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The bar that Ty comes to doesn't look like the right place at first.
He checks his phone again. 'The Outpost'. It matches the image he has on his maps app at least. The unsettling in his stomach must be because he knows who's inside. Or meant to be inside. Everything is so riddled with uncertainty these days.
It would be easier if he could just text Felix about it, but that would be more risky than even being here in the first place. Escaping from the Compound doesn't exactly come with perks.
Ty takes a breath and enters the bar.
The music hits him before anything else and there's a second when it's just the rhythm rattling through his bones - the guitar, the drums, the voice.
He knows that voice. He swallows.
Everything else follows after that moment. The crusty smell of beer and wood feels like it's holding him at gunpoint. Not that he would be surprised if that happened to him; he can see at least four guns just out on the tables.
"Americans," he mutters disapprovingly, before catching himself.
It's also decently sticky and Ty resists the heavy temptation to just keep rubbing his hands on his shirt until his skin is rubbed raw.
He makes his way uncertainly to the counter and orders a whiskey in a slightly shaking voice. He's never had a whiskey before.
Ty just kind of swirls the glass and watches the ice melt as the band plays.
"You new here, pard?"
He looks up.
The bartender isn't making eye contact, but there's no one else who could be talking to him. It's a stupid question as well - despite his best efforts, he sounds so fucking British and he's practically sweating with anxiety.
"Yeah," Ty replies, roughly.
The bartender nods as if unsurprised and pours another drink, for someone much further to his left.
"You here alone then?"
He has to stop himself from looking at the stage. It would defeat the whole point of trying to remain covert, in case he decides to leave.
Fuck, he feels like he's being stood up.
"Why do you ask?"
The bartender shrugs.
"I could'a sworn that there singer's had his eye on you. Nice fella."
Ty feels his cheeks heat up.
"O-oh?"
The song finishes. Another one starts.
"Yeah, he's a local round here. Goes by the name o' Tex. Bit of a mystery, if'n you ask me."
The ice has completely melted.
"Really? Why?"
"Well, he just kinda showed up one day. Bought a nearby house that ain't been lived in for a good while and started a band. Ain't no one what knows more than that."
"And no one... asked?"
Another shrug.
"Nah. None o' my business, but you can if'n you want. I reckon this is the final song on their set."
Ty's eyes widen and he nods in thanks before moving closer to the centre of the room. The decision is solidifying in his mind.
He readjusts his hat and places his whiskey on the table, untouched. For the first time, he allows his eyesight to rise to the stage.
Michael is gorgeous.
He's right in his element onstage in a way that Ty has never seen before. It's honestly lovely to see him in a context that doesn't involve the horror of the Compound.
Their gazes find one another for a second. Michael's eyes narrow as if confirming a suspicion. Ty doesn't know what to do under that scrutiny so he just raises a hand and gives a small wave.
Michael gives him a tiny nod and then turns his attention back to the song. There isn't much to do but wait until the end, but even if there was, he knows he wouldn't be going anywhere. He's not exactly one for poetry but he wants to swallow the music and leave it beating in time with his heart.
Mainly Michael's voice.
His pulse is screaming.
Michael takes a minute to get off the stage after his set ends and immediately goes about chatting to the regulars. After a few minutes, it's clear he's been caught up and so Ty takes a seat on an empty table in the corner.
He waits for another ten minutes with the same patience that got him through the rest of the song. It's awkward because he keeps trying to make eye contact again, but Michael is constantly moving while always remaining in the same place. In the end, he does nothing but wait.
Then somewhere around second six hundred and thirty four, Ty hears a gruff voice clear its throat.
"How can I help you, pard'?"
He turns.
Michael's closer than he guessed. He holds himself with a sense of calm that suggests that a Ty Betteridge showing up in his bar isn't the most surprising thing.
"Michael?"
The cowboy allows a small smile.
"I go by Tex now, if'n it pleases you."
Tex scrutinises him for multiple seconds then looks to deflate a little.
"You ain't Blue, aren't you?"
"Oh, uh, no! Sorry!" His pitch is rising with his panic. This is the part of the plan that he didn't think through.
The other man sighs.
"What's it you want then, pard'?"
"I, uh," Ty gathers his thoughts, "I escaped. From the Compound."
"And you came to this here bar?"
"I couldn't think of anywhere else to go."
"What colour are you?"
"Azure - I don't think we've met."
Tex nods slowly as if trying to decide what to do.
"You really don't got nowhere to go."
Ty flushes slightly.
"No," he mutters. It's his own fucking fault for asking to be sent here. Veridian had raised an eyebrow for sure.
"Look, I'll just- it was nice to meet you, Tex."
He gives a smile, as genuine as he can muster, then turns to leave.
Tex catches his wrist.
It's so ridiculous and he's desperately embarrassed about it, but his heart begins fighting to escape his ribcage. He must look hot red.
"You can stay with me if'n you want. For tonight."
"What?"
Now Tex looks slightly discomforted. He lets go of Ty's wrist and readjusts his hat.
"I got the space. And you don't got anywhere better to be. I can teach you how to be a proper cowboy."
"Cowboyification comes for us all," Ty states.
"It sure does, pard'. You comin'?"
He nods, biting back any hesitation that warns him to just leave.
He doesn't want to just leave.
Tex leads him out of the bar and into the cool evening air. It's gotten darker while he was inside and now the stars have crawled into action. The night sky is something so rare in the Compound; he needs to drink it all in while he can.
