Part One: New Friends
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Shaelin sighed, dippiing her finger into the thick foam that formed at the top of her pint of Guinness. She watched as her younger sister flirted with the bartender, receiving free drinks for her trouble. She was laughing, tossing her orange-red hair over her shoulder, her bright green eyes glittering as she laughed. Flawless pale skin, perfect body, all revealed by her tight green tank dress and sling back heels to match.
Shaelin glanced down at herself. Knee length black skirt, boring black tank top, boots that came halfway to her knees showing off her sturdy calves, and she knew she looked bookish with her burgundy framed glasses and her hair pulled into a poneytail. No wonder she sat at a table alone, while the rest of the bar was packed, and her sister was surrounded with gorgeous men.
Perhaps the withering glares she gave any man who approached her had something to do with it, as well.
Shaelin sighed, licking the foam from her finger, savouring the strong yeasty taste.
"Can I sit here?" he was holding a Corona and a shot of tequila. No lemon, no salt. Straight up.
Shaelin gaee him her patented glare, even though he was really cute. And really tall.
He gestured around the bar, indicated full stools and full tables. "There's no where else to sit, and I really don't think I can stand for much longer."
She sighed, rolling her eyes and pointed to the seat across from her. "Go ahead."
He laughed at her tone. Bored and impatient. He offered a hand, revealing the sleeves he wore up his arms, with a spot for his thumb to go through. "I'm Jeff."
It was then that she noticed the soft southern accent, as well as the black chipped polish on his nails. She laughed, taking his hand.
"My name's Shaelin." she offered. "Shae, if you want."
Jeff grinned, rubbing his hand self consciously. "Never seen a man wear nail polish?"
She shook her head, grinning. "I have-just never saw one so-um-big, wearing it."
He cocked his head to one side, the little bit of light sliding under the purple baseball cap.
He was definitely cute, Shaelin decided, but not really my type. She could see strands of blue sticking out from under the cap, a chunky silver necklace with a deformed looking "H" hung around his throat, and his clothing bordered between skater, punk and goth. Baggy dark blue carpenter jeans, a fitted black fishnet tank top, and black sleeves.
"What?" he asked in his southern drawl.
"Where are you from?" she asked abruptly, blushing from being caught staring. She hoped he couldn't see the blush in the dim light of the bar.
"North Carolina," he smiled softly. "Why?"
"Just your accent made me wonder," She shrugged self consciously. "It was too soft to be deep south, but southern none the less."
Jeff chuckled, a soft, deep sound. Then a silence followed. But it wasn't necessarily an uncomfortable one. He watched the people in the bar, as Shaelin poked her finger into her glass. She looked up when she felt him watching her, her finger halfway to her mouth.
"What?" she asked, her dark blue eyes peering over the rims of her glasses.
"What are you doing?" he asked, wrinkling his nose and nodding to her glass.
"I'm enjoying my pint," she replied haughtily. She sighed in exasperation at his confused look. "Guinness." She shrugged. "I like the foam the best."
He laughed, then winced in pain. His fight with his brother had left him feeling pain he hadn't felt in a long time. His ribs ached, his knee hurt especially bad, since that was wear Matt decided to take him out. He shook his head. 'Just drink, just ignore the pain.' But he wasn't sure if it was the physical or mental pain that he wanted to numb the most.
Lita's hand coming down for the three count, the crowd screaming in appreciation as he was announced the winner over his brother. The better of the two Hardys. He felt the tears start again, and blinked them back. But the brunette across the table had sharp eyes.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
Shaelin had seen him clutch his ribs, his eyes tearing in pain.
"Just a match with my brother," he laughed lightly, but ended up weezing instead. "It left me a little hurt."
"A match?" her eyes searched his face. Slightly turned up nose, hazel eyes, a bit of fuzz on his face resembled a beard. Really high cheekbones. If he cleaned up, he could likely model, or act.
"I'm a wrestler," he looked at Shaelin, expecting some kind of recognition. "The WWF?"
She laughed. "The only WWF I know of, is the World Wildlife Foundation."
