1945.

Daniel sat in the bar, the quiet clink of glasses and the murmur of muted conversations around him serving as a lullaby of some kind. He was nursing a whiskey, trying to enjoy the night. He'd come home from the war a few months ago, and he'd been adjusting to life back in the American country. He heard loud, sluggish laughter and looked up, noticing a man with a girl. He was leaning over her, his arms on either side of her, obviously drunk and flirting with her. He narrowed his eyes, watching to see if he needed to step in.