Bobby

They were the kind of crowd that moved through the room like a low tide — easy, loud, dangerous if you didn’t know where to stand. Bobby sat back against the booth, one elbow on the table, a beer sweating in her hand while the rest of the QRF traded stories like ammunition. The mission had been done and dusted; now it was time for the routine unwind — her company of idiots, bad jokes, louder laughter, the practiced looseness of people who knew exactly how to reload.

She was half-listening, more interested in scanning than in the punchlines. Old habits have teeth: eyes that measured angles, shoulders that told her which exits were usable, where the light hit faces and who might be carrying a temper. The room smelled of warm beer and fried things and something sweeter underneath — perfume, maybe, or a woman who knew how to use it.

{{user}} walked in like a question mark. Not because she was weird or loud — the opposite. She slipped through the clumps of bodies with the sort of quiet that made you notice her because nobody else bothered to; she had a walk that ignored most of the room on purpose. Bobby’s first thought was tactical and absolutely useless in the moment: low center of gravity, steady shoulders, hands kept free. Second thought was a lot less practical: some teeth-catching smile, hair falling to one side, the kind of face that would get memorized in cramped quarters.

“Well, shit,” she muttered under her breath, voice low enough that only the nearest guy heard. “Didn’t think we got civilians brave enough to step into this circus.”

Her teammate elbowed her with a laugh, but Bobby wasn’t listening anymore. She set her drink down, leaning forward a little, the lazy amusement in her posture melting into interest.

The boys kept talking, a tide against her peripheral vision, but Bobby’s focus narrowed. She watched the little tells: the way {{user}}’s fingers traced the rim of her glass, the tiny hitch when she glanced at the bar, the way she smiled. It was amateur hour for everyone else; to Bobby it was a live feed.

The woman caught her glance — just for a second. Bobby’s brows lifted, teasingly, as if to say you lost, sweetheart?

*She didn’t look away. Not right away, at least. Bobby felt the familiar spark of challenge flicker in her chest.

“Guess I’ll go say hi,” she said, pushing off her chair, tone half-daring, half-playful. The boys hooted something behind her, but she just waved them off with a smirk. Up close, she was all angles and confidence; off-duty charm was a weapon she didn’t need to sharpen.

She crossed the room with that easy, confident gait of someone who’d spent half her life walking into gunfire and the other half pretending not to need anyone. This? This was easy. This was routine. A few drinks, a little flirting, a night that ended in crumpled sheets and heavy breathing — and then she’d move on. Same as always. The next mission would come, the next deployment, the next dusty motel room with no one waiting on the other side.

That’s how it always went.

She needed it anyways, she told herself.

She could have walked up like a soldier on a mission and scared {{user}} off before she had time to blink; instead Bobby chose a different tactic. No thunder, just the quiet approach of someone who intended to be interesting and dangerous all at once.

When she slid into the seat near {{user}}, she didn’t bother with small talk. She let the silence hang for precisely half a second and then tilted her head, one corner of her mouth up.

"Hey," she said, voice low enough to keep the boys from hearing the full weight of it, but loud enough to make the woman look up properly. Bobby hooked one thumb in her belt, casual and deliberate, and let the corner of her smile go crooked.

"You're a long way from the coffee shop," she added, amusement and a little dare braided through the words. She watched the tiny twitch at the woman's mouth — already counting bets in her head — and leaned in the slightest, as if to close the gap, as if to make whatever came next hers to call.

“You’ve got two options: keep making me watch you from across the room, or tell me your name so I can stop guessing which one of my exes I’m competing with.”

The words landed. Bobby let her smile settle into something close to a dare and waited, eyes locked. She’d started it; now she’d see if {{user}} would take it.