New Year's Day, 2011: 6:34 AM

Mackenzie jerked awake with wide eyes. There was a switch that flipped on in her head that told her she had just enough time to get from the bed to the bathroom before she vomited. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, go straight to the bathroom. She flung the blankets from her and shoved off from the side of the bed, stumbling a little. She reached for the footboard of her bed but when she swiped, she missed, and instead landed on the end of the mattress. It startled her but she couldn't keep her eyes open long enough to see for herself. Instead, she moved and opened her eyes in a squint to find what she was looking for.

When her bathroom door wasn't where it should be, she felt a rush of panic. Her throat constricted and she lifted a hand to cover her lips as she tried to orient herself. Mac swept the room with a quick glance to realize she wasn't in her bedroom. She gasped audibly while memories filled her mind in seconds but she couldn't sort through them because she was about to lose her alcoholic dinner.

She stood still in the room, trying to keep from spinning, and took a few deep breaths to hold everything in place. Someone stirred in the bed she had just gotten up from and she looked down at a t-shirt she didn't recognize. Shit. Mackenzie didn't have time to think about this. Her clock was running out and she had to figure out where the bathroom was before she ruined this guy's carpeting.

She fumbled a little bit more until she noticed a door on the other side of the room, rushing to it, and by the moonlight from the window, she found the toilet. With seconds left, she pushed open the lid and hit the floor in time to be splashed by the aftermath. She leaned back against her heels, rubbed her face, before she felt a surge and a second round landed in the bowl. Mac groaned when she leaned back again, pushing the handle, and sitting back against the tub.

The light of the bedside lamp lit the room and she heard a hazy stumble to the door. A quick glance told her the painful truth her memories had tried to warn her about.

"Are you okay?" Don asked quietly, squinting against the light behind him as he tried to focus on Mackenzie. She bit her lip, leaned her head back, and roughly rubbed her palm across her face to wake her up from whatever the hell this was.

Just as Mackenzie was about to respond, she immediately doubled over the toilet bowl and vomited a third time. She flushed before leaning back, brushing against her mouth and breathing heavily as she tried to catch herself.

"I don't think so," she commented, closing her eyes and rubbing her fingers against the bridge of her nose. She tried to stand and Don was quick to lower and help her up.

"Come on. Come sit down. I'll get you some mouth wash and something to settle your stomach," he offered. Mac thought he was being a little too calm for the situation but she didn't notice the panic in his eyes as he backed away and fumbled for the bottle of mouthwash beneath the sink and disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a glass of water.

Mac had washed her mouth out before his return, spitting into the sink, and gladly taking the glass of water to wash everything back down.

"Thanks," she murmured, as she leaned over her lap from the edge of the tub.

"Are you okay now?" he asked and Mac nodded slowly, her hair falling around her face.

"Please tell me I'm not in your apartment right now," she begged, her voice muffled by her hand.

"Was it that bad?" Don asked, frowning, as he leaned against the bathroom counter.

"No, I mean…" she trailed off to gather herself. She looked up and stared at him, recalling the night slowly and in pieces and none of it made too much sense. "I think I drank too much."

"You think?"

"Shut up."