Favours.

They were something Lyra was going to need to be more careful not to incur going forward. Somehow, not only had partaking of coffee from the barracks been grounds to expect one, but evidently Swinton had also believed herself to be owed one when Lyra had - mistakenly, she now realized - mentioned where she'd procured said coffee.

For 'saving your distracted ass', or so the crewman had noted, of that morning they'd been running tests on the Gen 3 and Lyra had become a little too preoccupied by well-defined abdominals and a tight rear.

"I didn't peg you for the vain type," she now grumbled while nursing a whiskey at the infamous establishment Lundy had been after her to join him and his pals at almost since she'd started work on the project.

Swinton, from beside Lyra as she awaited her own drink from the bartender, shrugged unapologetically. "Sometimes you just need to get it out of your system."

"Isn't he in your chain of command?" Lundy was an officer.

"Sometimes you just need to get it out of your system," the redhead repeated with a sly smile as her beer was slid across the counter to her.

They turned towards the pool table the men were gathered round. "Right, well I invited you along, so as far as I'm concerned my debt is paid the second I finish this drink." She hadn't wanted to come to start with and she certainly wasn't going to stay longer than necessary no matter how hard Swinton twisted her arm.

"Are you always this much fun?"

"I knew I liked Baker better than you for some reason."

"Because he's a genius, you mean?"

Lyra wrinkled her nose. "No, that part I find concerning - I don't need him showing me up."

"True. You embarrass yourself well enough without help."

"I'm beginning to see why you've got eight years of service to your name and you're still a crewman."

"It took you this long?" Swinton tipped her beer in salute and sauntered towards the pool table and her quarry. Lundy didn't stand a chance.

Bombing back the remainder of her whiskey, Lyra gathered her jacket from the back of the chair she'd hung it over and made her way through the haphazardly spaced tables and chairs, most of which were filled. She was approaching the door when it opened to admit someone and she stepped aside automatically to avoid a collision. The figure which filled the doorway caused her to blink stupidly. "Fre- Lieutenant?" Damn. Damn that slip of the tongue.

He'd noticed. He had for sure noticed. His eyes had narrowed ever so slightly. "Ms. Ashton."

What the hell was he doing there? It didn't strike her as his sort of scene. In fact, more than a few heads had turned at his arrival. And she'd told him she wouldn't be in attendance.

"You appear to be leaving," he said, saving her from having to actually string words together into a sentence in the face of this unexpected development. He was still dressed in his fatigues, the sleeves rolled neatly up past his elbows, whereas most all of the other soldiers present had abandoned their uniforms for the evening, Lundy and Swinton included.

"Yeah, I was just heading out." Good job brain.

Instead of responding, he turned side-on to allow her to pass. Still sour about the day before, about what she'd said?

Lyra held her jacket in close and slipped by him, but it was tight. To her surprise, he didn't continue inside, but was close behind her as the door slid shut, cutting off all of the chatter and noise from within. She looked back. "You're not staying?"

His brows drifted upwards. "There doesn't seem to be a purpose to any longer."

"What does that mean?"

"You just said you're returning to your hotel." He nodded towards a warthog parked across the street. "I'll drive you."

Now her stomach was doing weird things. "I said I was heading out," she qualified, god knew why. Just to give herself more time to think, possibly. "But what does that have to do with you?"

"You said you weren't coming. That, along with the fact you suggested I might join you to start with, seemed to indicate you were uncomfortable with being alone with the ensign or one of the other officers. When Ensign Lundy said earlier today that you'd changed your mind, I thought I should come check on things." It was a preposterous explanation.

"Lundy told you I'd changed my mind?"

His gaze darted briefly back to the warthog. "I overheard it."

"You overheard it." Intentionally? There was a name for that. "And you thought you should check on me."

"Yes." No hesitation.

She inhaled carefully. This didn't feel right. "You have no ulterior motives."

This time, he failed to answer.

"Let me guess," she quipped while shaking her jacket out and shoving her arms into the sleeves, more to give herself something else to focus on than because she was cold. "More questions."

"Let me drive you back." He wasn't sounding as certain any longer.

"I'll walk."

