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“I highly doubt that, baby,” you replied calmly. It was late, you were exhausted from being on this stupid mission for the past who knows how long, and with the literal MOLD PEOPLE problem you needed to do something to calm your frayed nerves. As annoyed as Chris was, he knew you well enough to know all that, so you held no fear of the large man that was currently leading your little two-man squad through the depths of Heisenberg’s factory. Plus he was a big softy when you were involved, not that he’d ever admit it.
“Can’t you sing literally anything else?” he complained, voice in a low whisper yet still managing to sound like a petulant child.
“What am I, a jukebox? No, I’m not taking requests.”
“What if--” he paused to put a few rounds into a soldat. “What if I do that thing you like when we get home?”
“You’re assuming that this is gonna be over sometime this decade, and I don’t appreciate it.” Though, with the rate Ethan’s tearing through these guys . . .
“I’ll throw in dinner at that little Italian place you like.”
“If you can guarantee you’ll convince Leon to have a threesome, I’ll change songs.”
“Deal.”
“And you have to do that thing I like, and we all have dinner.”
He balked. “Babe . . .”
“All or nothin’, big guy.”
“Alright, deal. Just stop with the fuckin’ skeletons already.”