Galactica Point, Thursday night
Ivanova didn't want people around tonight. She didn't want to be in a bar or pub. She didn't want to be consoled or to brawl. She wanted to get drunk. So here she was, at the beach. Not far from the spot where Tonks had asked her to go with her. She usually went with vodka, but Midnight Hobo was stronger, cheaper, and plentiful. She could pretend that the alcohol was what was burning her throat and bringing tears to her eyes. She could pretend as she looked out over the dark water that nothing was wrong, that everything had gone according to plan, that she hadn't fallen in love.
She could pretend. For a while, anyway.
She could pretend. For a while, anyway.