"Another round?" the bartender asked Seth. He quickly glanced at his watch before answering in the affirmative.

Another snifter of single-malt whiskey was poured for Seth as he saw Helen walk into the bar, her fiery red hair draped around her shoulders and hanging down to her waist as always. Only tonight, outside of uniform and in civilian dress, it did well to accentuate her curves and ...natural assets. They embraced and shared a kiss before she caught the bartender's attention and, indicating Seth, said, "One more of whatever he's having."

"You have no idea what I'm drinking right now," Seth accosted her with mild playfulness.

"Well, if I don't like it, you'll take mine and I'll order something else," she countered. "Either way, it's your turn to buy."

"And that's why I don't order on the rocks." The bartender produced another snifter of the amber-clear spirit for Helen. With their new schedules, they were extremely lucky to have their nights off line up the way they did. It was only once a week, meeting up in this civilian pub to eventually end up at one of their quarters. But, for now, it felt like enough. "How's your first week of reassignment been?"

"Like pulling teeth," Helen said. She took a sip from her glass, and apparently found the flavor tolerable. "You'd think that being an MP dispatch would be rife with tales of debauchery."

"But..."

"The enlisted are so well-behaved, it's not even funny," she said. "It's like they burned out all their mischief in Basic. Civilian ATC isn't this boring."

"You've never worked civilian control," Seth called her out.

"I've read transcripts," she answered. "It's pretty fucking slow."

"I'll take your word for it," Seth admitted.

Helen considered him for a moment. At last, she broke the silence, "But you seem like you had an interesting week, Claymore."

Seth smirked at the old nickname. "'Interesting' is a good word."

"Talk to me, Banshee."

"I..." Seth started, unsure of how to really say this, "I met the man who killed the program."

"Lynette?" Helen replied with awe. Then her eyes turned, filled with malice. "I hope you ended that piece of shit."

"Negative, Scabbard," Seth answered dryly.

Helen narrowed her eyes at him. "What is it?"

"What?"

"That was your radio voice, Seth," she said. "You always talk like that when you're trying to avoid something. And as usual, you're trying to avoid an actual conversation with me."

Seth sulked for a moment while she quietly reveled in her own insight. "He's... not what we imagined."

"What did we imagine?"

"I don't know... like some apathetic son of a bitch who gets off on waving his big stick of power."

"Sounds right."

"He was... apologetic."

"No."

"Yeah."

"Start from the top." Helen said, motioning to the bartender for another round.

He sighed. "First assignment out of the gate; didn't even finish the meeting with Logan. Fighter escort for Lynett and the Sovàn leadership. We're in the air, and the Hammerhead crew decides to put on a show when I start Overwatch rotation."

"About that:" Helen interrupted, "why do the escorts fly Overwatch?"

"Gives the VIPs a sense of security, having someone watch from above," Seth answered as the bartender served up two more whiskeys. "Thank you," he said to the barkeep.

"You some kind of pilot?" the bartender asked.

"Oh, he's some kind of pilot, all right," Helen answered for him.

"I'm guessing... military?"

"Just transferred into Council Guard," Seth clarified, quietly wondering why polite society called for this sort of small talk.

"You know, I actually get a regular group of Guardsmen in here about every other week."

"When is that?"

"Half-price drafts for servicemen every second Wednesday," the bartender answered. "A couple end up staying for karaoke, though."

"Think I'll pass." Seth could hear Helen roll her eyes at his "antisocial tendencies," as she called them.

"Thanks for the heads-up," she said for him. "Maybe I can change his mind."

"You know where to find us," the bartender said, then finally retreated to his other guests.

"Carry on," she said to Seth.

"Where was I?"

"Overwatch."

"Right. We leave Guard airspace and Sage Actual asks for a hold on Overwatch. Lynette had his family with him, so they were invited to tour the cockpit. Pilot told me later the copilot recognized the Sworder and wanted to rub Lynette's face in it."

"He's not the only one."

"Gotta admit, I couldn't resist showing off a little. Lit the burners after a little stall, sent me skyward."

"Was Lynette appropriately speechless?"

"Sage told me over private channel he wasn't phased. His wife and kid got a kick out of it, but nothing out of him. After we landed, he actually left Guard protection and walked up to my bird as I was getting out."

"No," Helen said in disbelief.

"Other pilots said they've never seen that happen. No VIP ever walks out of custody on the tarmac."

"What did he say to you?"

"He started out with the whole 'honor to meet you' shit every politician uses, but after the press did their burst of photos, he kept up his smile, shaking my hand, and apologized for killing the program."

"He smiled?"

"I didn't understand at first, but he said he had to keep up the friendly face to maintain appearances. Said he didn't want anyone to assume the Guard would be derelict in its duties out of spite for his actions."

"But why apologize?"

"Said he saw the light. War's coming and he wished he'd never de-funded the Interceptor."

"Well, no shit," Helen sat back, amazed. "He's a little late to the party, though."

"At least he showed up."

