Ben shrugged his shoulders a bit laconically as he poured himself his own whiskey and leaned on the bar. "Ten years ago, I was half convinced you'd already bit it," he said with rare blunt honesty.

"Course, eight years ago, you then popped up with that curious order of a genuine claymore." He'd known something was up then, as he was pretty sure the Republicans weren't trying to reenact Culloden any time soon.