Written from a prompt over on tumblr. Lots of drunkenness be contained here so...if that's not your thing, be warned. Hope you enjoy!
John Smith was expecting to have a quiet, uneventful evening. After the hellish week he'd had he felt he damn well deserved a night that didn't involve incompetent so-called professionals making messes that he had to clean up. No, tonight was just going to be him and some takeaway and a book he'd been planning to read for a few months now.
It was close to 1:30 in the morning and John was starting to look for a good place to stop reading so he could get some sleep when his phone started vibrating on the coffee table where he'd thrown it earlier.
No one who had his number would be calling at this time of night.
He put his book down, giving his mobile a strange look as he sat up and grabbed it. John did not recognize the number on the screen but cautiously accepted the call anyways.
"Hello?" he answered gruffly.
"Jack, I'm way too drunk for you to be doing voices. I need you to come get me if you're not busy." The voice that came down the line was young and female and definitely slurred.
"I think you have the wrong number," John said kindly. "I'm not Jack."
"Oh. I'm sorry, was just tryin' to call my friend. Everyone just left me here and I don't even know where hereis. Pretty sure I'm still in London. It was supposed to be a night out to make me feel better but now, god, I'm just too drunk to even work a phone properly and my mobile's about to die and I have no idea how to get home from wherever the hell I am." The girl was rambling like only the really drunk can do and it sounded like she was close to tears on top of that.
So much for a quiet night in.
"If you can figure out where you are, I can give you a lift," John offered.
"Really? You don't even know me and you'd do that?"
"Well I'm not gonna leave you to wander around London at this time of night with a dead mobile," he retorted. He wondered what kind of friends she'd been out with that had left her in that situation.
"Okay," she said. "Let me see if I can find some street signs so I can tell you where I am."
A few moments later she rattled off the intersection she was at. John recognized that crossroads as being about ten minutes from his flat.
"Okay, find somewhere out of the way to wait and I'll be there in ten. I'll be in a blue car and my name's John. Don't go with anyone else."
"I'm not an idiot, you know. I might be drunk and blonde, but I'm not an idiot."
"Never said you were. What's your name, by the way? Just so I don't try to pick up the wrong drunk blonde at that corner."
She let out a weak chuckle, "Rose. My name's Rose."
"Alright, Rose, I'll be there in ten. I'm walking out the door of my flat now." John grabbed his leather jacket from the hook by the door, shoved his feet in his boots and started walking to his car.
"Rose, are you still there?"
"Yeah, still here. Not going anywhere until there's a blue car with someone named John who has a northern accent shows up," she answered petulantly.
John felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. She was a feisty one, this Rose. "Good, I want you to stay on the line until your mobile dies."
"It's not going to last another ten minutes. 'M surprised it's lasted this long. Didn't think I was going to be able to get a call out to Ja-"
John cursed as the line went dead just as he got into his car.
He ignored multiple traffic regulations as he tried to get to the corner where Rose was as fast as he could. He knew all too well the dangers that lurked in London's shadows.
When he finally reached his destination, he screeched to a stop and started looking around, searching for the unknown blonde.
There.
Huddled in a doorway, using it as support there was a blonde in a dress that was entirely too short for this cold March and heels that looked impossible to stand in, much less walk.
John put his car in park and hopped out, making his way over to her.
He stopped about six feet from her, taking in her suspicious gaze. "Rose? It's me, John."
She nodded and tried to take a step forward but she stumbled. John barely caught her before she hit the pavement.
"'M sorry," she mumbled. "Not usually like this."
She looked up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time. John was first struck by their color, eyes the same color as the whiskey he had in the cabinet at home, and then by the fact that there were dried tear tracks on her face. His hands flexed spasmodically on her upper arms where he'd caught her.
"C'mon, let's get you home. Things will look better in the morning."
She let him steer her towards his car and bundle her inside before slipping in himself.
"Where to, Rose?" He asked, turning the key to start the car.
"Umm, shit, I just moved. The address is ummm," she looked over at him panicked. "I can't remember my address."
"You can crash at my place, there's plenty of room," he said after a moments pause. Better his place where he knew she was safe than her potentially remembering the wrong address somewhere.
"Thank you," she murmured as he started driving. "Most people would've just hung up on me."
"I'm not most people," he answered with a quick smile at her.
The remainder of the drive passed in silence. When they made it back to his building, he helped her out of the car and let her lean on him all the way up to his flat.
As soon as they were inside, John let go of her to lock the door behind them and shrugged off his jacket to hang it up. When he turned back around, he was blindsided by the blonde he'd brought home.
She had been waiting for him to turn and as soon as he did, her arms were around his neck and she was pressing her lips to his.
He froze and then immediately started extricating himself as gently as possible. John put his hands on her shoulders as he took a step back from her. "Rose, this isn't why I brought you back here. I'm not expecting anything. Just want to make sure you're safe tonight."
It wasn't that he didn't find her attractive. On the contrary, she was molten hot in her little black dress with those big brown eyes and tempting mouth. But she was drunk and there was no way in hell he was going to consider any decision she made at this point an informed one.
To his surprise tears started to fill her eyes. She looked away, not able to meet his gaze any more. "I know but you're so nice and bloody gorgeous-" she sent him a glare through her tears when he snorted at that. "You are. And I just want to stop feeling for a little bit. This whole year has been shit and I'm so tired of it and obviously the alcohol route didn't work…"
John stared at her as she trailed off, sniffing as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Sex with a stranger isn't going to help. Believe me, I've been down that road and I promise it doesn't help."
"What does help?"
"Time, work, friends. It works differently for everyone, I think."
"Then how do you know sex isn't going to help me?" She asked, stubborn to the core.
"Rose, you're extremely drunk. I'm not going to take advantage of you. How old are you anyways?"
She bristled at the question. "I'll be 21 next month.'
He sighed. "I'm almost twice your age. That's enough reason, right there."
"Is not," she countered, starting to sway on her feet.
John noticed. "Come on, let's get you to bed before you fall over."
She leered at him.
"Not like that, I will not be joining you," he said, tone brooking no argument.
With only a few token protests on her part, he convinced her to change into a t-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts without his help, poured a glass of water accompanied by a couple paracetamol down her throat and tucked her into his bed.
She was practically asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. John brushed her hair back from her face, took a deep breath and walked out of the room to make up the couch as his bed for the night.
His thoughts drifted back to the blonde asleep in his bed. There was no telling what Rose would remember and how she would react to whatever she did.
The morning was going to be extremely interesting.