"The World Wrestling Federation," he explained, his turn to sigh in exasperation. "I'm half of the Hardy Boyz-or at least I was."
"Was?" She watched as he finally downed the tequila, wincing at the taste, signalling the waitress for more. He chased the shot with his Corona.
Jeff shook his head. "Sibling rivalry at it's best," he said wryly, picking up the fresh shot from the waitress and downing it, taking another swig of Corona.
Shaelin wrinkled her nose at his drinking. She was never one for hard liquor herself. "I know what you mean." She glanced subconsciously at her sister at the bar.
"Friend of yours?" he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The pain was starting to recede with the help of the alcohol.
"My sister-Noelle," Shealin laughed. "She gets the looks, the men, the career-" her voice trailed off. "What happened with your brother?"
'Nice subject change,' Jeff thought. He wanted to hear more about Noelle, and he wanted to know why Shaelin looked so sad when she looked at her sister. But he dropped it. No sense in prying into a stranger's private matters.
"I screwed up, like always," he sighed, picking up a third shot and downing it. He was feeling the alcohol, and it felt good to only feel that. Well, that and some bitterness. "I made a bad decision in a match against another tag team. It pretty much ended the Hardy Boyz, put Matt's girlfriend between us."
"I'm sure it wasn't your fault entirely," Shaelin put a hand on his arm. As much to comfort him as to stop him from taking another shot.
"It was-it always is," he saw her going to say something, but he put a finger to her lips. "And don't say that isn't true, or that it's the alcohol talking. It's true."
She closed her mouth, looking into his eyes. They were clouded with his drunken state. But he was determined to say his piece, so she kept quiet.
"I was selfish. I could have gone over the cage-I was right there!" He pounded his hand on the table, causing a few patrons to jump and stare. Shaelin glared at them, and they looked away. "but I wanted the glory of putting D-Von Dudley through the table. So I jumped. And I swantoned right theough the table myself-leaving me and Matt without the tag team championships." He sighed, taking his hat off, running a hand through his hair. "So Matt and I got into a fight, we dragged Lita into the middle of it all, and we decided to have a match, to prove who is the better wrestler."
He paused for so long, just staring at his bottle of corona, that Shaelin wasn't sure if he was going to continue. His hair was indeed blue, shoulder length and shaved underneath, with patterns zig zagging across his head. Then he looked up at her, such sadness in his eyes, she could feel her heart break.
"I won." He said finally.
"Why are you upset?" Shaelin didn't understand. "Isn't winning a good thing?"
"Matt's foot was on the rope, meaning no three count for me." he shook his head, shutting his eyes against the memory. "I let my competitiveness win out, I grabbed his leg before Lita saw it. I got the pin by cheating."
"Can't you do the match over?" Shaelin wasn't sure what any of the wrestling terms meant, but she got the gist of his explanation.
Jeff shook his head. "I wish. Matt took off. He blamed Lita more than anything."
"But she didn't see his leg?"
He shook his head again, opening his eyes and looking her straight in the eyes. "I swear, she didn't. But Matt thinks we plotted against him, to make him lose. Lita loves him more than anything-" Jeff's voice caught as tears threatened again. He couldn't bear the thought of Matt and Lita breaking up. She was like a sister to him, the perfect match for Matt. And he screwed it all up. He took another shot of tequila.
"Maybe you should lay off-" But he cut Shaelin off.
"What are you? My mother?" he snapped, then caught himself as she gave him a stricken look. "I'm sorry-there was no excuse for that. I was rude."
Shaelin did a double take. He was apologizing? That was something new for a man. She had never met a man who did that. "No need to apologize," she told him. "I shouldn't monitor your drinking, you're a grown man." She laughed, trying to lighten the mood. "Besides, I hardly know you."
He looked at her somberly, swaying a little from the alcohol in his system. "We should change that," Jeff shook his head, knowing he sounded like an ass. "I'm sorry-that wasn't meant to be a pick up line-"
Shaelin laughed. "I know what you meant. And if you apologize any more, I may die from shock." She laughed. The music switched from crappy dance music to Cold's Just Got Wicked. She stood, offering her hand to Jeff. "Know what will make you feel better? Dancing."
