She's not so bad herself. Any time he gets to see the slender line of her stretched out like this, his shirt drooping just open enough at the top to reveal some nice décolletage, he's torn between basking in it and making a pass at her. Now's not the time for the latter, though; he'll just take some private comfort from the sight of her, a next-level-up version of what he's done for years now.

"The Major." It occurs to him that he could probably look up what happened to the guy, but if it involved institutionalization or death, he's not sure he'd want to know. "One of my only real friends, senior year of high school - his dad was a conspiracy nut. Wouldn't leave his house, treated everything like a black ops mission, made Gimble call him "sir." He was obsessed with alien abductions and this series of fantasy novels. Ever hear of Michael Moorcock?"