It's odd to think that this could be forever if no one ever looks for him. And while he's sure that they will, he's not entirely helpless.
That relies on what Tex decides to do about him though.
"So what're you going by these days? You ain't, uh, Cowboy Ty?"
Ty blinks several times and returns to himself.
"Oh, um, yes. That was me."
Tex snorts.
"You did your best, pard'." He's clearly attempting a sincere tone but the amusement floods the statement.
"Well, what would you suggest? Not Azure surely. And I hardly have the right to Ty."
He gets a nod.
"Maybe somethin' more subtle than 'Cowboy'. How about... Buckaroo?"
Ty looks at him. His lips are curled in a slightly smile.
"You're fucking with me," he replies warmly.
"That I am, pard. Gunslinger?"
"I don't know if I'll be slinging any guns any time soon."
Tex shakes his head.
"I can get you using guns real quick if'n you want."
Ty winces.
"I might leave that to you, Tex."
"If'n you're sure. We'll get you a name somehow."
"Well, I suppose I fancied the idea of being a rough and tumble outlaw. Hm. The voice could use some improvement."
"D'you think Outlaw sound better than Gunslinger?"
"Easily. I'm already outlawed in twenty-seven states."
He lets a second pass, just in case Tex wants to make some comment, but he just smirks.
"Ah, I've only been outlawed in eleven. You're winning, pard'."
Ty smiles, almost involuntarily.
"Texas Michael and Outlaw Ty Betteridge. I quite like it."
"Me too. I reckon you'll be stayin' around then."
His heart just about stops.
"What?"
Tex acts as if he didn't hear him, walking further down the path that he now sees ends up in a house. He pauses for long enough to call back to him.
"C'mon, Outlaw!"
Outlaw stares, wringing his hands multiple times, but follows.
Tex's house is surprising simple - two floors, a porch, and an outdoors that sprawls for as far as the eye can see. All the lights are off so Outlaw assumes that he lives alone and no one is home. He did say he had space. God, he doesn't know who he'd even live with - his own Mike? A horse?
He knows that Tex has built himself a life, but he's starting to get worried that he's not the only lonely one.
The front door creaks in the way it should. It's the same as the interior in terms of keeping with the aesthetic. Each room reeks of old Western, from the counter-tops down to the armchairs.
"How do you get WiFi out here?" is somehow Outlaw's first question as he goes to wipe his feet on a non-existent doormat.
Tex shrugs.
"I know a fella. And I ain't as bad at technology no more - that's Mikey's job."
It's disconcerting to hear him talk about Mikey like he saw him the day before when Outlaw knows full well that he's banned from making contact with Base. He nods all the same, refusing to make eye contact.
"I can give you a proper tour tomorrow, if'n you're wanting. Best to get some rest now; you look like you need it, pard'."
He's very much not wrong - to the extent where he doesn't have anything to fire back and only nods again.
Tex takes this in without a single reproach and immediately begins to direct him upstairs. The steps are slightly splintered and Outlaw jumps a little when he feels a hand on his back, guiding him gently. It's odd but not unpleasant.
They make it to the bed finally and honestly, even without the whiskey, it takes him a minute to realise the ramifications of that noun being singular.
"Tex, where are you sleeping?"
"I'll take the couch - or sofa or whatever you fuckin' call it - and then we can sort somethin' out proper in the mornin'."
Outlaw frowns, sitting down on the mattress.
"I appreciate the hospitality, but I don't want to force you out of your bed. I know that you'd rather not sleep on those scars either."
Tex's eyes widen, as if he only just remembered that he's speaking to a Ty Betteridge that knows about the various patches of stretched and marred skin all over his body. Then he sighs.
"Well, you ain't takin' the floor, so what do you propose, pilgrim?"
"Can't we share?"
It's most likely the lighting, but he thinks he sees Tex go slightly pink.
"No, no-"
"Tex. I don't mind as long as you don't, truly. I've shared a bed with friends before - well, Felix - but the point remains."
He pauses.
"If it helps, I'm asexual. If that's what makes you uncomfortable."
It doesn't change the awkwardness, but Tex's mental scramble for words is quite endearing.
"No, pard', that ain't the issue, but, uh, thank'ya kindly for telling me."
Outlaw nods slowly.
"I don't know what the issue is then."
If it were any earlier, maybe Tex would have just shuffled away, embarrassed, to deal with it all in the morning. But it's been long day and so he just sighs and slumps next to Outlaw on the bed.
"I, uh, get nightmares. I don't want you to get no sleep tonight because I woke you up with my tossin' and turnin'."
Tex is staring at the floor as if confessing to something horrifying and mortifying and not so trivial as nightmares. There's a risk to be taken here and Outlaw isn't one to back out. Not anymore it seems. He reaches out his hand and uses it to cover Tex's on the duvet.
"That's okay. I'd rather be somewhere I could help than all the way downstairs, as long as it doesn't worsen them."
He doesn't mention that he gets nightmares too - just the kind that leave him paralysed and sweating at 3am. The kind he can explain away much more easily.
Tex seems to come to a decision. He tangles his fingers with Outlaw's and gives them a quick squeeze before untangling themselves to get ready for bed.
His fingertips are still buzzing when they both lie down.
It's... nice.
"Goodnight, Outlaw."
"Goodnight, Tex."
Outlaw falls asleep with the blanket halfway across his chest and on the other side of the bed as Tex, so, if he wakes up much closer to the other side, at least he has plausible deniability.