There were worse places to be that laid out on the ground beneath his ex-partner, and while the bar's heavies were breaking through to deal with the pair of them, John could really care less. His head hurt and it'd get worse from the tequila, but for now he could only stare up at the other as he heard the same old line he'd heard the last time, when the man was so in love with his compliant little barista.
John wouldn't hear it because he didn't care to. Jack had just forgotten how good they were together, he'd remember again in time. If not, well, he'd still have to put up with him until he got out of this hell hole anyway.
"You move on a lot," John Hart commented in amusement, clearly mocking the other while grappling his hands up to Jack's face to hold it there close to his own. His eyes narrowed and he stared at him for what seemed ages. "Well, I can't. I have higher standards, can't just settle down with every backwater local I meet. Rather be dead than domesticated."
John's eyes darted past Jack and his right hand darted down to his holster to loosen a sidearm.
"There's two behind you. Big. Want me to take care of them? Planned on skipping out on the tab anyway."
He may have looked sad, but it was just as likely a trick of the light, seeing his brows rose teasingly at the idea of shooting the bar's muscle.