The place was just as Brannigan had described it. Hell, it was just as he had remembered it the last twenty years. The only thing that had changed was a few of the faces. A few new ones had joined the crowd while a few others had vanished from the crowd. The one still here all seemed to even be sitting in the same exact chairs which was actually not surprising. If Brannigan had been wearing a hat, he would have held it to his chest to honor those whose faces were no longer present.<br/><br/>He traded a few nods with some of the old timers and even got a thumbs up from a horny old bastard in the corner wh may have thought Missy was his date. That sparked a conversation in that corner of the room as the old fucker’s friends tried to explain to him that Missy was Brannigan’s partner. The exact words had been, “You blind mother fucker, can't you see she is a cop? They’re partners.”; then that led to a discussion between the old men in the corner concerning the morality of sexual relations with your beat partner. It was likely a conversation they have had a dozen times over. Every conversation they had was likely one that had been discussed a dozen times over. Though in their time, there likely wasn’t many cops that looked like his partner.<br/><br/>There were a lot of dirty cops out there as well as a lot of clean ones that might bend a rule or two. Neither of these things alone made them a good or bad cop. Never fuck your partner was one of the unwritten rules of the righteous. This also applied to genitalia. When he looked across at her feeling loose and holding on to that bottle of tequila, he figured it was as close as he would ever come to seeing an angel. May have been a brash, ferocious angel but she was a fucking angel without a doubt.<br/><br/>He had seen many shades of Missy Brooks. He had seen her imperfections that made her perfect to him. He had tried to follow that golden rule but there were times, like now, when he just didn't feel strong enough to contain his urges. It was definitely taking an effort.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#08610e">“An airline stewardess? Well you would definitely have the look for it but I'm not too sure about the policy on stewardesses and packing heat or hospitalizing passengers. I can't picture you tolerating much of those handsy pervs before shit got broken.”</span>Eric laughed a bit at his final remark. It was all truth. She was pretty enough to work any job where beauty and sexy were a plus but he couldn't see her putting up with all the shit that came with it without bustin’ a head or two.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#08610e">“Haha! So it's my turn now. Well, teen Brannigan wanted to be a Seal. I wanted to be the baddest son of a bitch breathing. I thought Seals fit that bill. It was a few years later that I figured out that I was a cop. It's what and who I am. There was no denying it. And anyway, I still get to carry a gun and I'm still a bad son of a bitch so I'd say I didn't hit too far off the mark.”</span><br/><br/>He had tried to keep a straight face towards the end but he had downed quite a few shots as well. It wasn't hitting him as hard as Missy but he was certainly feeling loose. A grin split his features before turning into a bout of buzzed laughter.<br/><br/>The laughter died and he sat quietly for a few moments before he spoke again.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#08610e">“You know, I get it.”</span>His eyes weren't on her. He twirled the shot glass between his fingers looking at the swirling amber liquid inside. He could imagine a puzzled look in her face wondering just exactly what it was that he got.<br/><br/>He raised his eyes to hers.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#08610e">“I get why you’re here instead of there, with him. I know those messages were him. I didn't have to see them. I'm a cop. A pretty good one too.”</span>He downed the waiting shot without much facial reaction.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#08610e">“You can't talk to him. He doesn't live in our world. You've tried but he's fucking clueless. It's not his fault you know. How could he understand?”</span><br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#08610e">“I know because I tried. It's not like I've never tried to have a normal life outside of being a cop. That blank stare they give you while they try to process it and try seem be understanding makes me just want to shoot them in the face. They won't ever get it because they aren't out there.”</span><br/><br/>He physically shook it off and sat up straighter in his seat.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#08610e">“Well enough of that emo crap. How about we work on that bottle of tequila a little more and go down to the firing range? I Think I wanna shoot something.”</span>It may have occurred to him that more alcohol and firearms may not be a good idea but it was disregarded before it became a coherent thought. All he could think about was how hot she was with her pistol drawn and firing away. He knew that he shouldn't be thinking like that but his dick and the alcohol were starting to overrule his better judgement.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#08610e">“I mean, what could go wrong? And it'll be fun.”</span>