Previously at O'Malley's

By Bren Ren

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Summary: The last time the trio went to O'Malley's before the night they got tossed out during the episode "Upgrades", they had set the stage for that brawl with a night more memorable than even the big fight itself.

Category: Missing Scene, UST

Rating: Teen + (Lots of Innuendo!)

Disclaimer: Nothing has changed. They still aren't mine, but I'm still playing with them anyway. I'll put them back better than I found them!

Author's Note: I've been scuba diving in the deep end of the gutter today, and a certain screencap inspired this little scene. It is utterly impossible to do anything but appease the muse when she gets worked up over a story like this, so here it is…

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Part One

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They already had a reputation long before that fateful day they trashed the place in one of the biggest brawls in this rowdy pub's history. It was a mixed one, but their faces were certainly known.

The bookish geek in the glasses never could hold his liquor, but he usually just got rather silly. He hadn't been in anyone's good graces since that night he crafted, on the pool table, with chalk, billiard balls and a few strategically placed darts, an entire Mayan temple.

Then there was the brooding old war-horse, the Colonel. That man could hold his liquor. He was as quick with a joke as a caustic barb, and he'd foiled his share of disgruntled pool-sharks in his time at this lively establishment. Very few truly challenged him, but he was never one to back down. And to the disappointment of both the waitresses and the single female patrons (and a few of the not-so-single), he only had eyes for the blonde, leggy, knock-'em-dead gorgeous lady soldier that occasionally joined the men.

She had military written all over her, but in a very good way. There was no denying, she wore it well. Her cool confidence intimidated most of her would-be pursuers, and those few bold admirers left never managed to draw her attention away from the equally captivated Colonel.

The night that set the stage for that final brawl was probably more memorable than the big ruckus that ended their patronage once and for all.

To his credit, the academic guy had settled his debt for the damage to the pool table, and he began the evening humble and awkwardly sheepish. The Colonel even began the night in a rare good mood, jovially wagering how long it would be before the light-weight spilled his first drink.

And then she came in. Dressed to kill.

Her timing was flawless. The music had just stopped as she walked inside. Not one, not two, but three wolf whistles rang out above the noisy crowd, and every head turned to watch five feet nine inches of black-leather-clad blonde bombshell strut in to the slow beat of the fatefully sultry rhythms of "Black Velvet".

She knocked him dead.

Now, this is a bar, one popular with the young armed forces so prevalent in this area. Naturally, it has born witness to a great many executions of human mating rituals. But never one that charged the atmosphere of the entire room with such raw, high-voltage energy. Seriously. Even the DJ's equipment lit up in a shower of sparks at one point.

Both men rose to full attention as she made her approach. She held his gaze every slow step that brought her nearly toe to toe with him.

The geek was the first to sputter to life. "Uh, Sam, you, uh… you look… uh…"

"Hot… date?" The Colonel filled in with a quirked brow and a sly grin.

Her softly curled short blonde locks fell back from her face as she tilted her chin up with a hint of defiance, her ruby red lips slyly quirking up to match his grin. "Nope. Just felt like being a girl for a change." With that, she took her seat in the corner across from the almost dumbstruck Colonel.

He didn't try to hide his slow, thorough, toe-to-head visual inspection of the stunning woman as she turned to give him her undivided attention. "Far be it from me to complain," he said at last, his low voice barely audible over the thrumming bass of the music. She gave him one of those million-megawatt beams that always set the boys' tongues wagging, and he was obviously struggling to keep his own confined.

With that opening gambit set, she ordered her drink, and the verbal sparring match ensued.

The knock-out kicked it off. "So, you look well-rested. How was the fishing trip?"

"It was all right," said the silver fox.

"Only all right?" Her lips formed the tiniest bit of a pout.

"Well, you know how it is." The man was practically leering now. "You can only have so much fun fishing by yourself."

The pout disappeared into a teasing grin. "Well, maybe one of these days, I'll let you convince me to join you."

"You could just ask." There was a definite challenge in his voice.

And she wasn't backing down. "That would be way too easy."

"Yes, and when has anything ever been easy for us?" Now he was falling back on his more customary sardonic tone.

"I've always loved a good, hard challenge." It's hard to say which had him swallowing harder, the teasing tone of voice or her slow wink.

And then the music changed. The tempo was a little faster as the bass notes chased down the scale in the opening measures of a sexy little number called "Stray Cat Strut". She sat up a little straighter and her eyes drifted shut as she began moving with the rhythm.

"I've always loved this song," she said as she lifted heavy eyelids to connect with his gaze. "And I want to dance." Her gaze flickered over to the four-eyed guy who was trying (and failing) to build a pyramid out of the drinks menus and bottles, and back to her much sexier companion. "And I don't think I want to risk my feet with twinkle-toes over there… So it's either you…" She trailed off for a moment, holding his eyes with a challenging invitation. Then she cast her glance to the side, towards the bar full of attentive young men who hadn't yet taken their eyes off her. "Or one of them." She returned her stare to the only man she had any real interest in.

He never broke her stare as he stood up and extended a hand out to her. She took it and led him out to the dance floor. They looked great together out there, moving easily through the slow swinging beat of the bluesy number. They left only enough space between their bodies for a modicum of decency, but they easily redefined the phrase "dirty dancing". The temperature in the bar shot up several noticeable degrees over the course of that number. When they finished in an impossibly close, tight clench, the entire viewing audience broke out in cheers.

And that's when trouble began—with a capital "T" and three exclamation points...

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