I bit my lip, debating in my mind whether or not I should start a conversation. The meat he was cooking made me curious as to what it was. If I had to sit in silence with him again, I was going to go insane. If I had to be insulted by McCree again, then I'm going to be upset. Those two choices alone sound terrible. I wish there was someone here to lighten the mood to cut off the cold tension between us. Lena could have been a good mediator, because the both of us are friends with her. There wouldn't be any awkwardness or anxiety, she would just tell stories about past missions or her adventurous dates with Emily. I wish there was someone to make things seem less grim right now. If McCree does have a crush on me, then maybe he's being shy. He doesn't want to make the first move because he's afraid he'll mess up somehow. Then I noticed it, his shoulders were tensing up a bit when I started looking at him. Around other people, he's relaxed and laid back. But whenever I'm around, he's reserved and rude. I looked away from him and onto the spinning piece of mystery meat. My face began to warm up, and I knew it was not because of the fire. Could Lena actually be right? 
                          
"You should get more firewood, it helps grow the flames."  McCree's voice was clear as day, no hesitation. And he was sending me out of the campsite; possibly because he's getting nervous around me. The tone he used was nicer than what he normally would use. 
                          
"Sure." I said briefly as I tried to steadily walk back into the woods.
                          
If he does have a crush on me, then why would he be acting so rude? Is he ashamed? Why would he be ashamed to find me attractive? Unless he still hates me. You can hate someone and still think they're hot. But why would he hate me? Is it my personality?
                          
I cut off more sticks; deciding to peel away the bark once I was at the fire. Walking towards the dim light, I could smell the aroma of meat that made my mouth water. As I returned to the campsite, I sat on the sleeping bags laid out and put down the pile of sticks next to me with my knife ready to chip away at the wet wood.
                          
"Took you long enough, the fire's gonna die out soon." McCree said gruffly as he turned the meat over the small fire. 
                          
"I'm working on it." I whittled off long chunks of bark like I was peeling a potato. I wasn't rushing to please McCree, but more for the sake of dinner. Nothing beats having a cooked meal during a mission, and I wasn't going to ruin that. I'd never hear the end of it if I do. So I threw in the pieces I finished peeling off, building up the fire and moving it around with one of the sticks.
                          
"So," I started rather awkwardly, "Um what kind of meat is it?" Curiosity was killing me at this point and I wanted to make sure he wasn't going to poison me.
                          
"Deer." McCree's voice was clear and to the point; a que that he'd rather sit in silence than talk to me. It was almost belittling, making me feel like an impatient child on a road trip. I'm already pretty bored, so any possible fight that comes out of this conversation will at least be entertaining. Maybe, I should confront him about his behavior? No, too deep. I tilted my head up to look at the sky, noticing the navy blue horizon that laid above us. There were more stars out tonight than there were back on base, speckling the sky with their unusual patterns. The moon looked like someone took a bite out it, it's crescent shape somehow illuminating the sky with a gleam glow. 
                          
"The stars look pretty tonight." I said aloud, not bothering to turn my head to look at the cowboy.
                          
"I've seen better." He countered nonchalantly. Anything I say to this guy is not good enough, not even a simple chat about stars.
                          
I glared back at him with a scowl, "Really? Then where?"
                          
"Nunya."
                          
"What?"
                          
"Nunya business."
                          
I rolled my eyes, "Real original."  My eyes went back to him, his cybernetic hand shining in the fire light along with the hideous belt buckle he always wore. Even in the cold, with the layers of jackets he had on, he still managed to keep his cowboy style. The red serape was slung around his broad shoulders, his dirty brown slacks still hugged around his legs, and those cowboy boots still had spurs and all despite how they weren't made for this kind of weather.
                          
"You know, you're really reserved for someone that dresses like Clint Eastwood." It was a risky thing to say to him, but anything I'd say would probably be shut down be it nice or mean. I was too hungry to care, and even if he kicked me out of the tent then at least I'll have the stars in the sky. 
                          
"A man has his right to keep to himself. Seems you don't understand that much considering you've spent the majority of the time playing 20 questions." He's nitpicking me, again. This time he's using more than just an order or a stern tone. 
                          
"When did talking about stars become 'too personal?' We can't work as a team if we can't communicate with each other." 
                          
McCree's eyes wandered to the forest with a grimace look on his face, as if he was pondering over running into the woods rather than being confronted by me.
                          
I sighed, he was too stubborn. Too set in his ways to get anything past his thick skull. What kind of potential did Winston and Mercy see when they decided to put the two of us together? And why does it feel like I'm the one making all the sacrifices here? Why do I have to keep the peace when he's itching for a fight? Putting up the omnic monk act was getting tiring, with all the motivation I once had being gone all together. What's the point of that stupid bet anyways? To fulfill some kind of chance at getting free dessert and to go out on a date without me becoming a third wheel? I don't need a guy to be happy; I like my life the way it is. Overwatch was always welcoming, I was surrounded by loyal friends that doubled as a second family, and never once did I feel lonely. There was always someone I could talk to when I needed to get something off my chest. In the woods, I feel alone. I couldn't talk to McCree in the way I could to Lucio or Tracer. Every question or response has to be mapped out correctly in order to stay on his good side. I get that not everyone is going to like me, I just wish that he wasn't so passive aggressive about it. On days like these, I would have talked to my friends about the pain it is to work with McCree. Sadly, I don't have that luxury anymore. It's just me and my thoughts.
                          
Not too long after what McCree calls an invasion of privacy, the deer meat was cooked well enough to eat. He pulled off the skewer to set it on a metal bowl he had in his backpack and we both dug into the sides of the meat with our travel knives. It tasted like a less juicy version of a steak, but it didn't matter to me as long as I had something to eat. At least I can actually tell someone that I ate deer. I mumbled a thanks afterwards, just because it was good food, and went to move my sleeping bag inside the tent.
                          
"You're going to bed already?" McCree asked.
                          
"That's a personal question I can't answer." I sassed as I closed the tent.
                          
"Well at least let me get my stuff in there first." The sound of his shoes stomping against the snow as he picked up his sleeping bag were audible enough to hear on the thin fabric of this ugly beige tent. 
                          
The thought of having him here in this tiny space made me sick, "Then I'm going to sleep outside." Lifting up the tent door, we both faced each other with a bundle of the cotton padded fabric in our arms.
                          
"Step aside, McCree." I demanded. 
                          
"Does all it take for you to get mad is something as little as wanting to keep personal lives out of the job?"
                          
I gave him the deadliest stare I could muster in my tired state. "It takes a lot more than that, and your nonsense just took the cake."
                          
His face was a clean slate, no emotion expressed but the creases on his eyebrows and narrow eyes gave the appearance of anger. As intimidating his poker face looked, I wasn't going to back down. McCree got his way, and now it's time for him to let me be. I shouldn't have to be the only flexible one.
                          
"I'm going for a smoke." He swiftly turned away, tossing the sleeping bag aside as he pulled one of his cigars out and lit it with his metal lighter.
                          
Pulling over the door again, I placed down my sleeping bag and laid down on it with a frustrated sigh. Looks like I was right about us sleeping in a tent; it's never going to work out without a fight. As much as people think they know the infamous Jesse McCree, are just blinded by his charisma and natural charm. All he is deep down inside is an egocentric dick. This anger made me stay awake for a while longer, and the smell of tobacco outside. As I tossed and turned inside the sleeping bag, my mind drifted off wondering if this mission would ever end.