"I don't know if I can stand-" but she already had him on his feet and was dragging him to the nearly empty dance floor. But Shaelin didn't look like she cared. She started dancing, her movements similar to Lita's on the dance floor, only more graceful. Jeff tried to keep up with her, but knew the liquor he downed made his movements slow and clumsy.
Shaelin was taking his dancing in stride. He looked like an uncoordinated bull, but he was at least smiling. So they danced through Wicked, which turned into Limp Bizkit's My Generation, and through the night until the lights came up over the bar.
Jeff was sweaty, and felt like he would vomit if he moved anymore. He couldn't even remember how many drinks he'd downed, or what the name of the bar was, or even where he was staying at this city-what city was that? They travelled to so many, it was easy to lose track.
"We should get you home-or to your hotel room, anyways," Shaelin told him, helping Jeff out the door of the bar and onto the street. "Which hotel are you at?"
"I don't remember." He mumbled drunkenly. He looked ready to either throw up, or pass out.
And throw up it was, narrowly missing Shaelin's boots.
"Okay then, so what should I do with you?" she murmured to herself, practically dragging Jeff down the street. "I guess I could take you to Noelle's apartment. We'll get you to your hotel in the morning."
But Jeff wasn't listening. He was almost passed out. Shaelin stopped and hailed a cab, dumping Jeff in the back seat for the ride. Amazingly, he didn't puke.
She hauled him up to Noelle's apartment, glad she had a key and glad Noelle was out for the night, so the spare bedroom was free. She'd put Jeff there for the night until he was sober in the morning.
Shaelin dumped him unceremoniously onto the bed. She put her hands on her hips, looking him over, wondering if she should undress him or not. If not, he'd likely throw up all over his clothing. Which would be amusing and well deserved, but she didn't want to sit beside in the kitchen tomorrow while he wore pukey clothing.
So she pulled his socks off, unbuckled his pants and pulled those down as well. Luckily, he wore those boxer briefs, and not tighty whiteys. Then she lifted Jeff into a sitting position and pulled his shirt over his head, and pulled the sleeves down his arms. She set him back onto the bed, wearing only his underwear and socks, a little more gently than the first time. Shaelin grabbed a basin from under the kitchen sink and put it beside the bed, in case he needed to throw up through the night, and covered him with the sheets and comforter. Turning off the light, Shaelin went to bed in her sister's room.
Jeff awoke the next morning in a definitely feminine room. The walls were medium blue, stenciled with stars all over them in white and dark blue. The bed spread was blue with a yellow sun, moon and stars motif. Scanning the room, his eyes settled on a chair where his clothing lay neatly folded. He could smell bacon cooking. Then he felt the distinct urge to vomit. Luckily, someone was kind enough to leave a basin beside the bed.
He stood on wobbly legs, feeling the familiar nausea and headache that accompanied a hangover. He groaned, putting a hand to his forehead, pulling his pants from the pile on the chair, he slipped them on, not bothering to try to manipulate his shirt and sleeves.
Jeff found Shaelin in the kitchen, the radio was on a heavy rock station, and she was bouncing to the music as she cooked breakfast. She looked really cute, in a little girl way, with bangs over her forehead, a braid on either side of her head, and a baby tee with boxer shorts, and blue fluffy slippers.
"Hi!" she grinned, holding up the pan of bacon. "Breakfast?"
Jeff groaned, finding a seat at the dinette. "I don't know if I can eat."
Shaelin grinned, at least getting the satisfaction of seeing him hungover made up for carrying him home. Well, kind of. "I always find that a greasy breakfast gets rid of hangovers-besides, I'm making omelets, and I make the best omelets."
Jeff groaned again, clutching his forehead. She was way too chipper in the morning. Then his eyes widened and a sinking feeling invaded his stomach. And it wasn't linked to the hangover. At least directly.
