"Neil, of all places we could have gone, why here?"

"I thought this would help get that old up-and-at ‘em Jane back, what with your close encounter with the alien." He fixed her with a bright eye. "You’re not scared, are ya’?" He merry tone made Jane wonder what harebrained scheme he was up to this time.

"No. And since when did you decide to moonlight as a psychiatrist?"

"Look," Neil said, reaching out and brushing a strand of stray hair off her shoulder. "You haven’t really been yourself lately. I think that after a beer or two, you’ll cheer up in no time. Trust me."

"I’d sooner do needlepoint."

"‘Needlepoint?’ The Jane I knew would prefer to be going through some rounds at the range. Or blowing something up."

"Don’t tempt me," she growled, trying to disguise her anxiety with a testy reply. There was a real possibility that Nasty was down in that lounge. The wickedest woman in Houston, she thought with venom. She felt more than a little uneasiness, and Neil was certainly no bodyguard. She took small comfort in the knowledge that Nasty’s squad had a different duty schedule than the Deep Eyes, so hopefully that bitch wouldn’t be around.

"Hey, look! We got company!" Neil exclaimed, grabbing her hand and tugging her down the hallway. Four people were standing by the main entrance; Corporal Osborne ‘Big Oz’ Halford (a friend of Jane’s, actually), Ryan, and Eri and Tyler. Jane managed a half-assed smile. "Uh, hi."

"Hi, yourself. You okay?"

Eri’s question made her blink. Had she heard that right? "Yeah. I…guess I owe you one."

The other woman flapped a hand. "Hey, don’t sweat it." Now she shrewdly noticed Neil’s presence and squared her shoulders self-importantly. "Now," she said, facing Ryan, hands on her hips. "Are we going to check this place out or stand around out here holding down the floor?"

The sergeant was just about to answer when a thin twitter was heard. Everyone looked at each other. Then all eyes turned to Whittaker.

"You’re ringing, sarge."

"Yes, I know, thank you very much." Ryan gave Neil a sharp glance, reached into his pants pocket and fished out a small pen-shaped net-phone. He checked the caller ID, frowned and jabbed a button. "Hello? Oh, yes…uh-huh…yeah, but…" The rest was lost as he turned his back to them, but he was apparently unaware that the corridor acoustics bounced his words back to his curious teammates.

"I think I know who that is," Neil said slowly.

"Captain Edwards?"

He shook his head at the X-COM pilot. "Nope."

"The general, then?" Eri ventured.

Ryan had peeked back over his shoulder, while trying not to look like he was doing so. His free hand was gesticulating dramatically.

"Worse."

Curbing his histrionics, the sergeant said a few more words and the green light on the antenna tip winked out as the call ended. He slipped the phone away and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "You guys go on in. I gotta’ take care of some business."

"What? Like, now?"

"Yes, ‘like now,’ Neil. Lita wants to see me tonight." His expression was that of starving man standing outside a restaurant window.

Eri eyed Whittaker puckishly, laid a finger alongside her slightly upturned nose then blurted out, "Oh God, you’re so carpetbagged!" Ryan flinched; on a man his size the effect was comical. He managed to recover and turned to Jane. "Could you take over? Thanks. Oh, before I go..." He pulled Neil aside and pressed a roll of bills into his hand. "Twenty-five on Yates tonight, ‘kay?"

The bet money was quickly tucked away. "Gotcha’ sarge." The next moment the sergeant had vanished down the hallway.

Jane snorted, watching him go, and shook her head. Now wasn’t this just a treat? Ordered to be the den mother tonight, and by the sergeant to boot. "All right, guys. Let’s get it over with."

Oz held out a hand, palm up. "If anyone has any weapons, I’ll hang onto them. You’ll get them back when you leave." There was no chance that anything could be sneaked in anyway because the doorframe concealed a scanner. Another noisy cheer arose from beyond the door.

"Aw, you know me Oz. I’m clean," Neil said.

Jane followed up with a "Ditto."

Tyler shook his head. "Nothing to declare here." The lanky pilot indicated the final person in the party. "But Shorty here ain’t exactly little Miss Innocent, if you get my drift." His eyes smiled, clearly delighting in busting her out. "Try a body cavity search, she’d probably enjoy it." Jane gaped and Neil guffawed.

