Lachie slouched into Rosie's, a local pub owned by a buddy of a buddy of his from the Army. It was off the beaten path and usually had veterans, and some active duty guys home on leave in it. Christ on a stick it had been a day, it had been a week. Fuck, just call it a month that should just be deleted.

"Fucking Americans!" The door to Rosie's slammed open as Lachie was just about to open it.

"Ed, you lose at darts or something?"

"You'd think it was fucking fleet week or some shite. Americans, goddamn Americans." Ed stomped out as Lachie went in a grabbed his usual stool in the corner.

"Usual?"

"Yep," Lachie closed his eyes for a second and sighed. "Yep."

Stella slid a cold ale down bar at him. Grabbing it Lachie took a big slug and glanced around looking for the damn American who managed to beat the reigning darts champion. This was a bar of regulars, which made it much easier. The sandy brown head over in the corner laughing at something a long-haired guy was saying. A long-haired guy with a distinctive hair toss.

"Eliot?" He cocked his head at the corner.

"Damn, you took long enough." The hitter and former SEAL waved his beer bottle at the dart board, "game?"

"Nope." Lachie might not be the smartest tool in the shed; but, he wasn't born yesterday; he walked over and grabbed the third chair at the small table.

"Aww… Come on." The sandy haired guy turned around with a seriously fake pout on his face. "No one wants to play with me."

"The fucking American. Nah, mate; I'll stick to my beer."

"Sore losers all of you." Clint tossed the dart over his shoulder, and came pretty darn close to the bullseye.

"You missed."

"You try making a shot over your shoulder using the reflection of the board in a fucking beer bottle, see how you do." Clint did it again, and stuck his tongue out at both Eliot and Lachie.

"Real adult like." Lachie chuckled and took another drink of beer.

"I leave that shit to other people."

Eliot nodded, "that is true." Lachie couldn't disagree with the statement. Clint's work ethic was second to none, and coupled with his unique skill set (which had to be said in a very snooty voice) made him invaluable. On the other hand his personal life was always a mess.

"You get that thing in New York settled."

"Mmm…" Clint took a drink, "You get your stuff sorted out there Corporal?"

"How the fuck do you know about that?"

"Really, you're asking that?" Eliot laughed, "after that time in Indonesia."

All three of them shuddered, the Robin William's lines going through their heads – and coming out their mouths: "It's hot. Damn hot! Real hot! Hottest things is my shorts. I could cook things in it. A little crotch pot cooking. Well, can you tell me what it feels like. "Fool, it's hot! I told you again!"

They burst out laughing, and Clint prodded Lachie for an answer.

"I guess it's fixed. I'm not in the clink." Lachie shrugged, there was still paperwork going through the endless machinations of the never ending bureaucracy that was the Australian Army. "What, you're checking up on me?"

Eliot signaled for another round of beers. "Eh, someone needs to do it occasionally."

"Stella, can we get some maccas too?" He reached up and caught the bags of crisps she tossed at him. The crisps might not be much; but, they were a whole lot tastier than the soggy croissant he'd eaten for lunch. Crikie he really wanted to stick his tongue out at Eliot too.

"Bit different being a paramedic instead of a blade?"

"Rescue." Lachie grunted around his mouth of crisps, flexing his right hand. "Yeah."

"Still doing PT on that hand?"

"Yes, dad." Lachie rolled his eyes at the hitter. "Jesus, fuss over him some."

"He did that all day, already." Clint grumbled making a paper football with the beer bottle label. "Are you eating right? Did you get enough sleep? Blah, blah, blah…"

Lachie nearly choked on his beer. "Christ, you even sound like him."

"That twang of his is quite distinctive," the sharpshooter snarked at him. "Even had a chance to use it on a mission a couple of months ago." He straightened his shoulders and fixed Lachie with the cheesiest glare ever "I'm an Oklahoma cattle rancher looking for some new studs to supplement my blood lines."

"Oh, that is good." He clinked bottles with Clint and they both laughed at Eliot who was trying and failing to look stern. "Still crocheting, El?

"Yep, finished a blanket for the hospital last week. You still knitting?"

"Yeah, working on a couch blanket. My asshole brother swiped the one I had." Lachie ate a crisp. "Fucker, I liked it too."

"Chase?" Eliot asked.

"Nah, Dean." At the head tilt that Clint gave Lachie added "My older brother, I slept on his couch until Chase and I found a place."

"Mmmm… family can be dicks." All three nodded at that. "Dinner?"

Eliot looked at his watch, time zones were blurring together after the tour he'd done, checking in on the Leverage teams, the food trucks, and adding a new food truck in Rome for a former explosives expert that Team two had run across. He'd met Clint in Singapore, and they come to Oz for some R&R. Yeah, it had been a hectic few days. "Yeah, groceries should be at your dad's."

"Eh?" Lachie asked.

"I want chicken parm." Clint bounced a little in his seat, "Been dreaming about Eliot's chicken parm for a couple weeks now. With extra sauce."

"You've said that about ten times in the last two days." It was Eliot's turn to roll his eyes at the sniper. "I got some nice tomatoes at the farmer's market, perfect for sauce."

They all dropped a couple bills on the table and headed out salivating at the thought of Eliot's cooking. What had been a shitty day; would be a good evening.