He looked at Shaelin in horror. "I didn't-" he cut off, his face bright red. "We didn't-" He resembled a fish, the way his mouth kept opening and closing. "You didn't-"
She laughed. "No, I didn't, you didn't, and we didn't," she told him, and she noticed the relief flood across his face, then confusion. "You got really drunk and couldn't remember which hotel you were at. So, it was either leave you on the street, in the cab, or bring you here." She put a plate in front of him, along with a glass of orange juice. "You're lucky I was in a generous mood last night."
Despite himself, Jeff couldn't help but roll his eyes. Then he gave a sheepish grin. "Was I that drunk?"
"Mm hm," Shaelin poured him a cup of coffee, strong and black. Then set her own down in front of her chair. Then she returned to the stove and returned with the bacon, piling Jeff's plate with the greasy pig strips, and placing two on her own plate. Then she exchanged that pan for a pan holding the omelets. "These have cheese, onion, green pepper, red pepper, salsa and jalapenos in them. They're good for hangovers." Again, she piled Jeff's plate high with the omelets, and put a small piece on her plate.
"Don't you eat?" he asked, stuffing three pieces of bacon in his mouth.
"Don't you?" she asked, laughing.
"Did I do anything really embarassing last night?" Jeff asked, tackling the mountain of omelet on his plate.
"You danced really funny," Shaelin told him. "Sort of like Kermit the Frog mixed with a Fraggle."
Jeff moaned, glad he didn't remember that. "Did I tell you my life story?"
"Some of it," Shaelin gave him a look that made him think he sprouted a second head. "Why?"
"I've been told I do that when I'm drunk," he said. "God, I shouldn't have gone to a bar last night. Really stupid thing for me to do when I'm down."
She shrugged. She waa only picking at her bacon, tearing it into little shreds, and then eating it.
"Not hungry?" Jeff asked.
"Diet," She smiled at him, a slightly crooked, but completely charming, smile. "The theory is that the longer it takes to eat, the less you eventually do eat."
"Bull shit," he put his fork down. "You don't need to diet."
Shaelin cleared her throat. "I'm five feet six and one hundred and forty pounds." She chuckled. "Compared to my sister, I'm a cow."
"Don't compare yourself to your sister," he told her.
Shaelin felt the remark sting. If she didn't compare herself to Noelle, how could she ever get her parents to love her as much as they love their sweet Noelle?
"You should talk," she threw back at him, instantly regretting it when she saw the hurt in his eyes. "I'm sorry-that wasn't fair-"
"But it was right," Jeff told her. "I always compare myself to Matt, try to be as good as Matt at everything. Why should I give that advice to anyone?"
"Because you know from experience," Shaelin looked into his hazel eyes, seeing them soften. "And you can learn from it. We both can."
Jeff laughed. The Voice of Reason had just walked into his life. She also made great omelets.
Shaelin stood, putting her plate and the frying pans into the dishwasher. "How's your omelet?"
"Fabulous," Jeff was stuffing his face again. These were the fluffiest, most flavourful omelets he'd ever tasted. "So why do you need to lose weight?"
She growled, ruffling his blue hair on the way past. "See this ass?" she turned so it was facing him, pointing at it. "It has it's own zip code." Then she wiggled it. "I'm going to shower, then I'll run you a bath. Then, if you tell me which hotel you're in, I can take you back there."
Jeff felt better after eating and having a bath. At least his stomach was full and he was clean. But his clothes smelled of the bar, cigarette smoke, sweat and spilled Corona. He pulled his hair into a poneytail and slid his shoes on, meeting Shaelin in the living room.
"So this is your place?" he asked, looking around. It was a little flamboyant for what he figured Shaelin to be.
"It's Noelle's apartment," she told him. "I live in Toronto. I'm just visiting. Kind of--if she was ever around, that would work better."
"Listen, we have a couple weeks 'off'," Jeff helped her into her coat. "But we're all staying in town for the time being, until the next show taping. We're doing promos and stuff, but when I'm done those, we can hang." He paused. "If you want." He added quickly.
