Libertonian Servicemember's Bar & Grill

[Jane Hartman]

God, it was a relief to move. Bodies parted before her as Hartman elbowed, ordered, and otherwise shoved her way through the bar. Action was a remedy all of its own. It was easy to forget that, trapped between the soulless plexiglass and plastic of her office, and pay grades be damned. Graham followed in her wake, Ravis cradled in his arms like a particularly ugly newborn.

She might not have been able to hold the Logistics Corps together, but pushing aside a crowd? That, that was something she could do and, simple as it was, as much as she yelled and screamed, she revelled in it. Here was somewhere she was an actual, physical, person. Counted for something, instead of being some vague, controlling force on the coward's end of an order's group. Hartman was almost disappointed when she stepped into the comparatively clear air of the hallway, antiseptic tang of the filters slapping at her nostrils. The rumble of the bar faded as she looped an arm under Ravis', helped Graham lower the unconscious officer to the closest equivalent station gravity had to a ground.

Graham tapped at the station intercom, no doubt summoning some medical officer from some urgent nothing or another. Another pair of men pushed their way past her into the hallway, one supporting the other. Seemed Ravis wasn't the only night's casualty. Hartman nodded to their backs as they left, feeling a little lighter in spite of herself. In spite of the fact that half the bar had stood casually by and left Ravis to Graham's tender care. Hartman tugged a loose thread from her pants and let it go. Interfering with soldiers on leave was a whole ocean of hurt that she had no desire to poke a toe in - if only because it was just as likely something would bite it off. Graham was deep in conversation with the intercom, Ravis laid out at his feet in a horizontal mockery of attention. Hartman signed her excuses and left the junior officer to it.

Sius was gone by the time Hartman pushed her way back into the bar, stool sitting empty, the gap that had opened around Ravis just as soon plugged shut again by the pressing bodies of a dozen Seabees, stylised Hornets embroided on their shoulders. Hell, they'd even shifted the table back into place, a trio of drinks already balancing on top of it. Hartman gritted her teeth, the spark of enjoyment she'd felt in the hallway quickly guttering out. Chris, Sius hadn't looked like he was moving any time soon, but for the life of her she couldn't spot a trace of the man in the cramped room.

"Captain!" That was a familiar voice. Hartman didn't smile - not exactly - but the spark in her chest roared back into life. She made a beeline for the voice.

Commander Reginald Lewis leaned against the bar like a cowboy alongside his favorite horse, smoking point of a cigarette hanging loose between fingers callused by the sort of work that most men would never learn had been done - and likely be better off for not knowing. A glass of whiskey lounged on the bar alongside him, the very image of relaxation.

But his eyes gave it away. Killer's eyes. Always roving across the bar behind her, slipping over one face after another, never lingering long enough to draw attention, assessing a dozen threats and assets, tactics and strategies, in the space of a blink. Once there would have been a time that intimidated her. These days she found it strangely comforting. Lewis was the sort of man who was never half as unprepared as he might've given the impression of being, which was likely just as well for the pair of them. If she were honest with herself, it was likely that trait that had secured him a slot in special operations while she was still signing off on cargo releases.

Hartman hadn't contacted him since. Hadn't felt right, calling a soldier from a desk at headquarters. He couldn't have talked about half the things he did and everything she didn't wasn't likely to be more to him than meaningless background at best and an active waste of time at worst. When you got right down to it, Logistics don't exactly make for captivating conversations.

"Commander Lewis, I'll be damned. It's good to see you." And it really was. Void between them or not, Lewis was one of the few friend she had in the Navy. Between obedience to superiors and distance from her subordinates, there wasn't a lot of space out there for equals. Lewis was a rare exception. "Didn't think they'd let you out to mingle with us lowly regulars."

Another man stood beside Lewis, officer's bars on his sleeves and a logistics patch on his shoulder, seemingly unfazed by Lewis' puffing. The tag on his breast identified him as Harrison - a name she remembered faintly from rolls and appointment lists. "And Lieutenant Commander Harrison." She nodded in recognition, flicked her eyes back over the bar. "Captain Hartman. Good to put a face to a name. Ain't a chance you two saw where Sius' got to? He was in not a minute a go. Be a shame for him to miss you." Who knew, maybe Lewis would be able to talk some sense into the man.

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