Len tended to leave the parka behind if he didn't have the cold gun holstered and ready to go. In a leather jacket and his standard 'civvie' attire the lack of recognition was understandable and preferred. But oh this definitely felt familiar. Save for the fact that he wasn't back in 1975 and he didn't have any drinks in hand to smash up for some dramatic effect. It almost made him wish Sara were around. He could always appreciate a woman who could handle a good bar fight.
At the offer Len tipped his head and smirked. Based on the way she'd handled the first guy he was willing to bet she didn't need his help. As much as he enjoyed watching rather than participating (unsolicited violence was more Mick's game) he couldn't turn down an offer like that.
"Well since you asked," Len said and pushed himself away from the bar into a standing position beside her just about the time the assholes buddies felt like pouncing. Len maybe lacked the technical finesse of an assassin or trained vigilante but an education in the school of hard knocks and through the incarceration system had taught him quite a bit. Enough that a few drunks were mostly a cakewalk when he was sober himself.
The first idiot that took a swing at him was easy enough to sidestep and when he lunged forward the second time Len grabbed his head, jerked it down to get him off balance and lifted a solid knee into his gut. The grunt and groan that followed was more than just a little bit satisfying.