"Shut up," Eri snapped. She felt her face start to grow hot. "Shit. Alright, fine." She partially unzipped her jacket, slipped her hand inside and unfastened her throwing knife and its sheath, hesitantly surrendering it. "This is my baby. You better take good care of her." She was just beginning to zip back up when Tyler cleared his throat.

Eri shot him a dark glare. That rat-bastard really had some balls. "Atwood, you are like, so dead," she muttered. Balancing on her left foot, she bent her right leg, reached down and peeled back the sole of her boot. A click and a tug and she withdrew a second weapon. She repeated the process with the other boot and a pair of molded black polymer blades joined her sheathed knife in Oz’s patiently waiting palm. "There. You happy now?" she asked with exaggerated courtesy.

The corporal exhibited wisdom beyond his years by ignoring her. He pulled the door open, and beyond lay a brief flight of stairs that led to a landing before turning right. The noise and odor of the crowd grew.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Oz intoned. "Welcome to the Underground Lounge."

Under the influence of alcohol, interesting things are bound to happen.

The four located a vacant booth, a miracle in itself, and with his birthday fast approaching (three days away, in fact), Tyler was presented with a huge stein of beer courtesy of his companions. At the first taste the young pilot screwed up his face and exclaimed–loudly–how in God’s name anyone could stand the stuff, but the others egged him on to finish it. Tales of phantom attacks kept the two Black Ops agents entertained, and they in turn shared stories of engagements with the aliens of their universe and the Kabron pirates as well.

Underway to inebriation himself, Neil abruptly proclaimed that chocolate was God and licorice was king, earning a "what the hell" look from Eri. The weapons specialist was deep in her own cups–she proudly presided over six shot glasses arranged in a pyramid, four bottles of beer, and a half-drained pitcher of ale. The speed at which all of that liquor vanished left the Deep Eyes astonished; and amazingly, she displayed not even a hint of intoxication. "Neil," she said, "You’re a goofy bastard. You always like that?"

Jane snickered. She was finally beginning to loosen up, mainly because she hadn’t seen a hint of Nasty in the time they had been here (she was positive that the other woman would’ve shown for the bouts, but it wasn’t too much to hope that something happened to her, was it? Like, maybe she got hit by a truck…) She was only on her second beer but had long ago abandoned any hope of trying to match Eri. Just where did that girl put it all? She hadn’t even been to the restroom yet. The corporal could only imagine Gray’s reaction when he saw the bar tab tomorrow.

So far, three rounds had taken place in the arena, which resembled a raised boxing ring. The main objective was to force your opponent outside the combat area, a faded white circle on the mat a bit over six meters across, while avoiding being tossed out yourself. The fighters wore head protection and had their wrists taped. The fighting techniques reminded her of kickboxing and wrestling with a good dose of street fighting thrown in. While there were obviously some basic rules (bent rules at that, natch), Eri and Tyler suspected that grudges played a major part. According to Jane, each round was supposed to last fifteen minutes but they were all over before the buzzer–the first two ended in a TKO. The third challenger lasted slightly longer, but ended up being helped out of the ring with a couple of broken ribs and a concussion while the spectators roared their noisy approval to the champion of all three rounds, a lean man who exuded cockiness and confidence. By the bar, voices were raised in protest as bets were collected.

Eri eyed the winner as he swaggered over to a bunch of his cronies, who rowdily toasted his victory. "Sassy bastard," she muttered before pouncing upon her pitcher with predatory intent. The next minute the level of the dark amber fluid within had dropped again. Then she raided the pretzel bowl; the other three contained nothing but crumbs. "So, how’s it hanging, Spanky?" she casually inquired, eyes grinning.

"Godammit, don’t call me that­!" Tyler’s voice was starting to slur and he was developing a distinct starboard list.

"I’ll call you Hubert J. Fucktard if I want to. What are you going to do about it?"

He threw her an intense glower, took another swig and uncorked a belch that made heads turn.

"‘Spanky?’"

"Yeah, ‘cause he likes to spank his monkey, Neil. You know…whacking the carrot, bashing the bishop?" Even Jane chortled at this and Tyler’s face turned red. "Screw you, Eri." He appealed to the other two. "See, this is what I have to suffer! She ain’t nothing but a–a nitrogen queen!"

