FIC In Their Honor
11/11/11 23:47![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shanachie_quillTitle: In Their Honor
Characters: Mick Doyle (OMC), Named at the End
Fandom: NCIS: LA, Warehouse 13, Avengers, Covert Affairs, Hawaii Five-0
Series: N/A
Written For: Veterans’ Day
Prompt: Veterans’ Day
Summary: In honor of all who have served through-out the years.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: No one recognizable belongs to me.
Author's Note: Many of you know that I belong to a group called Soldiers’ Angels. I also have quite a few family members and friends who have served or are serving in the military. Therefore today is especially important to me. We should never forget the sacrifice our men and women of the armed forces have given so that we can have our freedom and take the time to thank them when we see them. Not just on Veterans’ Day but every day. So when you see a veteran or an active duty service person—take a moment and say thank you. You’d be surprised at how grateful they are for those 30 seconds of your time.
From the outside, the bar looked like any other neighborhood staple; weathered but not rundown. On the inside, it didn’t gleam, but it was well-cared for. The wood was worn smooth from countless hands and polished with a loving touch. The liquor wasn’t top shelf but it didn’t burn the gut when it hit either. It was a comforting place. It was a place for regulars and familiar faces, for blue collar workers that stopped in for a beer on the way home or came in on the weekend to watch the game. And once a year, it welcomed home its wayward sons; even the ones it hadn’t known before.
Mick Doyle had done his time for Uncle Sam, had served in the US Army, and come home to hold court behind the bar and build the pints like his father before him. On that one day, he eyed his patrons more closely and for some of them, he waved off the cost of the pint; tapped his chest where his own unit colors rested and sent them back to their friends. Some of them were surprised when he correctly identified them, but he had yet to be wrong.
He had identified six military already tonight and was keeping a close eye on them. He wasn’t worried about trouble, not from them anyway. If anything those types tended to stop trouble cold. He was curious about the differences in the groups. None of them had come in alone and he could immediately tell that the majority of them weren’t local, and even the locals obviously hadn’t been home in a long time. Glancing around the bar, he saw that everyone’s glass was currently full and he could take some time to observe.
The well-muscled black man that sat with his back to the wall had come in with three other people. A slight man who’d accepted a beer, but didn’t appear to be drinking it, a California surfer boy and a beautiful woman who clearly knew how to handle herself. It was obvious the four were not only co-workers, but friends, and Mick watched them for a few minutes before he identified the military member of the group as the black man. There was a coiled awareness to his movements; that look that never quite vanished once you’d seen the dirty underworld of some of the worst places on Earth. The others in his group had a hardness to them, but not the same look and Mick made a note that they must be some sort of federal or local agent. The woman and the slighter of the men had clearly been trained by someone in the military, although they most likely hadn’t served. It was obvious from the way the surfer was acting that he was normally boisterous, but something had been said to him and he was trying his hardest to keep some semblance of decorum in place. Every so often Mick saw the woman elbow him as if in reminder.
The next two were definitely Federal agents since Mick had caught a glimpse of a badge when the woman had ordered. He’d been surprised when she’d ordered two Cokes and a beer, but set the beer on the table between them. Neither one of them touched it, although the broad-shouldered man had stared at it for a minute before saying something to her and raising it as if giving a toast. He’d then turned and tossed it in the bin one of the girls was using to clear the tables. The woman hadn’t seemed at all surprised by his actions, but had watched it all with sober eyes. She’d covered his hand with hers when he’d turned back around and said something. The man had given her a tight smile before taking a sip of his Coke. It had obviously reassured her because she leaned back in her chair and said something in return.
The dartboard was normally a place of good-natured competition, but two men had taken it over soon after their arrival tonight and Mick had kept an eye on them. Both were more than impressive with their ability to hit the bull’s-eye, although the shorter, darker haired one had yet to miss. Normally there were rules and the people playing weren’t just trying to hit the bull’s-eye, but one of the waitresses had mentioned the dark haired man had said something about still being able to hit the bull’s-eye even when he was drunk. They’d both also been drinking since their arrival, although the beer didn’t seem to be affecting the blonde, despite the fact that he was putting away more than double the amount of his friend. The blonde had finally laughed when he’d missed the bull’s-eye and waved off his friend; who’d grabbed the darts from him and fired three quick shots into the board. He’d bowed at the applause it had generated and picked up one of the remaining darts, turning it around and grasping it by the tip. A quick flick of his wrist set the dart loose and Mick blinked as it once again hit the bull’s-eye. The blonde raised his glass as the man picked his own up and took a drink. He crossed the room to retrieve the darts and lined up another shot when he returned to his friend.
