It was strange to hear his name though not quite as strange as when Bruce used it. When you were in the military, half the time it felt like you didn't have a first name. Even Vasquez and Drake, with whatever the hell their bizarre relationship had been - he'd never asked, he'd never wanted to know, he'd always thought he might regret it if he did - had always referred to each other as Drake and Vasquez.
He snorted as he poured the drinks. "Hell if I know." He shrugged. "I got a job. It's just pushing a broom at a nightclub run by some of the other refugees." He shrugged again and held out one of the glasses to Ripley. "It's a job. It pays. And sleeping in the day is better."
He'd thought about joining the Marines Corps here but he was pretty sure he wouldn't pass whatever psych evals they had in this time and place. They probably weren't as sophisticated as the ones he'd done to get into the USCM but he still didn't think he'd pass.
"I'd have joined SHIELD but they kind of went tits up not long after I got here." He took a sip of his drink and waved towards the sofa and chairs. "Probably just as well. They had rats in the ranks if what I'm reading and seeing is right."
Was he avoiding discussing what Ripley had come here for? Yes and your problem with that was? He was just enjoying having her here. Alive.