As usual, it started at The Hard Deck. The bar was always crowded with khaki uniforms, Navy men and women drinking and hanging out with their friends. Locals and a few tourists. It was always a fun atmosphere, the weekends always crowded.

Over the past month, Mickey had seen you there, every Saturday. There's a group of friends with you, always making it hard to get close. His mamá had raised him better than that. One day. One day, Mickey would gather up his courage enough to approach you and buy you a drink, and talk about the Star Trek shirt you wore, or the myriad of keychains you had that showed off your interests.

And maybe tonight was that night. Your friends weren't there yet, and you sat at your usual table, all alone, occasionally taking a small sip of your water. Mickey had begged Penny to tell him your usual drink so he could send one over.

Okay. You can do this, Mickey, he thought to himself, spilling a bit of your fruity drink in his haste to get to your table. Don't screw up.

And then he was there, and you were staring at him with those pretty eyes, and oh no-

"Are you...uh...my target? Because I have you...in my sights," Mickey stammered out, only just now realizing how much that stupid pickup line he made up sounded like a threat.