See No Evil

It was early October, a week or so after Urquhart watched her get on that bus to Fort Benning, a few days into his life of unforeseen solitude. Or what he thought was solitude. He stumbled out of bed that morning headed for the bathroom, tripped over something, or rather someone, and fell headlong in the hallway.

"Harley? What the fuck, you're supposed to be in Bahrain."

He was sleeping in his clothes in the middle of the floor, his usual preference in times of crisis. There was a nearly empty bottle of vodka beside him. Urquhart finished it off to clear his head.

"Not me," Harley muttered, still down in his dreams.

"If you say so."