"Then I'll walk with you."

"-To the beach. I'm walking to the beach." She'd only had the one drink, but hard spirits were not usually her go to. The bartender had shot her a dubious look when she'd asked about wine, however, so whiskey it had been. And it was giving her liquid courage - to be contrary about being escorted, apparently.

His head tilted in skepticism. "Then I'll walk with you."

"I'm not answering questions." And with that assertion made, she started off down the sidewalk. It was about a twenty-five minute journey, but he easily kept pace with her shorter stride, and said nothing while he did so. She wasn't sure why he was accompanying her. She wasn't sure why she hadn't told him not to, either. He was still suspicious of her, that was clear.

And why not? She'd been so obvious. So painfully obvious. Why had she expected a soldier of his caliber not to notice?

The stars were out - millions of them. They glittered like finely cut diamonds up in the vast swath of darkness above, their reflections rippling on the calm ocean surface. She stopped, perturbed but feeling silly now that she'd had twenty-five minutes to reconsider her spontaneous decision.

He stopped as well.

The soft rush of the slow, undulating waves breaking on the sand permeated all.

Fred must be wondering what the hell she was on, to insist on strolling down here at midnight for absolutely no reason, but he still said nothing. He was staring out at the water. When she impulsively kicked her shoes off and picked them up, he watched her do so. Then he followed her down towards the surf.

"Closest body of saltwater at home is an eight hour drive," she supplied as she tested the temperature with her toes before stepping in and allowing the waves to wash over her feet. Why she was attempting to explain her actions - well, it was filling the silence more than anything. The silence was starting to weigh on her. Just like her guilt.

He opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it. She saw it from the corner of her eye.

"Cascade." She'd told him she wouldn't answer questions and was impressed he seemed to be respecting that, but there didn't seem any harm in admitting where she resided. He could find it out easily enough.

"I wasn't wrong about the ensign. You were clear about not joining him." He sounded as though he'd been giving this some consideration, though what the 'this' was, Lyra had no idea. "But you changed your mind." Oh, that.

"I didn't really. I agreed to a drink with a friend, that's all." She wasn't sure Swinton deserved that classification for basically blackmailing her, but she wouldn't rat the crewman out either. If she wanted to risk her career for a roll in the sheets with Lundy, that was her choice. "Why'd you walk out here with me, Lieutenant? Are you hoping I'll say something I don't mean to because I've been drinking?"

Saltwater lapped against the soles of his boots. "You don't appear drunk."

"Then it wasn't to keep me safe, either." That wasn't her impression, at least. She bent to retrieve a pale shell and pitched it out further into the surf. He wasn't answering, so she tossed a few more, mulling this over. It seemed highly unlikely ONI would utilize a Spartan to covertly question her. Nor was he being anything but direct about his suspicions. She ran her thumb over the ribbed exterior of one of the shells, then turned and offered it to him. "How good is a Spartan arm, anyway?"

Fred smiled crookedly at the challenge. He took the shell from her palm, the scars lining the back of his hand standing out in the diluted starlight. He rolled it between his fingers and adjusted his stance, cocking his arm back and hurling the shell much farther than her darkness impaired vision could perceive.

"Oh, it's like that." A drop in the bucket of his actual physical capabilities. She leaned down to pick up another of the small shells at the same moment he evidently made the decision to do so and her forehead collided with a powerful shoulder. It knocked her off balance and she threw her arms out to attempt to counteract her momentum, knowing her ass was destined for a soggy reunion with the sand even as she did so. Until warm fingers closed around her elbow, steadying her.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he propelled her upright with care, dark brows drawn together. "I didn't realize-"

"I was going to headbutt your shoulder? Neither did I." Her head smarted, but she was fine. Hopefully there wouldn't be a bruise. That would be fun to try to explain Swinton and Gomez, who would certainly make inquiries. He was still the picture of contrition and she couldn't help a burst of laughter. "Fred, god, you look like you just ran over my cat or something - it's fine. I'm okay." He hadn't yet released her and his grasp tightened minimally as the pensive expression he wore bled into something else, something she couldn't name.

It was only there a moment and then he let go of her arm.