Brannon shrugged at Archer's little crack about him not looking half bad, and gave a bit of a sniffle. Maybe so. Maybe he didn't look a bad as he did the day before. He had gotten a shot in the ass after all.
Clearing his throat, he crossed his arms over his chest, still keeping his focus on his friend. Archer was emptying his pockets like he always did. Nothing was out of the ordinary except the way that Archer was behaving toward him. It made Brannon mad. Mostly for the fact that -- well, it hurt. And he didn't like that it hurt. Maybe he had grown too dependent on Archer. Maybe he needed to give Archer space. Maybe he needed to not give a shit. But then-- why now? Why now? They had been through everything else together. Why, suddenly, was there a wedge back between them, when they finally got the sort of promotion they always wanted together?
Except this awkwardness between them was far worse than when Brannon was first assigned to work with Archer.
Brannon scoffed and shook his head at the 'fine'. Fucker wasn't fine. Archer wasn't even himself. Moving to push up from the bed, Brannon got up to stretch his legs, stepping over to the small refrigerator. "Figures. I feel like I haven't seen you in days. I don't know whether to apologize or congratulate you for Lansing and his evil master keeping you busy. Thanks for not boring me with the details. I didnt want to know what you've been up to anyway. None of my business anymore, anyway, I guess."