If there was one thing Booker was used to, it was the smell of smoke and the taste of cheap but strong alcohol. It was something the bar hopping detective knew almost every night. A late wife and a baby daughter made life hard for him. It made him glad he knew someone who could babysit the child while he drowned himself in drink. He was used to sitting on his stool at the small corner of the bar, nobody on either side of him.

Today that changed, much to his annoyance. A young blonde man slid onto the stool next to him, a wide grin uncharacteristic of most of the patrons of the bar. He ordered a scotch with a lime twist. He was surprised again at that order, since that was something fancy for a dive like this. Despite it being "fancy" the stranger got his drink and started sipping at it. He looked over at Booker and grinned wider.

"Hi! The name's Alfred. What's yours?" There was a moment of silence as Booker just looked up at the stranger, wondering why this asshole was talking to him.

"...Booker..." He responded, going back to his drink. Alfred rotated in his stool, leaning against the bar and sipping his drink. It seemed he was the inverse of Booker, a figure of confidence next to the hunched over man with a dead spirit.

"Former military?" Alfred asked, "I can see it. You may be hunched over but the way you hold your arms and back... You never really get out of it do you..." Booker let out a grunt and turned, letting himself be taken in by the small talk.

"I'll bite, what are you selling?" He asked. Alfred looked confused.

"Selling? Not selling anything. Just looking for a drinking buddy while I'm in town for the next few hours." Alfred said, turning back to the bar. Booker sighed and leaned against the bar, staring into his drink again.

"...I was in the cavalry. I fought at Wounded Knee..." Booker said sadly. He was trying to forget the past, not bring it up again. Alfred looked at him for a few seconds, concern crossing his face.

"Do you regret it? Being in the military? The bloodshed?" Alfred asked. Booker shook his head.

"I'm not here to say whether or not the military is useful, or to say that I don't want to kill anyone... But just because you don't mind the killing doesn't mean you ever get over it." Booker said. Alfred nodded.

"I know how you feel... But hey, you fought for your country at least. That's always good." Alfred smiled and gave Booker a light pat on the back. The detective scoffed.

"I don't need my country's blessing... I tried holding onto that after I left the military. I tried the whole God thing but I couldn't go through with it... All I have is my family, and I'm content with that." Booker said.

"Clearly not if you're wasting away in a bar," Alfred said, hoping the retort wouldn't offend the man, "I don't know about you, but I love my country, and I am feeling pretty blessed." Booker downed his drink and stared at the man.

"I don't know what you know about war, but those were people we killed... Sure we thought differently back then but... Killing happens, war happens, and I don't mind doing either. Doesn't mean the end result is good." He said. The two looked at each other in silence before Al broke the stare.

"You didn't just kill though. You saved lives." Alfred said.

"One life. I protected a fellow soldier..." Booker laughed and nodded.

"And maybe one day he'll repay the favor." Alfred said. He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt.

"I should be going now. It was a good talk." The blonde got up and gave Booker another pat on the shoulder, "Good talking to you Mr. Dewitt."

"Good talking to you too Alfred." Booker turned back to the bar and ordered another drink. Part of him felt just a little more hope that he could be a protector again. Another part wondered how this man could look just like that soldier he saved so many years ago.