Hey Capers, are you ready for a really random story? Blame this oneshot on "Last Friday Night" by Katy Perry. You'll see why once you begin reading.

I do not own The Cape, I just have way too much fun playing in the sandbox.

I think I need a Gingerale

As Orwell opened her eyes first thing in the morning, she could tell that something was off. She had a pounding headache, and a churning stomach. Groggily, the brunette sat up, quickly noticing that she was still in her partner's hideout. More importantly, she was on his bed of all places! Looking down at her lap, the brunette felt a blush crawl up to her face. The only thing covering her body was a thin sheet. Though, even that was twisted around messily. She mashed a hand against her face and groaned, not even wanting to look beside her. When Orwell felt a body shuffle to the opposite side, a flustered feeling got the best of her, fully knowing who it was laying next to her.

The brunette removed a hand from her face and turned her head, getting a better look at her partner that, in fact, was next to her in the same degree of undress as she was. As quickly as she looked over at Vince, the blogger turned her head away just as quick. What the hell happened last night? The last thing she remembered was… oh, uh oh.

That previous day, the vigilante had been sulking most of the day. Orwell had watched him in concern, staying with him through the duration of the day. About mid afternoon, Vince had made the mistake of bringing the beers out…

He and Orwell were sitting on his worn out couch, the blogger trying to keep her partner company. As soon as the beers were in play, things began to get a little more… complicated.

By the time Vince finished his second beer, his mood started to see a change. The vigilante was a family man for sure. He loved his wife and his son, but there was something about Orwell, whether he was drunk or sober… she made him think. Of course, a sober Vince would never announce that out loud. The blogger would never know how truly beautiful he thought she looked, or just how conflicted he was about their relationship. Until the Cape began chugging back cold ones like they were bottles of water, that was.

-0-

Orwell stared back at her drunken partner with a smirk on her face. She had barely taken a sip of the beer Vince had handed her. Besides, it was much more fun to hold a conversation with a word-slurring Vince.

The vigilante slouched back onto the couch, his barely filled beer bottle resting on his upper thigh. He looked back at the brunette with an arched eyebrow. "Why 'ren't you drinking?" Vince slurred as he patted Orwell's knee. "I brought it for you to drink…"

The brunette blogger chuckled and sipped a bit of the bottle that she had placed on the table before them. "I'll take my time, thank you."

The vigilante took a moment to respond to his partner. He stared back at her with a smile, trying to keep all of his comments to himself. However, this was soon deemed useless as he started to blurt out all that he was feeling. "You are so pretty Orwell," Vince stretched a hand out to brush a few brown locks away from his partner's eyes. "I dunno who I'm kidding. Tried to shove it deep down, but believe me Orwell, it-only-made-it-worse."

Orwell stared back, her mouth hung slightly agape. "I don't think I understand. You're a married man Vince, why would I matter?"

"You just do," Vince placed his bottle of beer next to his partner's and turned his body towards her. "You've been with me through everything… sure, haven't been the most welcoming man over this past year, and you've stuck with me. You're determined to get me home, no matter what you want." He elevated his chin against his elbow as he watched the blogger with curious blue eyes.

The brunette began to smirk once more, taking her beer and downing a bit of its contents. "You're really drunk Vince."

"Yeah, so?" the vigilante took an arm and wrapped it around his partner's shoulders. "I'm with my pretty buddy, being drunk is okay," he ended his sentence with an audible hiccup.

Orwell smiled back, a bit sadly. It was beginning to bother her that he was saying all of this as a drunk man. Did he really mean it? She looked over at the vigilante. The blogger knew that she shouldn't take advantage of her partner. He had no reason to be screwing around with her.

Vince watched the blogger, a silly grin on his face. He settled his head against hers and closed his eyes. He had the sudden urge to sing something… He knew his partner liked Lady Gaga, so why not… "I won't tell you that I love you, kiss or hug you, 'cause I'm bluffin' with my muffin…" he released into a hiccup, not bothering to see that his partner was staring back at him wide-eyed.