When the hot girl next door walked in with the skinny guy on her arm, Mick thought at first they’d gotten lost. Then he took a second look at the curly haired man and saw something else. Despite the vacant way he looked around the bar, there was clearly an awareness of his surroundings. They took a seat at one of the tables and one of the girls immediately headed for them; the lure of a cute guy just a little too much. Mick wasn’t surprised to see the man flash a charming grin and clearly flirt when she took their order, but he was interested in the fact that the blonde didn’t seem at all disturbed by it. She actually seemed to be teasing him about his flirting and encouraging him. The man took the comments in stride, offering his own comments in return. They sobered as their drinks were delivered and the girl tapped her mug on his, clearly used to compensating for his lack of vision. The man blinked his eyes, clearing them and returning the toast.
The last man he’d identified was very clearly not local. If the dark tan hadn’t clued him in, the short sleeves under the heavier than usual coat would have been a good indicator. On the other hand, his companion was most likely from the area judging by his accent although it had been muted by distance. They both nursed the beers they’d ordered and seemed to be looking around the bar, trading observations about the other patrons. The shorter man had a habit of flinging his hands out as he talked, his partner hiding a small smile in his pint as his friend ranted about something. There didn’t seem to be anything cruel meant by what the shorter man was saying, in fact the interaction seemed quite typical for them. As Mick watched, the quieter man reached out and snagged his friend’s hand, catching it just before he smacked someone. It stopped the man in mid-sentence and he turned to apologize with a smile.
Mick glanced at the clock, straightening from his relaxed position as he realized what time it was. Reaching up, he rang the ship’s bell that hung above the bar, quickly silencing the chatter in the bar. “We have a tradition here,” he said, raising a pint that he’d poured for himself. “Once a year, we raise a pint. To those who’ve returned and to those who live only in our memories. Thank you for your service to our country. Thank you for our freedom. In your honor!” As the people around him echoed his toast, Mick tipped back his drink, draining half of it in one swallow. Turning the glass upside down, he poured the rest down the drain. He wouldn’t ruin his floors by dumping it on the wood, but he would honor the ones who didn’t return. By serving pints to those that did return and by offering the toast once a year as he’d been taught.
Just in case you didn’t recognize someone from the descriptions (and I purposely didn’t identify them by name), here they are in order of appearance:
Sam Hanna, G Callen, Marty Deeks, and Kensi Blye (NCIS: LA)
Pete Lattimer and Myka Bering (Warehouse 13)
Steve Rogers and Clint Barton (Avengers)
Auggie Anderson and Annie Walker (Covert Affairs)
Steve McGarrett and Danny Williams (Hawaii Five-0)
Just do a little handwaving for how they all end up in the same bar in NYC on Veterans’ Day.
Characters: Mick Doyle (OMC), Named at the End
Fandom: NCIS: LA, Warehouse 13, Avengers, Covert Affairs, Hawaii Five-0
Series: N/A
Written For: Veterans’ Day
Prompt: Veterans’ Day
Summary: In honor of all who have served through-out the years.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: No one recognizable belongs to me.
Author's Note: Many of you know that I belong to a group called Soldiers’ Angels. I also have quite a few family members and friends who have served or are serving in the military. Therefore today is especially important to me. We should never forget the sacrifice our men and women of the armed forces have given so that we can have our freedom and take the time to thank them when we see them. Not just on Veterans’ Day but every day. So when you see a veteran or an active duty service person—take a moment and say thank you. You’d be surprised at how grateful they are for those 30 seconds of your time.
From the outside, the bar looked like any other neighborhood staple; weathered but not rundown. On the inside, it didn’t gleam, but it was well-cared for. The wood was worn smooth from countless hands and polished with a loving touch. The liquor wasn’t top shelf but it didn’t burn the gut when it hit either. It was a comforting place. It was a place for regulars and familiar faces, for blue collar workers that stopped in for a beer on the way home or came in on the weekend to watch the game. And once a year, it welcomed home its wayward sons; even the ones it hadn’t known before.
Mick Doyle had done his time for Uncle Sam, had served in the US Army, and come home to hold court behind the bar and build the pints like his father before him. On that one day, he eyed his patrons more closely and for some of them, he waved off the cost of the pint; tapped his chest where his own unit colors rested and sent them back to their friends. Some of them were surprised when he correctly identified them, but he had yet to be wrong.
He had identified six military already tonight and was keeping a close eye on them. He wasn’t worried about trouble, not from them anyway. If anything those types tended to stop trouble cold. He was curious about the differences in the groups. None of them had come in alone and he could immediately tell that the majority of them weren’t local, and even the locals obviously hadn’t been home in a long time. Glancing around the bar, he saw that everyone’s glass was currently full and he could take some time to observe.
