InsaneJournal

Caleb had been home for nearly a week now.  He'd managed in that time to do little more than let his grandmother stuff him with more food than even he could consume, examine the grounds with his grandfather and gently correct his mother when she called him by his long gone father's name.  On the professional front he'd been a bit more productive.  He'd signed the last of the paperwork required to accept the position as sheriff's deputy and had made the necessary trip Boston to get his uniforms ordered.  The one set they'd had on hand in his size was waiting in his closet for Monday morning while the rest were being made up as quickly as possible.  

Feeling more than a little restless, he'd made his excuses to the family and driven into town in the Trans Am that had been his adolescent pride and joy.  It was that time of day when the day crowd had disbursed and the Halloween revellers had yet to make an appearance.  

It was easy to find a park near the pub and far less easy to lever himself out of  the low car.  Briefly lines of pain tightened around his mouth and eyes as his leg protested the cold and the unfamiliar action.  He ignored it with the stoicism that got him through ten months of surgery and physiotherapy.  He had all of his parts and the mostly worked properly.  He could have asked for nothing else from the medics and doctors that had labored to patch back together what a RPG had tried its damnedest to rend asunder.

He waited patiently until the twinges lessened to the point that he could walk without limping before making his way to the familiar doors.  Once inside, he stomped icy slush from his boots and shrugged out of his heavy coat.  The coat joined a few others on the pegs lining the entry hall before he walked into the bar proper.  His appearance drew a few curious looks and murmurs from the old timers in the corner.  He ignored them.  Doubtlessly they'd long since been informed about the end of his military career.  Caleb chose a table that gave him a good view of all the entries and put a nice, solid, heavy wall at his back.  It was habit, instinct brought on by not having a trusted squad mate there to watch his six.

Raising a hand, he caught the attention of the barmaid.  As she sauntered closer, there was something about her walk that caught his attention.  Studying her face, he had to hide a sudden grin behind the mask he'd learned to use to good effect in far less happy circumstances.  "Good evening, darling," he drawled in that psuedo-Southern way that many Army personnel managed to pick up through osmosis.  "I'll have a local beer.  Something dark."  He wondered if she recognized him at all.