What the hell? Was he singing Lady Gaga?

"I'm not lying I'm jus' stunnin' with my love glue gunnin'!" Vince slurred into his partner's shoulder.

"Vince? What the hell are you doing?" Orwell asked in irritation.

The drunken vigilante lifted his head up to look up at the brunette in confusion. "What? I thought you liked Lady Gaga songs?"

"I do," the blogger paused, passing her partner a strange look. "But you singing Poker Face is really disturbing." He did not need anything else to drink.

Vince drooped his head. "Sorry, Orwell," he began sheepishly.

The brunette blogger let out a sigh and picked up his beer from the table. "I think you've had enough of this."

"Please, Orwell, it's-only-a-little-bit-more," the Cape whined.

Orwell narrowed her eyes over at the vigilante. "Vince, look at you, you're lounging around in your boxers and you've had like, what? Two beers? I seriously think you've had your limit for the night."

Vince watched as his partner got up from the couch, taking his almost empty bottle of beer with her. "Orwell, do you know why I-was sulking earlier?"

The brunette walked to the kitchen and poured the beer down the drain. As she made her way back to the vigilante, she finally answered him with a crossed-arm stance. "I remember, today's your birthday."

The Cape let out a chuckle. "No one cares about a dead man's birthday." He covered his face and drug a hand across it.

Orwell let out a sigh and smiled sadly. "Vince, you know I care."

Vince lifted his head up from his hand. "At least someone cares," he offered her a tiny grin.

The blogger bobbed her head and took her seat next to the vigilante, kissing the side of his head. "Of course I do."

The Cape smiled at his partner and tightly pulled her into his arms. He really did care for his partner, drunk or sober, it was something else in itself. Vince stared at Orwell without saying a word. She made his head spin… and oddly enough, he wanted to sing again. What was that song…? You're the inspiration, or something like that? Not that he would ever admit that he knew that whole song…

Orwell gave the vigilante an unsure look as he closed his eyes and rested his head against hers. "Vince… what are you planning?"

"Orwell… you're the meaning in my lifee… you're the inspiration!" Vince began in a horribly off-key voice. "You bring feeling to my life, 'cause Orwell you're the inspiration!"

The brunette scrunched her face up as she broke away from her partner. "Vince, please. You're getting ridiculous." She walked over to her computer and pulled up her blogs. She was getting rather irritated. He had to make this difficult, didn't he? That was one of her favorite love songs of all time.

"You don't like serenades?" the vigilante asked in confusion, staring at her from his spot on the couch.

"I would love it if you meant it.." the blogger said under her breath.

Vince picked himself up from the couch and padded over to his partner. As he stood over her, she met with his eyes, trying to keep her emotions to herself. "I think someone needs to be sung to."

Orwell grinned lightly. "You're funny."

The vigilante ducked down to scoop the brunette up in his arms. He gently placed a kiss on her cheek before he went on with more of his ballad. "Wanna have you near me…I wanna have you hear me sayin'," he paused to grin back at the blogger. "No one needs you more than I need you.."

The brunette blogger patted her partner on the chest with a tiny smile. "I'm glad you seem to feel that way, Vince."

The Cape frowned; he was confused, aren't serenades supposed to win a girl's heart? "I did something wrong, didn't I?" he asked as he looked down at the brunette in his arms.

Orwell just sighed. "Vince, it's just that, I don't think I can take you seriously right now."

He tried to smile down at her without looking drunk, to no avail of course. "You can trust me, Orwell. I love my pretty partner."

"I think you need some coffee," the blogger looked up at her partner with a little smirk. If she sat down and really thought about it, she would probably break down. Orwell had no proof that Vince really felt that way. Alcohol made the most normal person act like an idiot.

The vigilante carried the brunette back over to the couch and sat down with a solid plop. "I think I need my partner," he began as he placed his chin on her shoulder.

"I am not taking advantage of you Vince," Orwell said with a frown.

"How are you taking advantage of me, when I-want-this-too?" Vince asked, his forehead crinkling in concern.

