*Yes, But While You Don't Actually Dump The Booze You Explain The Facts Of Life And Tuck Jane Into Bed To Sleep It Off...*

"Dammit Personal, I'm not going to lef ya dump fiffy year dishilled Tennashe shingle malt whishky down ah drain!" Jane snaps, clearly angry.

"Fine, I get it, but let me make myself clear Jane," you say trying to restore a calm you don't really feel. "You are drunk. Not only are you drunk, but if that comment I heard when you thought I was someone else coming to the door is any indication, you are drunk while on duty. That was grounds for a court martial last time I checked. But you know what hurts about this Jane, what really hurts? That there's a point, were you get drunk enough, to think I would be such a piss poor excuse for a human being, that I would actually have sex with you even though I know you're drunk: and therefore incapable of giving informed consent! In vino veritas, Jane: you honestly think I'm the kind of guy who rapes women while they're too smashed to consent to sex, and thats, thats not fair, and it's not right, and it honestly made me want some payback. So, yes, I was going to dump your booze, but a fifty year aged single malt Tennesee whisky gets a reprieve, as long as you let me tuck you in to sleep it off and when you wake up, reseal it and return it to ops not to be reopened until we defeat these 'elders' bastards for good and all, understood?"

"Yesh, yer right, thaf, that, wasn't fare. Yued never do that ta me, never, miss trat, me like thaf, yer a good man, camander." Jane says, staggering to the bed and lying down. Pulling the sheets over her. "I'z shory I did that, I dizn't mean it vat way, I jes saw what I wanted an went fer it. I'm a bad, bad, gerl: please don't thew me out, I jes got ya bec *hic*..." Jane mumbles as exhaustion and intoxication slowly claim her...

You adjust the sheets and blankets to form a soft and warm cocoon around Central Officer Jane Bradford and...