Adrenaline junkies
2004 Angel
Space Cowboys

The beers had gone down smooth and cold. Two and three then a fourth apiece. Jerry and
Tank had already called it a night.

Frank and Hawk sat staring over the beer bottles, their earlier glares mellowed into something
more companionable.

Time hadn't hurt Frank's looks much, Hawk decided. Still looked like he was carved out of
hickory, and the grey hair made him look more distinguished than aged. His face had been lined
rom too much sun and too much stress even as a younger man.

"Barbara okay these days?" Hawk asked.

"Yeah. Sorry to hear about your wife." Frank actually sounded like he meant it too.

Hawk took in the beer bottles. "Four, hunh? Down a sight from the nights when we each could kill
a dozen then fly the next morning."

"Yeah." Frank was looking back in a way that Hawk remembered all too well. He could feel the phantom
adrenaline rush, remember the days when they would crack it up, bail it out and then hit ground together,
hurling themselves into each others arms, shouting and punching.

He remembered all the touch-downs when the punching became real fights over who had just cracked up
the last jet. He remembered too the times when the hugs had overwhelmed them and led straight into
making out.

From Frank's look, he remembered those days too.

"So, do the other guys know?"

"Nah. They always played it safe. Jer got into everyone's pants back in the day, hen or rooster, but
Tank never cared."

"Barbara know?" Hawk asked as they threw bills on the table and walked out.

Frank shoved him into the alley beside the bar. "Nope. And it's staying that way."

The kiss was still pure adrenaline.