Disclaimer: The Magnificent Seven belong to Mirsch, Trilogy, etc.
Author's note: This insta-fic stemmed from a conversation my sister and I had.
Rating: FRC - Fan Rated Suitable For Children
It had been a miserable few weeks. The end of the year was coming up and Chris had been caged up in his office pouring over budgets, expense reports and all the other required paperwork that seemed to keep the government running. If there was one aspect of his job Chris Larabee hated more than any other it was budgeting and he wasn't shy about letting everyone else around him know it. In fact, he decided if he had to be miserable, there was not reason he had to be miserable alone, especially when his supposedly responsible team of mature adults managed to come within a hair's breadth of getting put on report.
The others had found themselves "volunteered" to join in Chris' misery. Their last case had a disaster and no one was in the mood to talk. Even the normally exuberant JD avoided unnecessary words. So Chris had decided they could all help with the budgeting and paperwork. They were all so buried that they couldn't muster the energy for their normal banter.
Hoping to lighten the heavy load everyone seemed to be carrying, Josiah had suggested a night at The Saloon to help them relax and find their balance again.
Sitting around their table at the Saloon, the seven men sat quietly staring at their now empty glasses, each waiting for one of the others to recover enough energy and motivation to get up and buy the next round. A sigh escaped Buck's lips as he pushed his chair back. He decided they'd been sitting around staring at empty glasses long enough. "OK, boys. Name your poison," he commanded, ready to take their orders.
Six heads swivelled to look at their leader. "Hemlock?" they asked in unison.
"Whiskey!" Chris denied. "I said whiskey."
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