Dan glanced round as his coffee was being made by the machine, having picked up on Ciaran's brief flash of guilt, and watched the newcomer pour out his drink. Bells. Scotch. Huh. Had he had that one before?
He was wiping at his lips with the side of his finger as he thought about the drink, wondering if it was nice or not, what it would taste like, and ultimately, would any of that matter at all when he was sinking shot aft- Fucking hell. No. He turned away and forced both hands to grab hold of the edge of the counter in front of him. He was going to drink his coffee and it would be fine.