"As long as it ain't beans again.  I hate beans," said Walter, in response to Juliette.   He tilted his head, one eyebrow raising curiously, as Kenzie pulled away from him.  That wasn't quite the reaction he had expected.  Then again, what<em>had</em>he expected?  The blond had made it very clear that she wasn't going to answer any questions about her past.  True, she fit in with he and Jules like the third leg of a stool, but the woman was a closed book of secrets.  And Walter, who had a skeleton or two of his own in his closet, could certainly respect that.<br/><br/><em>This is what separates the men from the boys</em>, he thought to himself.<em>Knowin' when a woman is playin' hard to get--and when she simply needs her alone time.</em>Watching the blond, she certainly appeared to be giving off some mixed signals.   Was she regretting their last liaison in the bunk?   Or did she want him to pursue her?<br/><br/>He decided to hedge his bets.  "Yeah, I always keep a bottle of Old Flannagan's underneath the console," he admitted.  "For...special occasions."   Like when he couldn't get to sleep.  Or needed to calm his nerves.  Or was bored.<br/><br/>He knelt by Kenzie's legs, opening the compartment and fishing around underneath.  Where was it?  It had to be there, among the old radio parts and engine coils and bulkhead paint--ah, there it was.  Fishing out the green bottle of whiskey, he levered off the cork with his thumb and took a swig, before passing the bottle to Kenzie.