His first stop had been the bar. Fuck the station--they owed him, for... for... letting him have a job, and he needed the brandy more than they did. Grabbing the bottle--then another--he stalked away, tearing through the seal and getting a head start on the liquor.
He wasn't expecting to run into anyone he knew. Nor did he want to. But at least it wasn't Jim, or Spock, or god help him, Leonard Nimoy. It was Marlena. Sexy, manipulative, scornful Marlena.
James wanted to bash her goddamn face in.