12 Year Old Scotch "
By: 2nd Lt. Scott Taylor , Marine TO , [NPC]
Captain Marcus Campanili , Marine XO , [NPC]
Margaret Rose MacAlister , Marine CO, [RNPC]

Stardate: 58208.08 1830

"They looked good today," Campi's deep voice announced from the doorway of the Major's office.

Mac looked up from the report she'd been composing to smile at him. "Aye, that they did," she agreed and leaned back in her chair, a clear signal that he was invited to come in.

He straightened from the doorway and stepped inside. MacAlister arched a brow when he didn't sit down and instead went to the gun locker which he deftly opened and pulled out a bottle of Scotch and two small glasses.

"We're celebrating?" the Major inquired.

"No."

"That's my 12 year old Scotch, Marcus..."

"Yes it is," Campanili agreed as he uncorked the bottle and poured them each two fingers.

"We usually only get that out when we're celebrating..."

"That's true," he agreed with her once again and slid one of the glasses over to her.

"Ye are making me itch with curiosity," she warned him as she reached for the glass and brought it to her nose to sniff delicately. "And ye know how I hate that."

"That I do," he nodded his agreement and likewise sniffed the scotch.

"Are we toasting?" she arched a brow at him, not drinking yet.

"No. Not unless there's something you want to toast to..." He eyed her with a clear question in his eyes and slightly quirked brow.

"Then what ARE we doing?"

"Waiting."

"What?"

"Waiting."

"For?"

"Taylor." As he told her that, he reached into the gun cabinet and pulled out another glass, setting it on the desk and pouring another two fingers of the amber liquid.

"Visor's coming?" The Major looked at the door expectantly.

"Doesn't he usually show up?"

"Is this some meeting ye two have plotted?" she asked suspiciously.

"No."

"Then what ARE we doing?" she asked persistently.

"Having a drink."

"What?"

"We're going to have a drink."

"Marcus... 'Tis my TWELVE YEAR OLD SCOTCH!"

"Maggie..." Marcus Campanili was the only person in the world who called her Maggie besides her father. It was a testament as to how long they'd been serving together. "There are times when it's important to drink for the sake of drinking. This is one of those times. You don't want us to drink that synthetic crap, do you?" He grinned as he settled into one of the two chairs across the desk from her and slid the third glass over in front of the spot next to him.

"Do I smell twelve year old oak aged scotch," asked Taylor, who was now standing in the door of Mac's office.

"Ye see that... Now Scott there appreciates a really *good* twelve year old Scotch,' MacAlister snorted softly and waved to the empty chair and amber-filled glass in front of it. "I fear Marcus does nae appreciate a fine oak-aged Scotch," she told Taylor. It was not the first time they'd had this discussion over a glass or two of said liquid.

"I'm Italian," Marcus grinned as he used the same excuse he always used when Scott and Mac started in on the finer points of scotch.

"Your scotch is nice," began Taylor, "I should know, because I bought it for you, but the barmaid on this ship has a stash of the best scotch I have ever tasted." Taylor sat down and took the glass in his hands.

"Nice? Ye called my scotch... *nice*!" Madge tried to look offended and fell short. "Marcus... He called my scotch.. nice," she pointed out to her XO.

"I think that calls for a toast then," Marcus winked over at Taylor. "To nice scotch and barmaids with better uh... stashes..." Campanili held up his glass towards the other two.

"I'll drink to anything," said Taylor raising his glass.

"Tae barmaids with good Scotch then..." Madge agreed with a grin that threatened to break free. "I'll have tae pay her a visit..."

"A man after my own heart," Campanili grinned and tossed back the amber liquid. "Nice..."

Taylor grinned and drained his glass, "Oh yeah, that's nice alright."

Madge tossed back the scotch and closed her eyes in enjoyment. "Verra nice..."

"What's your assessment of the squad?" Campanili asked Taylor as he poured each of them another round.

"They are shaping up," replied Taylor. "We will make a top notch fighting machine out of them."

"Anything or anyone we need tae make note of?" the Major asked and brought the glass up to her nose to inhale the smoky odor.

Marcus also looked towards Taylor, as he was the one, between the three of them, who had a finger directly on the pulse of the men and played a vital role in the effectiveness of their unit running as a well-oiled, state-of-the-art machine.

"A few of the new recruits are a bit rough around the edges, but there is nothing that I am too concerned about," replied Taylor. "No worries."

"Now *that* 'tis what I like tae hear," Mac smiled at the pair of officers opposite her and motioned her glass up slightly in salute before taking a drink, this time savoring it slowly. "Ye ken ye pretty much have a free hand with th' men, Scott. If there's anything ye need me tae do..." She left the rest unsaid. They had the same conversation every time they found themselves at a new command and with a new group of Marines to ready.

"You mean besides making sure we have no free time and dream about simulations instead of beautiful shapely barmaids?" Marcus quirked a smile and looked to Mac and Taylor over the rim of his glass as he took a sip.

Taylor smiled at Campi, "You whine too much Campi. We're Marines!" He took a drink from his glass. "You guys mark my words. This unit is going to be special. We have some good guys."

"We all know ye dream of simulations and nae barmaids, Marcus," Mac's lips quirked in a teasing grin. "Or that blasted rifle of yers. I ken ye dream about that."

"As Visor pointed out... I AM a Marine. Of course I dream about my rifle." Campi always appeared non-pulsed by their teasing. "I'll wager both you do too," he added with a smirk.

Taylor set his glass down, sat up and using his finger slid his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose...he looked at Campi for a moment and then said, "Campi, I have never dreamed about my rifle. That is weird." He sat back pushed his glasses back onto his nose and drained his glass.

"Hooya?" Madge snorted softly and finished off the rest of her scotch before leaning back in her chair and propping her booted feet on her desk, crossing them at the ankles. "Scott dreams of bedding comely barmaids," she grinned and winked at Scott.

Marcus finished off his glass and grinned at her, totally ignoring Visor's proclamation and Mac's assessment. "Hooya?"

"Hoorah? Ye ken I never get that right," she admitted ruefully and focused her deep blue gaze on Taylor. "Ye think we can make a fine Special Forces Unit outta them then, Scott?" she asked, referring back to his statement that the unit was going to be special. After all, that was their aim. It always was when they moved into a new command.

Taylor nodded, "Absolutely Major."

"Now that is what I like tae hear," she nodded and eyed the scotch bottle, clearly judging if they should have one more round.

"Hoo-Ha," Marcus commented and reached over to cork the bottle with a grin. "Two's your limit tonight, Mac. Visor's got a grueling simulation planned for zero four hundred hours tomorrow and you are designated the team's Six. I do believe he's trying to outdo you, Major," he added with a wink.

Madge arched a brow and looked over at Taylor. "Oh-ho-ho... So th' game's afoot, eh? And NOW I ken why ye were plying me with my own twelve year old scotch, Marcus. Tis a sly pair of foxes ye both are."

Taylor grinned at the Major and finished his drink. "We have to keep you on your toes."

"Ach now, and here I had a pedicure scheduled for th' morning," she told them.

Campi blinked and looked over at Taylor.

Taylor laughed a deep booming laugh. He grabbed the bottle of scotch, "I think she can handle one more drink," he said as he pured her another drink.

Marcus was still laughing when he nodded his agreement. "Now *that*, was priceless."

Mac shook her head and 'tsked' softly as she reached for the scotch. "'Tis a sad, sad day when two fine Marines such as yerselves belly laugh over a woman's toes."