("Rehab With a Central Nurse Android: A Cyberpunk Story.")
"Sounds real fucking good to me, mamí," Marcus says to Teagan's offer, a rather large grin forming at the word shower. Hell, he barely registered drinks and pillow after it (though he did, oh, God, he did). Maybe she was an angel, after all. He'd always liked rattlesnakes. Fuck, he had a rattlesnake tattoo, though showing it off generally required a few drinks and a private room, given the placement. As grateful as he was to see sanity in the desert at that moment, Marcus might have sworn a vow and signed a contract or cut his hand or whatever it was these people decided to ask of him just for the opportunity for decent fucking company.
This time it was Rodeo who reminded him to keep his enthusiasm in check. They weren't government, which might actually be good. Better, if they were run honestly and with the people's best interests in mind, instead of a fucking profit margin. They did kill people, though. Hell, this woman could easily have killed him, he'd been there for that part. Best to remember that, as much as he was warming up to them at that moment.
Rodeo's statement could mean something else, as well. They might shoot the potentially infected, instead of taking any chances with them. The last time Marcus had been bit, he'd had to argue his way into being left to die instead of shot (which had been pitched as a mercy thing to do at the time). It might have been more understandable if the fucker who'd wanted to shoot him in the first place and had done the abandoning hadn't been someone he'd been fucking sleeping with. That had stung like hell. It hadn't been love. Marcus had known better than that, but it had been companionship. Friendship, he'd thought. Enough so if the situation had been reversed, he'd have stuck around to help.
Fucking people.
But Marcus wasn't going to argue with this man about it or even ask for clarification in case it meant he felt the need to argue about it. Wasn't going to risk losing a good night over his own principles (and maybe a few drinks and a hot shower would keep him from wondering what that said about himself). No, if they were cold-blooded murderers who shot their own for being bit, he'd just fucking leave for somewhere else.
So he just nods, the grin tempered down but still amiable. "Entiendo, hombre. Aquí estoy contigo." Then -- catching on that it might be better to be crystal clear in this situation -- follows with, "I fucking appreciate it. Thanks."