The remark got Jane’s attention. Didn’t the entire scenario playing between these two feel awfully familiar? She felt like kicking herself…she guessed that she had been so bothered over Eri’s flirty manner towards Neil, that it went right over her head. Jane sneaked a glance at Tyler, and her heart kind of went out to him. An idea came to her. "Eri, I gotta’ go freshen up. Why don’t you come along with me?"

"What for?"

She lowered her voice. "Just do it, okay?"

"Yeah, alright." They both slid out of the booth. "But only if we can stop by the bar on the way back."

Tyler watched as they wound their way to the restrooms. His face was sullen. "Why does she have to be like that?"

"What? Who?" A technical genius he might be, but Neil could be a little slow on the uptake when it came to personal relationships.

"Come on, you know who. Eri. I try to be nice to her, but she always so insulting."

Neil pursed his lips, thinking. The poor guy needed some guidance, and so the tech took it upon himself to dispense some words of wisdom. "Let me guess. To start, Eri excels in put-downs."

"Yeah, as if you hadn’t noticed."

"She doesn’t take any crap."

"Yes. I mean no, she doesn’t. And once she smells blood she goes for the throat."

"Ouch. Does she think you’re an idiot? Sometimes, I mean?"

"How in God’s name did you–"

"Excuse me, but I’m talkin’ here, so listen up."

"Sorry."

"Now, as I was saying, chicks are strange. Don’t try and understand them, you’ll only drive yourself insane." He paused. "I mean, look at me, exhibit ‘A’. Jane was just as bad…can still be, in fact. But my charm eventually brought her around." Neil made sure he had a clear escape route, just in case a bolt of lightning came down from on high. However, the Powers That Be decided to let him slide. Well, tonight, anyway.

Atwood didn’t look convinced. "Wait, wait. You’re saying that–"

Neil nodded, interlocked his fingers and stretched his arms out on the table. His gray eyes smiled. "I think she really does like you, but she’s testing you, to see how far she can push. All that tough-talk, it’s just an act. You wanna’ get with her, kid? Ol’ Neil has the answer…"

Ten minutes later, as Tyler sat digesting this advice, Jane returned. The corporal slid back into her seat, holding two fresh bottles of beer. "Well, that’s done with," she said, pushing one across to Neil. From the looks of things Tyler certainly didn’t need any more.

"What is?" Neil asked, fiddling with a broken pretzel.

She arched an eyebrow. "You really wanna’ know? Okay, then. I gave Eri some advice. Girl talk. It’s something you guys wouldn’t understand."

The two men traded looks. "Oh."

"Hey, Jane?" Tyler asked in a slurred voice. "Where’s Eri?"

Puzzled, she paused in the middle of opening her bottle. "She was right behind me. We stopped by the bar to get a last round of drinks. Hold on." She stood again and scanned the crowd. Eri’s stature would make her difficult to spot, so Jane concentrated on the path they last took. Damn, but it was packed tonight.

"Well?"

"I don’t see her yet."

"Damn. I bet she’s talking to someone. Do you think she met some guy?"

"Tyler, calm down," Neil reassured him. "Remember what I told you. Any luck, Jane?"

"For the second time, no. Oh, wait a minute, yeah, I think I see her. Aw, shit…" The expletive gained the attention of her cohorts and they saw her gazing at something with an apprehensive look on her face. Tyler twisted around in his seat but couldn’t tell what had gotten her wind up. "What?" he asked.

She didn’t answer, at least not yet because she could barely believe her own eyes. Eri was making a beeline towards a corner booth and the several people seated there. The illumination in that area was low, but it was still enough to reveal a collection of stony faces. Sitting in the middle of the assemblage, like a queen holding court, was a woman. She was dressed in military fatigues, and her blonde hair was so pale it was almost platinum. Not all of it, though…there was a wide swath of jet black that stood out in shocking contrast. One of her retinue said something and jerked his head in an indicative manner, and the woman’s light green eyes fastened on the stranger worming her way through the crowd. Her stoic expression didn’t change.

"What’s with the long face? You look like you’ve seen a phantom." But Neil’s grin faltered when he saw that Proudfoot’s expression did not change. "Um, you do see her, right?"

"Yeah, I sure do," Jane sighed and sat down heavily. "Either she has a death wish, or she’s insane. Guess whose table she just invited herself to?"