Nights like these were common after a successful mission. A few drinks, some greasy food that was sure to give you heartburn, lingering touches from Gaz with an unspoken promise that you’d most likely end up in his bed tonight. Alcohol buzzes through your veins, skin pleasantly warm as you make your way back from the restroom.

“You look like you could use some company” a man says as you pass him, his gaze dragging from your face down to your feet and then back up again. He’s not at all trying to hide the way he’s staring, an uncomfortable feeling skittering up your spine.

“I’m fine” your voice is clipped, unfriendly as you try sidling past him. His fingers wrap around your elbow, the smell of whiskey and cigarette smoke on his breath making your stomach churn. He tugs you closer, grinning.

“Come on. Loosen up-“ he stops, glancing behind you just seconds before a fist flies over your shoulder, clipping his jaw. A startled gasp falls from your mouth as you whip around, a pair of furious brown eyes darting between you and the man laying on the floor.

His words are spoken on a snarl as he shakes out his hand, English accent that much more pronounced now that he’s pissed.

“Get your filthy fucking hands off of my wife.”