Stress is the lines of his face set hard in a fierce yet troubled expression, hand a vice-grip around his phone as he explains to Loki that he will be at his house in twenty. It’s a discerning sight to behold, and McCree’s certain that the wide-berth people are granting him is because he looks ready to snap at any given moment. Though the frustration that sours his face is not for them, but himself - having forgotten the date of his partner’s birthday and remembering only - too late - as he was settled upon his bed with the day’s paper.

The dreary Autumn afternoon is almost comical - a direct reflection of his mood, turbulent and bitter. McCree takes care on the roads, partially-blind even with the rapid swipe of his wipers by the heavy-downpour. He’s making progress however, for the roads are empty save from the one or two vehicles pulled over on the side of the road. It would be safer to wait the storm out, the smarter option, especially with the roads as swollen as they are from the flash-flooding.

The damp seat of his car clings to his jeans, and the gunslinger squirms to find a more comfortable seating, though there is little improvement when he is already soaked through. The freak storm had started on his journey back to his car, ruining his outfit in moments, although in sacrifice he had been able to shelter the gift-bag in hand beneath the flap of his coat from the unforgivable rain.

Upon his arrival it is Loki that greets the disgruntled cowboy, and McCree attempts smile as he shakes the excess water from his hair. ‘I looked better than this when I left, I swear.’ He explains with a gruff laugh, hands extended with the gift-bag for the other to take. ‘I completely forgot, I ain’t gonna lie. Sorry, love.’