"That would be nice," Shaelin smiled, ushering him out the door. "Now what hotel were you staying in?"
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Shaelin sighed, dippiing her finger into the thick foam that formed at the top of her pint of Guinness. She watched as her younger sister flirted with the bartender, receiving free drinks for her trouble. She was laughing, tossing her orange-red hair over her shoulder, her bright green eyes glittering as she laughed. Flawless pale skin, perfect body, all revealed by her tight green tank dress and sling back heels to match.
Shaelin glanced down at herself. Knee length black skirt, boring black tank top, boots that came halfway to her knees showing off her sturdy calves, and she knew she looked bookish with her burgundy framed glasses and her hair pulled into a poneytail. No wonder she sat at a table alone, while the rest of the bar was packed, and her sister was surrounded with gorgeous men.
Perhaps the withering glares she gave any man who approached her had something to do with it, as well.
Shaelin sighed, licking the foam from her finger, savouring the strong yeasty taste.
"Can I sit here?" he was holding a Corona and a shot of tequila. No lemon, no salt. Straight up.
Shaelin gaee him her patented glare, even though he was really cute. And really tall.
He gestured around the bar, indicated full stools and full tables. "There's no where else to sit, and I really don't think I can stand for much longer."
She sighed, rolling her eyes and pointed to the seat across from her. "Go ahead."
He laughed at her tone. Bored and impatient. He offered a hand, revealing the sleeves he wore up his arms, with a spot for his thumb to go through. "I'm Jeff."
It was then that she noticed the soft southern accent, as well as the black chipped polish on his nails. She laughed, taking his hand.
"My name's Shaelin." she offered. "Shae, if you want."
Jeff grinned, rubbing his hand self consciously. "Never seen a man wear nail polish?"
She shook her head, grinning. "I have-just never saw one so-um-big, wearing it."
He cocked his head to one side, the little bit of light sliding under the purple baseball cap.
He was definitely cute, Shaelin decided, but not really my type. She could see strands of blue sticking out from under the cap, a chunky silver necklace with a deformed looking "H" hung around his throat, and his clothing bordered between skater, punk and goth. Baggy dark blue carpenter jeans, a fitted black fishnet tank top, and black sleeves.
"What?" he asked in his southern drawl.
"Where are you from?" she asked abruptly, blushing from being caught staring. She hoped he couldn't see the blush in the dim light of the bar.
"North Carolina," he smiled softly. "Why?"
"Just your accent made me wonder," She shrugged self consciously. "It was too soft to be deep south, but southern none the less."
Jeff chuckled, a soft, deep sound. Then a silence followed. But it wasn't necessarily an uncomfortable one. He watched the people in the bar, as Shaelin poked her finger into her glass. She looked up when she felt him watching her, her finger halfway to her mouth.
"What?" she asked, her dark blue eyes peering over the rims of her glasses.
"What are you doing?" he asked, wrinkling his nose and nodding to her glass.
"I'm enjoying my pint," she replied haughtily. She sighed in exasperation at his confused look. "Guinness." She shrugged. "I like the foam the best."
He laughed, then winced in pain. His fight with his brother had left him feeling pain he hadn't felt in a long time. His ribs ached, his knee hurt especially bad, since that was wear Matt decided to take him out. He shook his head. 'Just drink, just ignore the pain.' But he wasn't sure if it was the physical or mental pain that he wanted to numb the most.
Lita's hand coming down for the three count, the crowd screaming in appreciation as he was announced the winner over his brother. The better of the two Hardys. He felt the tears start again, and blinked them back. But the brunette across the table had sharp eyes.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
Shaelin had seen him clutch his ribs, his eyes tearing in pain.
"Just a match with my brother," he laughed lightly, but ended up weezing instead. "It left me a little hurt."
"A match?" her eyes searched his face. Slightly turned up nose, hazel eyes, a bit of fuzz on his face resembled a beard. Really high cheekbones. If he cleaned up, he could likely model, or act.
"I'm a wrestler," he looked at Shaelin, expecting some kind of recognition. "The WWF?"
