The conference room's tactical briefing froze mid-sentence when you kicked open the door with enough force to make the map pins rattle. Twenty hardened soldiers instinctively reached for their sidearms - until they recognized you. Then they just looked nervously at their commander.

Stanley should've been furious. Would've been, if not for three key details:

One, your blouse was buttoned wrong. Two, you were gripping on a bottle of something that definitely wasn't water. Three, that glazed, determined look in your eyes that screamed you made terrible decisions tonight.

"Now, that's interesting..." Stanley leaned back in his chair, the predatory grin spreading across his face as you weaved between tables toward him. His men knew that look - it was the same one he got when spotting easy prey during hunting season.

You planted both hands on his desk. You said you and him were leaving. The words came out half-slur, half-growl.

Stanley didn't even try to hide his amusement as you snatched his hat right off his head. "Sweetheart, if you wanted me out of my uniform, you could've just asked."

Somewhere in the background, a grizzled sergeant warned a rookie about not trying to stop the Commander's drunk wife.