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Another mission accomplished and Jensen was fairly certain he'd heard the Colonel mutter something that sounded like "I love it when a plan comes together", that big closeted geek!
And now, thousands of miles away from home, surrounded by Green Berets and Rangers and being merry all around, the team was in for some R&R in a dingy bar off the main road near their base, with fellows like sire Jack Daniels, señores Cuervo and Pepe Lopez, and of course, gospodin Smirnoff.
Jensen had to stop himself from giggling behind his cocktail's umbrella (cocktail umbrellas are manly! fuck Roque, he was a big bucket of unfunny crazy with an obsession with knives anyway!) as he watched a couple of flyboys being hustled quick and hard by Roque and Clay. Dayum, those two could hustle a cane off a blind man.
Cougar was sitting next to him, sipping a beer and being his same old Cougar-y self while Pooch... well Pooch looked downright depressed, a bit further away, a picture (of Jolene, Jensen could imagine) clinged in his hand as he looked at it with the expression of a poor lonesome puppy pooch abandoned on a highway during high traffic.
After making sure that the floor had stopped dancing around, Jensen stood up from his seat, attracting a raised eyebrow from his silent feline typed friend. Sending his most beaming (and by now slightly drunken) smile to Cougar, the younger man walked decisively (and slightly unsteadily) to seat (or crash if you believed Cougar, but y'know it's always the silent ones, so don't believe a word out of that man's mouth, there's a reason he doesn't talk much, it's 'cuz it's all a lie anyway...) next to Pooch who looked up with a frown.
"Go away, Jensen, the Pooch wants some alone time, now leave the grown ups alone, okay?" The black man said with a glare.
"Oww man! I just thought I'd invite you to a game of mine!" Jensen replied, his alcohol-addled brain coming up with what seemed like the perfect plan to cheer up his friend.
"No! Now leave me alone!"
"So you can just wither away and die like some common man? Hell no! What happened to the Pooch I know! The Pooch is a man! The Pooch can drive anything!"
"Fuck you! The Pooch just misses Mrs Pooch!"
Jensen took a minute to process his friend's last retort and couldn't help the manly snicker (Jensen IS a badass, and badasses didn't GIGGLE! no matter what sober!Pooch said the next day!) that escaped him.
" 'Mrs Pooch' ? Really? Like, do you call her that 'cuz I'm totally emailing Jolene tomorrow to tell her you called her 'Mrs Pooch' !" He said before another bout of giggles (snickers! MANLY snickers!) took hold of him and he let his head fall against the counter.
A callused hand on his shoulder that definitely belonged to a certain Mexican sniper made him jump slightly before he sat up straight, raising his cocktail high.
" Now lemme raise my glass to my favorite losers!" He shouted, receiving laughs and a few cat-calls that definitely came from the pool table where Clay and Roque were still hustling the airforce guys out of house and home.
Turning sharply toward where he remembered they should be, Cougar's hand on his shoulder-blade, the only thing keeping him from falling on the side, he raised his glass again.
"To Roque and Clay! The infernal duo of kickass crazy people that keeps us from going on killing sprees!" He continued, still very loud (and so not drunk! no really!)
Turning again, this time to Pooch, nearly knocking half his drink on the other man, he put his arm around the other man, deaf to his feeble protest.
"Sshhh, Resistance is Futile, My Friend The Pooch!" He stage-whispered with another manly snicker. "To The Pooch! For getting our asses outta those fires all the time! And may you and Missuz Pooch have a lot of mini-Pooches!... woah that's a lot of Pooches..."
Keeping his arm around the designated driver of his team (the only reason why he didn't keel over and crashed on the floor), he turned again and nearly caught Cougar's eye with his straw, receiving a mighty Mexican glare for his arm's treason.
"To the almighty Sniper-God-Of-Silent-Badassness! Hail Thou!" He belted out, grinning like a (drunken) loon, when all Cougar did was roll his eyes and tip his hat with a smirk.
"And to the self-sanctified Hacker-God-of-all-things-Electronics (oooh yeah! that's me!), FUCK YEAH! I'M THE BEST!"
And then proceeded to get up (very unsteadily) and started dancing, his Long Island cocktail spilling everywhere. And what a dance, no matter what Roque or Pooch would say, he still maintained he danced like a fucking artist, not an epileptic puppy on LSD!
On the side, Clay looked on with amusement and a bit of dread as his hacker danced around like a loon, bumping against everyone as Cougar tried to get his arms around him to get him back to his seat.
Roque, who was standing next to him and muttering about 'stupid assholes' and 'crazy fuckers' was the first to realize that one of the Green Berets that was standing around (looking about as dunk as Jensen as it was), didn't seem to like how Jensen kept bumping into him, and spill his drink on him. He reacted swiftly when he saw the man pull back his fist to punch the blond hacker and tackled the man. Of course, the guy's friends decided to get involved around that moment and Clay and Pooch came to the rescue. Distantly, as he pulled himself out of the way of a thrown chair, Clay seemed to hear a yelled out "PILLOW FIGHT!" in a voice that sounded a lot like a certain blond communication expert he knew, but he was too busy dodging another fist to care much.
Half an hour later, walking away from yet another bar they were now all banned from, Clay (sporting a few new bruises on top of the ones from the mission) looked back at his men. Roque was ranting about moronic bastards while Pooch and Cougar helped a totally wasted Jensen (who'd finished everyone's drinks while they were fighting it would seem) walking as the man sang loudly.
"... CALL ME UP IF YOU WANT GANGSTA! DON'T GET FANCY JUST GET DANCY..."
"Really, man? Pink? Really? Fucking moron!" Roque bit out with a glare at the inebriated man.
"Owwww, why so serious, Roque-y Poo?" Jensen giggled.
"Oh that's it, I'mma cut you, man! I'mma gut you like a fucking pig!" Roque threatened, unsheathing one of his big honkin' knife from somewhere on himself.
"Cougaaaar, Roque is being mean!"
The half glaring, half smirking Mexican just rolled his eyes, as he reassured his grip on the blond whirlwind. Sometimes, it was just best to ride it out, like a very bad hangover... like the one Jensen was sure to have in the morning...
~FIN~