"Just one more," Jean reassured Lucien as she snagged another glass of wine from a passing tray. They had been forced to endure the New Year's Eve party that Susan Tyneman had thrown this year, and it was getting more difficult to get through it by the second.

Susan was alternating between snapping at people and sobbing on their necks. And half the Ballarat society ladies seemed to be whispering behind their hands about everything they saw, including Lucien's constant PDAs with Jean.

Jean had finally started sipping her wine a little faster to try to get through it all. With no whiskey being served, Lucien had stuck to water all night. He had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to need to carry his lovely wife inside after her fifth glass of wine, and was glad that he had abstained for a change.

He frowned as she took another glass from the tray, "Jeannie, love," he began, worriedly, "You may want to switch to water at some point."

Jean responded by getting mildly belligerent, "It's partly YOUR FAULT that I'm drinking this you know," she informed him self-righteously, swaying slightly on her feet. "If you hadn't insisted on kissing me at the bottom of the stairs, those old BIDDIES wouldn't have had anything to whisper about, Susan wouldn't have started sobbing on my neck RUINING my best blouse, and I wouldn't need this glass," she finished, tipping the last of the wine into her mouth, while her eyes rolled back in her head.

Lucien hid his grin behind a fake cough, "Yes. And I am sorry about that. Kissing my wife; what was I thinking?"

Jean nodded seriously at him, then blinked hard, Were there two of him?

Lucien could tell she was fading fast and slipped an arm about her waist, "Right, what do you say we get you home, hhmm?"

"Lucien!" Jean was aghast, "It's not midnight yet! We can't leave until midnight!" She stumbled as she spoke, bumping up against him.

Lucien was trying to think of something to say to convince her that they really ought to leave then, when the people around them began to count down the last minutes of the year, "10! 9! 8! ..."

At last, cheers of "Happy New Year!" rang out around them, with Jean planting a rather sloppy kiss on his face with a grin. He returned her smile, valiantly restraining from pointing out that this time, it was her doing the PDA, and left for a moment to go and grab their coats.

When he returned, however, he found Jean downing the last of a glass of champagne that had been passed around in his absence.

"No hope for it now, Jeannie," he told her, helping her on with her coat, "You're going to have a wicked head come morning. Let's get you home and get some water into you, see if we can't mitigate the damage." Lucien spoke from years of experience in managing hangovers the next morning; hydration was the key to survival.

Jean merely nodded, her gaze unfocused as he steered her through the rest of the party and out to the car. She was passed out cold in seconds, and he found that he did indeed need to carry her into the house when they arrived.

Knowing full well what awaited her at this point, he slipped into the kitchen after settling her in bed, and returned with a full glass of cold water, a bucket, and a cold compress for her head. She moaned loudly as he placed the cloth on her forehead, and he hid a smirk behind his hand. How many times had she helped him to bed after he'd had too many? Well, perhaps next time she'd have a little more compassion for him the next day after she experienced what had to be the hangover of the century.

"Sleep, love," he whispered, bending down to press a kiss to her temple. "There's water beside you, and I placed a bucket beside the bed in case you need it." She merely groaned in response and rolled over.

The next morning, Lucien was up before her for a change, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and ready to start his day. Knowing that Jean was going to be in no shape to make breakfast herself this morning, he decided to see what he could do. It had been years since he'd cooked anything, but he was sure he could manage a few fried eggs and some toast – perfect hangover food, he thought to himself getting out the pan and lighting the stove.

He had breakfast nearly ready when he heard loud moans followed by retching from the bedroom. Concerned, he hurried in, arriving in time to hold Jean's hair back from her face and rub her back sympathetically.

"Why," Jean moaned as she lay back against the pillows again, "Did you let me drink so much last night?"

Lucien's eyebrows shot up, "Let you? Darling, if you recall correctly, I did try to stop you!" Her eyes narrowed, and he quickly changed the subject, "I've got eggs and toast ready in the kitchen."

Jean closed her eyes and swallowed hard, "No food," she insisted.

Lucien chuckled, "Darling, you have to eat. I promise, you'll feel better once you do. Believe me; I have a lot of experience in this area. And mind you drink that water I set next to you; you're dehydrated, that's why you feel so awful. I'll bring you a couple of Bex, and how does breakfast in bed sound, eh?"

Jean smiled weakly at him, reaching for the water, and he quickly left to fetch her a tray.

Lucien's experience with managing hangovers came in handy over the rest of the morning, and by following his advice, Jean was able to brave the kitchen for lunch.

"Honestly, Lucien, I don't see how you can do this on a regular basis," she told him, sitting down shakily in a chair.

He laughed, "Well, I've had a bit more practice at drinking myself under the table than you have, love. And, I also know the importance of hydrating to keep from experiencing the worst of a hangover the next day. Water, water, and more water! And a few Bex don't hurt either," he smiled at her.

"I'll have to remember that," Jean murmured, smiling back at him. He bent down to kiss her, and she kissed him back, grateful for his presence and care this morning after such a wretched night.