"But if he says war's coming, then we need more birds. He doing anything about that?"

"Only so much he can do in the open, but he's putting wheels in motion."

"Shame he can't reverse his stance publicly. We could use the support."

"Yeah, I heard the rumors, too."

"Local team, report."

"Residence is clear. Green light to receive."

"Copy. Code White incoming; ETA, ninety seconds. Bravo team, our sunset is cloudless; give me another sweep to the west."

Chances to fly the Sworder were thin lately, so to justify Seth's place in the Guard, Colonel Logan had to appoint Seth to personal security detail more frequently. It meant some more serious PT than he'd been doing as a pilot, as well as extra time at the firing range to improve his marksman scores, but in no time Seth was living the dull life of a bodyguard.

Colonel Logan was in a ceaseless struggle to properly distribute Guard resources while keeping Council members pleased with their protection. With that burden, he had to infer that Councilman Lynette was pleased with Captain Riker's presence on his first assignment. And since he received no complaints from Seth (not that it would matter), Logan continued assigning Seth to Lynett's security detail.

At first blush, VIP security seemed vastly different from his missions as a Banshee. But after he'd listened to the first mission briefing, it wasn't all that dissimilar from HAVCAP, where his fighters would escort a recon Hammerhead or other high-value asset during its time on station. Potential threats were monitored, evaluated, and, if necessary, dispatched. Only as a Guardsman, Seth didn't have the benefit of radar, tactical readout or a still-classified warbird to aid him. On foot, he was left with fellow bodyguards, a radio, and his service pistol.

"Please remain in the vehicle, sir," Seth said to Councilman Lynette from the front passenger seat. The Councilman nodded absentmindedly, never looking away from his data tablet, while his wife, Rosslyn, occupied herself with calming their fidgety daughter.

"We're home," the child said, reaching across her father's lap for the door handle as the car came to a stop.

"Elisi," Rosslyn chided her, "you know better. We wait for the Captain to open the door."

"Yes, Mommy."

Seth climbed out of the car and nodded to the Guardsmen standing at the front door. He trusted his men to do their job, but he still scanned the nearby buildings and tree lines for threats. He opened the door for the Councilman once he was satisfied.

Stephan Lynette climbed out, his eyes not straying far from the reports he was reading while Elisi came out immediately behind him. Rosslyn exited more gracefully, but not so slowly she couldn't place a protective hand on her daughter's shoulder to keep her in check.

"Welcome home, Councilman," the housekeeper said when the family had walked through the door. She took their coats and directed the rest of the staff to fetch the luggage from the cars.

"I'll be in my office," the councilman said.

"No," his wife said, taking the tablet away and depositing it upon the hallway counter. "Elisi wants her father to put her to bed tonight."

Stephan admitted defeat, and hoisted his daughter into his arms. "What story are we reading tonight?"

"Can we read Scarlet Cabin?"

"I think we can," he said hesitantly as he carried her up the stairs. "But do you mind if we shorten it a little?"

"She'll get him to read the whole thing," Rosslyn said, watching them as they disappeared to the second floor. "She always does."

Seth had no response to this. Commenting on family dynamics wasn't part of his job. Instead he spoke to the escort team over the radio. "Package secure. Begin egress."

"Are you with us for the night?" Rosslyn asked Seth.

"No ma'am," Seth answered as the escort team's reply sounded from his earpiece. "Graveyard watch takes over at midnight."

This was the part of security detail Seth hated. After the VIP was secure in their residence, the main point of contact would stay with them until they retired to bed or the late-night guard arrived. Until then, there was no perimeter to scan or monitors to watch. His only job was to listen to his comm and remain with at least one member of the family as a last line of defense.

Rosslyn glanced at the clock on the wall, showing half past eight. "Can I get you a drink to pass the time?"

"With respect, ma'am, I do not partake while on duty."

The Councilman's wife sighed, but only just. "Cup of coffee?"

Seth deliberated for half a second. "That would be appreciated. Thank you."

She turned for the kitchen and Seth followed. As she busied herself with preparing the brewer, he kept himself by the door, with a clear view of all windows and the doorways which led to the mudroom and dining room. In a short span, the pot was brewing and Rosslyn seated herself on a stool at the kitchen island.

"Nothing's getting past your fellow Guardsmen," she said, eyeing him with amusement. "You can sit down."

Protocol didn't cover how to behave when the escorted invited the guard to coffee. It covered everything else, from the innocence of a child asking for a playmate to outright sexual advances from wives who felt disenfranchised. But a benign invitation to loosen the rigors of social status in order to pass the time? Seth supposed it best to remain polite, yet professional.

Seth obliged, taking a seat opposite her. She glanced at the newspaper left by the house staff upon the island counter top. One of the headlines highlighted an editorial denouncing the Councilman's recent platform.

"I'm sorry to put the Guard through all this trouble," she said. "Stephan blames himself, since he flipped on the military cuts. Some of our more... exuberant constituents think he's betrayed them. Unfortunately, some of them only know to use draconian measures as a response."