She laughed. "The only WWF I know of, is the World Wildlife Foundation."
"The World Wrestling Federation," he explained, his turn to sigh in exasperation. "I'm half of the Hardy Boyz-or at least I was."
"Was?" She watched as he finally downed the tequila, wincing at the taste, signalling the waitress for more. He chased the shot with his Corona.
Jeff shook his head. "Sibling rivalry at it's best," he said wryly, picking up the fresh shot from the waitress and downing it, taking another swig of Corona.
Shaelin wrinkled her nose at his drinking. She was never one for hard liquor herself. "I know what you mean." She glanced subconsciously at her sister at the bar.
"Friend of yours?" he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The pain was starting to recede with the help of the alcohol.
"My sister-Noelle," Shealin laughed. "She gets the looks, the men, the career-" her voice trailed off. "What happened with your brother?"
'Nice subject change,' Jeff thought. He wanted to hear more about Noelle, and he wanted to know why Shaelin looked so sad when she looked at her sister. But he dropped it. No sense in prying into a stranger's private matters.
"I screwed up, like always," he sighed, picking up a third shot and downing it. He was feeling the alcohol, and it felt good to only feel that. Well, that and some bitterness. "I made a bad decision in a match against another tag team. It pretty much ended the Hardy Boyz, put Matt's girlfriend between us."
"I'm sure it wasn't your fault entirely," Shaelin put a hand on his arm. As much to comfort him as to stop him from taking another shot.
"It was-it always is," he saw her going to say something, but he put a finger to her lips. "And don't say that isn't true, or that it's the alcohol talking. It's true."
She closed her mouth, looking into his eyes. They were clouded with his drunken state. But he was determined to say his piece, so she kept quiet.
"I was selfish. I could have gone over the cage-I was right there!" He pounded his hand on the table, causing a few patrons to jump and stare. Shaelin glared at them, and they looked away. "but I wanted the glory of putting D-Von Dudley through the table. So I jumped. And I swantoned right theough the table myself-leaving me and Matt without the tag team championships." He sighed, taking his hat off, running a hand through his hair. "So Matt and I got into a fight, we dragged Lita into the middle of it all, and we decided to have a match, to prove who is the better wrestler."
He paused for so long, just staring at his bottle of corona, that Shaelin wasn't sure if he was going to continue. His hair was indeed blue, shoulder length and shaved underneath, with patterns zig zagging across his head. Then he looked up at her, such sadness in his eyes, she could feel her heart break.
"I won." He said finally.
"Why are you upset?" Shaelin didn't understand. "Isn't winning a good thing?"
"Matt's foot was on the rope, meaning no three count for me." he shook his head, shutting his eyes against the memory. "I let my competitiveness win out, I grabbed his leg before Lita saw it. I got the pin by cheating."
"Can't you do the match over?" Shaelin wasn't sure what any of the wrestling terms meant, but she got the gist of his explanation.
Jeff shook his head. "I wish. Matt took off. He blamed Lita more than anything."
"But she didn't see his leg?"
He shook his head again, opening his eyes and looking her straight in the eyes. "I swear, she didn't. But Matt thinks we plotted against him, to make him lose. Lita loves him more than anything-" Jeff's voice caught as tears threatened again. He couldn't bear the thought of Matt and Lita breaking up. She was like a sister to him, the perfect match for Matt. And he screwed it all up. He took another shot of tequila.
"Maybe you should lay off-" But he cut Shaelin off.
"What are you? My mother?" he snapped, then caught himself as she gave him a stricken look. "I'm sorry-there was no excuse for that. I was rude."
Shaelin did a double take. He was apologizing? That was something new for a man. She had never met a man who did that. "No need to apologize," she told him. "I shouldn't monitor your drinking, you're a grown man." She laughed, trying to lighten the mood. "Besides, I hardly know you."
