I like engineers. You guys have saved my ass more times than I can count. Here, back home, and in Afghanistan.

[The Afghanistan part slips out. Blame the beer, and the fact he'd already spilled his guts to Tony over text before either of them had known each others names.

John's not really the type to share war-stories. He's a soldier, and he doesn't pretend to be anyone else, but there's nothing romantic or nostalgic about the time he spend in the Middle East, or any of the other hot zones he'd flown in and out of.

He holds his beer between his thighs and leans back, looking up at the stars.]

I dated a combat engineer. I swear she built bridges just so she could blow them up. Talk about someone who loved a good explosion.

What kind of engineer are you?