The year of 1992 was a tough one for Holly, mainly because she discovered that her ex-fiancé Ross was seeing her daughter Blake. During the following months, Holly was depressed, and yes, sometimes bitter and vindictive. Still, and even though I love all three characters, I clearly rooted for Holly during that time. Before she could get better, however, she had to hit rock bottom, which finally happened on her birthday. And who did she reach out for then? Roger. This is my version of what could have happened that night. It starts the same as in the real show but then, as one reviewer said for another story of mine, I "slightly" tweaked the canon! Hope you enjoy it, it might be a long night.

Holly sat on the floor next to her bed, pictures of Blake and of Ross scattered around her. She glanced at the tabloid which had disclosed Ross's affair with her daughter, fronting the pictures that Holly herself had sent the news rag, and tossed it aside ragingly. She had not been that drunk in a very long time.

She took another gulp of white wine and winced. Her migraine was flaring up again, fuelled by the remembrances of her earlier fight with Blake, which had abruptly ended when she had shouted to her daughter that she had never loved her. Groaning in pain, she turned off the radio and picked up the phone. On the other end of the line, the machine picked up after several rings.

"Oh, Roger," she started with an effort to speak clearly. "Why is your voice there and you are not? It's like it's ringing inside of my head…Only Blake keeps answering…Oh, I just…all this…stuff keeps repeating the things that don't bear repeating, just keep running around and around in my head and I…I need…I needed to talk." She ran one hand through her hair and closed her eyes. "You know, you are so…you…YOU! Hey, it was better to go out to dinner with Jenna than with me, cause…" Unable to go on, she just hung abruptly.

She turned to her nightstand and grabbed her bottle of migraine pills. "I got to call Ed," she muttered on the verge of despair. Before she could do so, or take another pill, however, she slowly slumped on the floor, losing all consciousness.

It was almost midnight when Jenna and Roger tumbled out of their second bar of the night. They had started with dinner at the Towers and had been merrily on the move since then. They sat on the sidewalk, getting a little too tipsy to stand, to decide their next move.

"You know what would be fun?" Jenna asked.

"What?" Roger replied, already laughing at her idea.

"We should go spend the rest of the night in Mexico," she announced with a light of excitement in her eyes.

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly serious."

Roger looked at her eager face and didn't think twice before answering: "Let's do it!" He got up and hailed a cab that was passing by. They both toppled into it, kissing like hormonal teenagers, to the annoyance of the driver. "Where to?" he snapped.

"To the airport!" Jenna said theatrically, raising an invisible glass in the air.

"Wait, I have to go get my passport," Roger added, giving his the address of his apartment to the driver.

"Tut-tut. You should always carry your passport with you. You're a man of the world; who knows when you might need it?" Jenna chastised him teasingly, before they resumed their kiss.

The taxi came to an abrupt halt ten minutes later in front of Roger's building. "Shall I wait for you here?" Jenna asked.

"Come up with me, it might take a while before I find it," he retorted, leaving way too much money to the driver, whose mood somewhat lifted. He hurriedly got out of the car and opened the door for them, but they barely noticed him. He watched them disappearing into the building and muttered, disgusted, "Easy to get a girl like that when you're as rich as he is."

Upstairs, Jenna headed to the bathroom to freshen up while Roger rummaged in his desk for his passport, whistling. He was still looking for it when he noticed the light beeping on his answering machine. He pressed the button out of habit, in case pressing business was at hand, and listened absent-mindedly while going through his drawers. He soon stopped and turned toward the machine, however, when he heard the automated voice announce that he had seven messages.

He felt a pang of guilt when he heard Holly's voice on the first one, wondering if he could call her back. He felt lousy for cancelling their dinner, especially since Blake had made him realize earlier that evening that it was Holly's birthday. The prospect of hearing her rehash her grievances against Blake and Ross had been too much for him to take, and he had, cowardly, he admitted it, decided to escape for a night on the town instead. Jenna had this way about her which made him feel like he was a young man again and that the whole world was within reach. He was her hero, whereas he hadn't been Holly's hero in a long, long time.

When the second message began to play Holly's voice, Roger frowned and started to sober up. He skipped it to the next message, and then the next, only to realize that she had been the one to call him seven times. By the time she had left the last message, her speech had become downright slurred and she was wondering incoherently why he would not pick up already. His heart now beating violently in his chest, Roger picked up the phone and dialled her number. When she didn't answer, he dropped the receiver on the table and bolted for the door.

Hearing the door slam, Jenna emerged from the bathroom, only to find the room empty, Roger gone, his passport lying on the floor.

It seemed to him that the cab would never get to Holly's house fast enough, but he knew that he was still too drunk to drive himself, so he tried to ease his nerves by barking orders at the driver so that he would turn this way or that. Throwing money on the passenger seat, he barely waited until the taxi had pulled up the driveway to jump out of the car and run to the front door. The lights were out.

"Holly!" he shouted, pounding on the door. "It's me, Roger. Open up!"

He banged for a few more seconds before stopping to listen, but he could not hear the slightest noise inside. "You'd better not be asleep or I swear…"he muttered before taking a few steps back and kicking the door open.

A few seconds sufficed to make sure that she was neither in the kitchen nor in the living room. He then ran to her bedroom and turned the lights on. At first, he thought that she was not there either, since her bed was empty, but the sight of the pills scattered on the floor, as well as the empty bottle of wine, made his insides churn in fear. He was about to go to the guest room when he finally spotted her hand jutting out from the other side of the bed. His heart skipped a beat and his legs almost failed him. "Holly!" he yelled, running to her side.

He kneeled beside her body and felt her heartbeat, which he found strong and steady. Breathing again, he proceeded to shake her frantically to make her come to her senses. When that failed, as well as the slapping, he finally tried to pick her in his arms, but being drunk himself, immediately lost balance and fell with her on the bed. Cursing loudly, he grabbed her arms and dragged her to the bathroom, where he dumped her unceremoniously in the shower.

He turned the water on; making sure that it as cold as possible. "I cannot believe that you are DOING this to me, Holly," he muttered, now furious. Still not responding, Holly kept sliding to bottom of the bathtub. Cursing again, Roger took his shoes off and stepped in to heave her back up, gasping as the icy water drenched his clothes. At last, Holly finally groaned and made a feeble attempt at shielding herself from the water.

She opened her eyes and squinted at Roger. "What are you doing here?" she asked in a raspy voice.

"You called me," he said, torn between relief and anger.

"Why are we in the shower together?" Holly added suspiciously, looking around her and starting to shiver.

"Never mind that for now; let's get you in some dry clothes," Roger replied, turning the water off. "Hey, are you ok?" he said, looking at her worryingly again. Holly has suddenly turned a nasty shade of green, and before she could answer, she had to lunge to the sink where she violently threw up.

Roger sighed, picking up a towel hanging on the back of the door to wipe her forehead. "So much for my glamorous evening."