"No trouble at all, ma'am. It's what we're here for."

"It must be a pain, organizing all of this so nothing can end up happening."

"That's how we prefer it, ma'am."

The brewer finished its cycle, so she stood to collect a pair of mugs from the cupboard.

"You're still new at this, aren't you?" she asked, pouring them each a cup.

"Ma'am?"

"Guardsman duty," she clarified. "I can tell; you're still trying to find the line between soldier and friend."

"Honestly, ma'am," he said, accepting the mug from her, "it's not something covered in my training."

"Where were you before?" she asked as she reclaimed her seat.

"I flew for the Second Interceptor Wing," he said. "We tended to have some airspace between ourselves and high-value assets."

"Watchers from afar..." she mused. "An angel from on high now stands among mortals as their watchful protector."

"...Ma'am?"

"I'm sorry, it's an old habit," she said. "I studied poetic literature when I met Stephan."

"You met in college?" Seth asked. Colonel Logan once told Seth that casual conversation could potentially lead to information that might aid in a a VIP's protection.

"I was a cocktail waitress trying to pay for college," she said. "Stephan was already a legal associate about to be named partner. He and the other associates came in one night for happy hour, and while they were talking about which paralegals were easy, he says he couldn't take his eyes off me."

"He ever work up the nerve?"

"Yes he did. And I shot him down." Seth raised an eyebrow at this. She sighed, and started to explain, "Our work uniforms weren't exactly conservative, so I felt exposed, and him staring gave me the creeps."

"Interesting."

"And the more he and his friends drank, the worse it got. Eventually, I had to ask a coworker to take over the table. He must have realized what he was doing, because the next day he came in to apologize and ask me out properly. I said yes, but I insisted our date be in the restaurant where I worked, so my friends could watch out for me."

"Somebody taught you to be careful."

"Working at that bar taught me to be careful. It wasn't exactly the kind of place for fairy-tale romance. But in the end, I guess we got as close to that as anyone could. Of course, my parents were thrilled when they heard I was dating a lawyer at a big firm. Well, Mom was. Dad worked union jobs his whole life. But Stephan eventually won them both over, and he'd made partner by the time we got engaged, so he and my dad agreed to split the cost of the wedding between them. I just couldn't believe an idealistic Lit major like me, barely getting by working for tips, could have found someone like him..."

Thinking of nothing he could say, Seth slowly sipped his coffee while she basked in reminiscence.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I've taken the conversation hostage. What about you?"

"Ma'am?" Seth asked, puzzled.

"Anyone special in your life?" She asked, then started to regret her words when she saw his hard gaze. "Sorry, that's too forward, I suppose. Oh, my... um... Where are you from?" Quickly, she added, "-If you don't mind my asking, of course."

"Reslo, ma'am," he answered. "Small village on the edge of the Nomad Hills."

"Wow," she sounded genuinely impressed. "From the wild frontier all the way to the Council Guard. Your parents must be proud of you."

"Mortality rates are high in that region," Seth explained. "I had no father to raise me, and my mother died from injuries sustained in a farming accident when I was young. I can't imagine what their opinion of my career might be."

"I-I'm sorry..."

"No need, ma'am. The past is in the past. If it were any different, I might not be here today."

"Still," she continued, not quite sure she'd been entirely forgiven, "from frontier orphan to where you are now; it's impressive."

"My childhood situation may have contributed," Seth proceeded. "Empire forces activated in response to organized crime activity that threatened my home town. In the chaos, I jumped in the cockpit of a Pteras and downed six hostiles. Lieutenant Alain Burns was commanding the unit that secured the area, and saw a potential pilot who wouldn't need a parental waiver to get into the Academy. From there, my skills got me to the Second Interceptors. I had a successful, if brief career as a combat pilot before being transferred here."

"Alain Burns, huh?" she asked, a hint of a smile forming. Seth nodded. "Any regrets?"

Seth thought for a moment. "When you fly a combat sortie and end up walking on your own two feet when the mission's ended, you always have regrets. Maybe a waypoint you could have bypassed to save thirty seconds, or the wingman you could have covered instead of lining up a shot on the primary target. You console yourself with the idea that every soldier has agreed to sign his life away for the good of the mission, yourself included. You mourn the dead, but you honor their sacrifice by completing the mission so others don't have to."

His words didn't touch her so much as the matter-of-fact way he delivered them. She stared into her cup as she reflected on what he'd said.

"A career soldier," she said at last, standing to look out the window. "I see why Logan sent you here."

"Ma'am?"

"My husband flipped on military spending because rumors of war were getting harder to ignore," she said. "Stephan made the right call, but for the wrong reason."

"It's a sound enough reason for me," he said.

"Not for us," she countered. "Civilians always forget about their protectors in times of peace."

She walked to the window, outside which were easily a dozen guardsmen on patrol.

"But if war comes, good men like you are going to die if they're not prepared."