Notes: The song is (of course) Garth Brooks, and all of the internal monologue (all of it) is Harry.

"I really don't want to be here."

"What?" Lara McNeill eyed her old patrol partner. "You're gonna spend the rest of your life 'work, home, sleep, work, home, sleep'?"

Diane folded her arms and made faces at the loud music. "Yeah. Did you happen to notice that 'nightclub' isn't in that string anywhere?"

Ooh... oh, what is she doing here? Are the gods just in a good mood or what?

"Well, maybe you should throw it into the rotation every once in a while. I'm starting to wonder exactly who got killed in that warehouse shooting."

Diane shot a too-guilty glance around the bar and stepped up on her best friend with a sharp hiss. "Will you shut up about that?"

Lara shook her head a little. "I don't get you. You got a commendation for what you did and you act like it was something wrong."

"I just..." Diane blew out a sigh. "I just don't want to talk about it."

Uh oh... looks like someone's having a bad night. She looks tired. I guess neither of us is sleeping as well as we thought we might, sweetheart.

Diane slung a hand up over her shoulder and began kneading at the muscle in her neck nervously as she looked around again.

Oh, Diane... if you would just let me get within arm's reach...

"If the point of dragging me out here is to have fun, talking about the job isn't my idea of a good time, Lara."

"Fine," Lara turned around, leaning forward on the bar. After a few seconds of presenting her cleavage to the bartender, she got his attention and ordered a cocktail for herself and an iced tea for Diane. As Diane took her drink, she was startled a little by the sound of a loud knock on the wood bar, feeling the presence of the bartender disappear from behind her in response.