly.
“How about you, Lobo?” You ask, looking down to the third of your company. Lobo is turned in the direction of the jockeys prepare for the competition, but his eyes set that imperious stare your way.
“Sure I will.” He declares, maintaining that set look. “I always like to gamble.”
“Even if you lose?” You ask, feeling like a degree of amusement must be clearly displayed on your face.
“Aintcha heard?” His teeth glint in imitation of a smile. “The main man don’t lose.”
“That so?” You ask coyly, deciding it wise to turn attention to your other companion. “How about you, Guy?”
You realize he’s a tick closer than he was before, his eyes squared directly at you. You can practically feel the taut heat rolling off of him as he angles his head towards you.
“I don’t back down from a challenge, if that’s what you’re sayin’, hon.”
You’re keenly aware that Lobo has turned to observe the back-and-forth between you both, but you decide to keep your gaze locked upon Guy. You get the oddest feeling that the two of you aren’t talking about races now.
“Yeah, maybe that is what I’m saying.” You decide to rise to the occasion, standing your ground as a ghost of a smile passes his face. “But what if there’s no way to win, Gardner?”
He’s assured as he adopts a broader, swaggering grin. “Never met one I couldn’t beat.”
The moment drags by, unspoken words remaining unvoiced as the two of you wage silent battle, waiting to see who will call bluff first. And unfortunately, it’s you who breaks it, pushing the tablet back his way.
“Go ahead then.” You dare, giving him full access to the viewing screen. “Place your bet and let’s see if you get lucky.”
When his fingers crudely brush against yours, you ignore the way that the lights of the stadium catch on the brazen glint of teeth.
“Can’t believe you fuckin’ won the jackpot.” Guy grumbles sourly as you jingle the box of credits in your hands. Lucky you, to not have to worry about getting robbed, considering the two men that hew closely to either side as you stalk down the street.
Or, at least, not get robbed from people you don’t know. The covetous, greedy gaze as Guy looks to the box in your hands speaks volumes.
“Beginner’s luck.” Lobo contends, who seems less perturbed by your victory than Guy does, who mutters something indiscernible under his breath. “So whatcha gonna do with all that cash, sweetheart?”
You know in your heart of hearts nothing productive is getting accomplished today, so you may as well let it roll. “I dunno. Where’s a good place to blow it?”
Lobo seems glad you sought his counsel, from the way you get ample view of his canines. “There’s a casino over on the edge of the city. Don’t know if it’s yer kind of scene, though.”
“Maybe it is.” You say, tucking the box under your arm for safekeeping. “I’m full of surprises.”
“Yeah? What kind?” Guy resurfaces with heightened interest and no small amount of cunning to his voice. You scoff, unable to restrain your humor at his shift in mood.
“Bet you’d like to know.” You tease, because you’re not interested—but it’s fun to twist the knife a little. Though as he draws closer as you walk, you wonder upon the wisdom of this decision.
“Yeah, maybe I would.” He asserts. “Whatcha gonna do about it?”
You shake the box for good emphasis, a minor cacophony of metal jingling around within. “Lose a lot of money is what I’m going to do.”
He doesn’t seem pleased with this answer.
The casino is loud and bright with lurid neon lights and a variety of vividly colored aliens, clanking machines, gauche scents—it’s an affront to the senses. You love it immediately.
Guy stalks off in pursuit of a table that has some analogue to blackjack, and you don’t know much else to peruse, so you follow in similar direction. It’s a task to avoid the pointed eye he keeps over his shoulder on you and Lobo, who pulls up sidelong beside you. As if it would be feasible to ignore his massive form that so casually invades your personal space.
“Where you gonna share the wealth?” Lobo asks, reaching an upturned palm out to get a better look at your small fortune. You oblige, putting it in his hand and admiring how it seems significantly smaller in the expanse of his hand. You trust he won’t take advantage, but even then, you don’t really care. it wasn’t really about keeping them—moreso the sheer victory of winning them and rubbing it in Guy’s face.
“Which wealth are we talking about?” You ask, because he’s already trailing with his eyes down the curves of your figure again. They slide back up unwillingly to meet yours.
“Credits first.” He’s closer now, nearly able to block out the blinding glare of the slot machines behind you, his voice cutting through the audial madness. “Maybe more if you’re interested.”
You would laugh if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s dead serious. “And if I’m not?”
He’s unaffected, teeth on display as he smiles. “Think I already heard that line before.”
You find yourself surprised at his determination, your arms instinctively crossing over your chest. “And do you ever take it seriously?”
He makes a low, rumbling chuckle at your disbelief. “I’m real persuasive when I need to be, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet—but I don’t think it’s going to work on me.” You argue back, because it won’t. “I’m sure Guy already told you.”
“Didn’t you hear, babe?” He asks, rolling his neck so you can see the sinew, the tight muscle that stretches with the languid movement. Then his eyes school back upon you. “We’re both real hardheaded when it comes down to it.”
So be it—not that they haven’t been warned. You let out a sighing laugh that you’ve been holding in, palming the back of your neck. “So I hear—just as long as it does.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath waitin’,” he reassures you, and you feel a strong urge to sigh again, though the chuckle fighting for dominance wins out. He holds out the credits to you and you accept as the two of you exchange unvoiced words alongside it, the second stretching beyond comfort.
You don’t look away until you have the box back in your hand of your own volition, watching as he lights up another cigar definitely not approved by the safety code. Not that, it seems, like he gives a hang for any rule thrown his way.
“Well,” you say, keeping your voice light, trying not to let your head spin from recent revelations, “I think I got some money to spend. You wanna lead the way?”
“Sure—”—He promises, the embers from the cigar complementing the consumptive fire blazing in his eyes—“—Think I got some ideas for ya.”