He looked at her somberly, swaying a little from the alcohol in his system. "We should change that," Jeff shook his head, knowing he sounded like an ass. "I'm sorry-that wasn't meant to be a pick up line-"
Shaelin laughed. "I know what you meant. And if you apologize any more, I may die from shock." She laughed. The music switched from crappy dance music to Cold's Just Got Wicked. She stood, offering her hand to Jeff. "Know what will make you feel better? Dancing."
"I don't know if I can stand-" but she already had him on his feet and was dragging him to the nearly empty dance floor. But Shaelin didn't look like she cared. She started dancing, her movements similar to Lita's on the dance floor, only more graceful. Jeff tried to keep up with her, but knew the liquor he downed made his movements slow and clumsy.
Shaelin was taking his dancing in stride. He looked like an uncoordinated bull, but he was at least smiling. So they danced through Wicked, which turned into Limp Bizkit's My Generation, and through the night until the lights came up over the bar.
Jeff was sweaty, and felt like he would vomit if he moved anymore. He couldn't even remember how many drinks he'd downed, or what the name of the bar was, or even where he was staying at this city-what city was that? They travelled to so many, it was easy to lose track.
"We should get you home-or to your hotel room, anyways," Shaelin told him, helping Jeff out the door of the bar and onto the street. "Which hotel are you at?"
"I don't remember." He mumbled drunkenly. He looked ready to either throw up, or pass out.
And throw up it was, narrowly missing Shaelin's boots.
"Okay then, so what should I do with you?" she murmured to herself, practically dragging Jeff down the street. "I guess I could take you to Noelle's apartment. We'll get you to your hotel in the morning."
But Jeff wasn't listening. He was almost passed out. Shaelin stopped and hailed a cab, dumping Jeff in the back seat for the ride. Amazingly, he didn't puke.
She hauled him up to Noelle's apartment, glad she had a key and glad Noelle was out for the night, so the spare bedroom was free. She'd put Jeff there for the night until he was sober in the morning.
Shaelin dumped him unceremoniously onto the bed. She put her hands on her hips, looking him over, wondering if she should undress him or not. If not, he'd likely throw up all over his clothing. Which would be amusing and well deserved, but she didn't want to sit beside in the kitchen tomorrow while he wore pukey clothing.
So she pulled his socks off, unbuckled his pants and pulled those down as well. Luckily, he wore those boxer briefs, and not tighty whiteys. Then she lifted Jeff into a sitting position and pulled his shirt over his head, and pulled the sleeves down his arms. She set him back onto the bed, wearing only his underwear and socks, a little more gently than the first time. Shaelin grabbed a basin from under the kitchen sink and put it beside the bed, in case he needed to throw up through the night, and covered him with the sheets and comforter. Turning off the light, Shaelin went to bed in her sister's room.
Jeff awoke the next morning in a definitely feminine room. The walls were medium blue, stenciled with stars all over them in white and dark blue. The bed spread was blue with a yellow sun, moon and stars motif. Scanning the room, his eyes settled on a chair where his clothing lay neatly folded. He could smell bacon cooking. Then he felt the distinct urge to vomit. Luckily, someone was kind enough to leave a basin beside the bed.
He stood on wobbly legs, feeling the familiar nausea and headache that accompanied a hangover. He groaned, putting a hand to his forehead, pulling his pants from the pile on the chair, he slipped them on, not bothering to try to manipulate his shirt and sleeves.
Jeff found Shaelin in the kitchen, the radio was on a heavy rock station, and she was bouncing to the music as she cooked breakfast. She looked really cute, in a little girl way, with bangs over her forehead, a braid on either side of her head, and a baby tee with boxer shorts, and blue fluffy slippers.
"Hi!" she grinned, holding up the pan of bacon. "Breakfast?"
Jeff groaned, finding a seat at the dinette. "I don't know if I can eat."
Shaelin grinned, at least getting the satisfaction of seeing him hungover made up for carrying him home. Well, kind of. "I always find that a greasy breakfast gets rid of hangovers-besides, I'm making omelets, and I make the best omelets."
Jeff groaned again, clutching his forehead. She was way too chipper in the morning. Then his eyes widened and a sinking feeling invaded his stomach. And it wasn't linked to the hangover. At least directly.