The well-muscled black man that sat with his back to the wall had come in with three other people. A slight man who’d accepted a beer, but didn’t appear to be drinking it, a California surfer boy and a beautiful woman who clearly knew how to handle herself. It was obvious the four were not only co-workers, but friends, and Mick watched them for a few minutes before he identified the military member of the group as the black man. There was a coiled awareness to his movements; that look that never quite vanished once you’d seen the dirty underworld of some of the worst places on Earth. The others in his group had a hardness to them, but not the same look and Mick made a note that they must be some sort of federal or local agent. The woman and the slighter of the men had clearly been trained by someone in the military, although they most likely hadn’t served. It was obvious from the way the surfer was acting that he was normally boisterous, but something had been said to him and he was trying his hardest to keep some semblance of decorum in place. Every so often Mick saw the woman elbow him as if in reminder.
The next two were definitely Federal agents since Mick had caught a glimpse of a badge when the woman had ordered. He’d been surprised when she’d ordered two Cokes and a beer, but set the beer on the table between them. Neither one of them touched it, although the broad-shouldered man had stared at it for a minute before saying something to her and raising it as if giving a toast. He’d then turned and tossed it in the bin one of the girls was using to clear the tables. The woman hadn’t seemed at all surprised by his actions, but had watched it all with sober eyes. She’d covered his hand with hers when he’d turned back around and said something. The man had given her a tight smile before taking a sip of his Coke. It had obviously reassured her because she leaned back in her chair and said something in return.
The dartboard was normally a place of good-natured competition, but two men had taken it over soon after their arrival tonight and Mick had kept an eye on them. Both were more than impressive with their ability to hit the bull’s-eye, although the shorter, darker haired one had yet to miss. Normally there were rules and the people playing weren’t just trying to hit the bull’s-eye, but one of the waitresses had mentioned the dark haired man had said something about still being able to hit the bull’s-eye even when he was drunk. They’d both also been drinking since their arrival, although the beer didn’t seem to be affecting the blonde, despite the fact that he was putting away more than double the amount of his friend. The blonde had finally laughed when he’d missed the bull’s-eye and waved off his friend; who’d grabbed the darts from him and fired three quick shots into the board. He’d bowed at the applause it had generated and picked up one of the remaining darts, turning it around and grasping it by the tip. A quick flick of his wrist set the dart loose and Mick blinked as it once again hit the bull’s-eye. The blonde raised his glass as the man picked his own up and took a drink. He crossed the room to retrieve the darts and lined up another shot when he returned to his friend.
When the hot girl next door walked in with the skinny guy on her arm, Mick thought at first they’d gotten lost. Then he took a second look at the curly haired man and saw something else. Despite the vacant way he looked around the bar, there was clearly an awareness of his surroundings. They took a seat at one of the tables and one of the girls immediately headed for them; the lure of a cute guy just a little too much. Mick wasn’t surprised to see the man flash a charming grin and clearly flirt when she took their order, but he was interested in the fact that the blonde didn’t seem at all disturbed by it. She actually seemed to be teasing him about his flirting and encouraging him. The man took the comments in stride, offering his own comments in return. They sobered as their drinks were delivered and the girl tapped her mug on his, clearly used to compensating for his lack of vision. The man blinked his eyes, clearing them and returning the toast.
The last man he’d identified was very clearly not local. If the dark tan hadn’t clued him in, the short sleeves under the heavier than usual coat would have been a good indicator. On the other hand, his companion was most likely from the area judging by his accent although it had been muted by distance. They both nursed the beers they’d ordered and seemed to be looking around the bar, trading observations about the other patrons. The shorter man had a habit of flinging his hands out as he talked, his partner hiding a small smile in his pint as his friend ranted about something. There didn’t seem to be anything cruel meant by what the shorter man was saying, in fact the interaction seemed quite typical for them. As Mick watched, the quieter man reached out and snagged his friend’s hand, catching it just before he smacked someone. It stopped the man in mid-sentence and he turned to apologize with a smile.
Mick glanced at the clock, straightening from his relaxed position as he realized what time it was. Reaching up, he rang the ship’s bell that hung above the bar, quickly silencing the chatter in the bar. “We have a tradition here,” he said, raising a pint that he’d poured for himself. “Once a year, we raise a pint. To those who’ve returned and to those who live only in our memories. Thank you for your service to our country. Thank you for our freedom. In your honor!” As the people around him echoed his toast, Mick tipped back his drink, draining half of it in one swallow. Turning the glass upside down, he poured the rest down the drain. He wouldn’t ruin his floors by dumping it on the wood, but he would honor the ones who didn’t return. By serving pints to those that did return and by offering the toast once a year as he’d been taught.
Just in case you didn’t recognize someone from the descriptions (and I purposely didn’t identify them by name), here they are in order of appearance:
Sam Hanna, G Callen, Marty Deeks, and Kensi Blye (NCIS: LA)
Pete Lattimer and Myka Bering (Warehouse 13)
Steve Rogers and Clint Barton (Avengers)
Auggie Anderson and Annie Walker (Covert Affairs)
Steve McGarrett and Danny Williams (Hawaii Five-0)
Just do a little handwaving for how they all end up in the same bar in NYC on Veterans’ Day.