"Because I don't know whether this is real or not, okay? And…" the blogger looked down at her lap. "Until tomorrow, I really won't know for sure."

The vigilante just stared back at her with hopeful eyes. Not a word came from his mouth, which seemed to bother the brunette to no end.

Vince really wasn't helping Orwell at all. His eyes were even adorable when he was drunk! She really wanted to believe that he did mean this; perhaps maybe it wasn't the beer talking. Maybe he had been hiding feelings for her all this time, and it came out while he was drunk… The blogger watched her partner warily. Did he mean it? Her eyes trailed down to the rest of her beer that was on the table before her and contemplated drinking it. Should she? If she lost her good judgment, there was no denying where this would lead to. Problems would arise, and she would feel guilty. Was being with the man she loved, even if just for a night, wrong?

The Cape saw the perplexed look on the brunette's face and frowned. Maybe there was something he could do to make it better. Drunk Vince, or not, he still was his caring self. Was there something he could do to prove to her that he meant everything that he said? Probably not, he quickly thought. Though, as their eyes met, he had an automatic instinct to kiss her. Vince knew then and there, that it wasn't his drunken self talking; he had the same impulse kick in any time he saw Orwell look sad. The vigilante brought up a hand to move several waves of brown hair out of her face, startling the brunette slightly.

"What are you doing?" the blogger asked lightly. Orwell took in his expression and smiled ever so gently. That was her Vince in there, no matter how much alcohol was coursing through his veins.

He just moved his head forward to catch the brunette's lips in his. Orwell tasted the alcohol on his mouth, but she could care less. She didn't have to be drunk to fall intoxicated over this kiss; never in her life had she indulged in one so passionate. She almost couldn't believe it. The blogger was kissing Vince, allowing him to trace his hands all over her body.

Completely out of breath, Orwell separated their lips as she began to breath heavily against his chest. "Vince, I don't know if I can do this. Are you sure you're alright with this?"

"Are you?" Vince asked with intense blue eyes blinking back at his partner. Seeing that she wasn't going to respond, he pulled back into the kiss, which only led into all night love making session.

As all of it came back to the blogger, she felt her face flush even brighter. All night? God, what was she thinking? Orwell looked over at her partner who was sleeping peacefully. She remembered about halfway through the night, Vince started to come to. He slurred every now and then, but the blogger pegged that as being utterly exhausted. Orwell had been more than prepared to deal with a sulking vigilante. However, she was surprised when he didn't back away from her, and even more surprised when he started their next exploration. Like it was no big deal…

Vince woke about a minute later when his partner shifted onto her left side, still at arms' reach from the Cape.

As the blogger felt a nip at her bare shoulder, she smiled sadly. "Morning," the brunette called back lightly.

The vigilante grinned, despite his mind blowing headache. "How are you?"

"Well, other than the slight hangover, and worried about your mental health, I suppose I'm fair," Orwell began.

Vince raised an eyebrow. "Worried about my mental health?"

The brunette turned around in her partner's arms, propping her head up on an elbow. "Yes, Vince. We…" she broke out into a light chuckle. "Well, I'm sure you remember what we did last night. What's bothering me is that you don't seem to regret it."

"I won't regret it, Orwell." The vigilante knew he would have to choose between his wife and partner. He knew that his feelings for Orwell were steadily growing; maybe with a little more time, he'd be able to tell if she was really the one.

The brunette stared back at the Cape. She knew that deep down, she did believe him. Though, there was this negative part of her being that constantly told her that Vince would never love her. No matter what.

-0-

It didn't take long at all for the two to realize what they wanted. This was a backwards way for most relationships, but it got the point across, so they weren't one to judge.

Vince and Orwell took their relationship slow up until that point. They refrained from any kind of romance, running into various degrees of difficulty no less. Their relationship remained totally platonic, and eventually, they fell in love all over again.

Eventually, they would have another night like before, only with sober minds; eventually, they would be able to settle things straight, and they would finally be together.

Hope you all enjoyed this!