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�I don�t think that was her point, buddy,� Bill said, draping a drunken arm over my shoulders. I immediately pushed him off. The stench of alcohol on his breath was too much after the day I�d had. I probably would have felt a little better if he was drunk, too, but the man seemed to be able to hold his liquor. I was feeling slightly drunk just from all the alcoholic smells in the air, and Bill had downed god knows how much.
Damn him.
Harm frowned for a moment, his brow furrowing adorably, then he realized what I meant and he shot me a glare. It�s been a while since I�d seen him good and drunk and I�d forgotten how he couldn�t discern sarcasm from honesty in his inebriated state.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw an attractive waitress heading over to the room the officers of the USS Titon had commandeered. She was clearly intent on taking more orders, hoping for a bigger tip or maybe a few minutes alone with a sailor that�d been away from home for too long to remember the kind of lovin that comes from someone other than their own hand, and I knew that it was time to get Harm out of there while he was still somewhat functioning and alone in his bed for the next four hours.
�Okay, Flyboy, time for you to start sleeping this off,� I said, motioning for Harm to get to his feet.
�Yes ma�am,� Harm said, sounding like a little boy being told to do to bed by his mother. If he weren�t so deep into pink elephant territory I probably would have hauled off on him for acting like I was his mother. If he were any more intoxicated I probably would have called his mother.
Which reminds me that we�ve been within an hour�s drive of his mother and stepfather for over a week and he hasn�t so much as called her to say �hey mom, I�m on your side of the country at the moment, wanna come down to the base for dinner?� like he usually does when we�re in the SoCal region.
Crossing a base at night is usually not so bad, especially the bigger bases. They�re well lit, streets are clearly marked, and the BOQ is usually close to the O Club for obvious reasons. Crossing a base at night with a drunken sailor who is at least a foot taller than you and is leaning heavily on you while singing some random country tune about a lost woman or possibly a piece of sugar free gum�he�s slurring too much for me to be sure�is not fun.
�Harm, where�s your key?� I asked when we came up on the beginning of the rows of motel-like housing for unmarried visiting officers.
Patting down his pockets sloppily, Harm kept singing. He ran out of pockets, though, and stopped. �Dunno,� he said with a frown.
And then he started to fade.