He looked at Shaelin in horror. "I didn't-" he cut off, his face bright red. "We didn't-" He resembled a fish, the way his mouth kept opening and closing. "You didn't-"
She laughed. "No, I didn't, you didn't, and we didn't," she told him, and she noticed the relief flood across his face, then confusion. "You got really drunk and couldn't remember which hotel you were at. So, it was either leave you on the street, in the cab, or bring you here." She put a plate in front of him, along with a glass of orange juice. "You're lucky I was in a generous mood last night."
Despite himself, Jeff couldn't help but roll his eyes. Then he gave a sheepish grin. "Was I that drunk?"
"Mm hm," Shaelin poured him a cup of coffee, strong and black. Then set her own down in front of her chair. Then she returned to the stove and returned with the bacon, piling Jeff's plate with the greasy pig strips, and placing two on her own plate. Then she exchanged that pan for a pan holding the omelets. "These have cheese, onion, green pepper, red pepper, salsa and jalapenos in them. They're good for hangovers." Again, she piled Jeff's plate high with the omelets, and put a small piece on her plate.
"Don't you eat?" he asked, stuffing three pieces of bacon in his mouth.
"Don't you?" she asked, laughing.
"Did I do anything really embarassing last night?" Jeff asked, tackling the mountain of omelet on his plate.
"You danced really funny," Shaelin told him. "Sort of like Kermit the Frog mixed with a Fraggle."
Jeff moaned, glad he didn't remember that. "Did I tell you my life story?"
"Some of it," Shaelin gave him a look that made him think he sprouted a second head. "Why?"
"I've been told I do that when I'm drunk," he said. "God, I shouldn't have gone to a bar last night. Really stupid thing for me to do when I'm down."
She shrugged. She waa only picking at her bacon, tearing it into little shreds, and then eating it.
"Not hungry?" Jeff asked.
"Diet," She smiled at him, a slightly crooked, but completely charming, smile. "The theory is that the longer it takes to eat, the less you eventually do eat."
"Bull shit," he put his fork down. "You don't need to diet."
Shaelin cleared her throat. "I'm five feet six and one hundred and forty pounds." She chuckled. "Compared to my sister, I'm a cow."
"Don't compare yourself to your sister," he told her.
Shaelin felt the remark sting. If she didn't compare herself to Noelle, how could she ever get her parents to love her as much as they love their sweet Noelle?
"You should talk," she threw back at him, instantly regretting it when she saw the hurt in his eyes. "I'm sorry-that wasn't fair-"
"But it was right," Jeff told her. "I always compare myself to Matt, try to be as good as Matt at everything. Why should I give that advice to anyone?"
"Because you know from experience," Shaelin looked into his hazel eyes, seeing them soften. "And you can learn from it. We both can."
Jeff laughed. The Voice of Reason had just walked into his life. She also made great omelets.
Shaelin stood, putting her plate and the frying pans into the dishwasher. "How's your omelet?"
"Fabulous," Jeff was stuffing his face again. These were the fluffiest, most flavourful omelets he'd ever tasted. "So why do you need to lose weight?"
She growled, ruffling his blue hair on the way past. "See this ass?" she turned so it was facing him, pointing at it. "It has it's own zip code." Then she wiggled it. "I'm going to shower, then I'll run you a bath. Then, if you tell me which hotel you're in, I can take you back there."
Jeff felt better after eating and having a bath. At least his stomach was full and he was clean. But his clothes smelled of the bar, cigarette smoke, sweat and spilled Corona. He pulled his hair into a poneytail and slid his shoes on, meeting Shaelin in the living room.
"So this is your place?" he asked, looking around. It was a little flamboyant for what he figured Shaelin to be.
"It's Noelle's apartment," she told him. "I live in Toronto. I'm just visiting. Kind of--if she was ever around, that would work better."
"Listen, we have a couple weeks 'off'," Jeff helped her into her coat. "But we're all staying in town for the time being, until the next show taping. We're doing promos and stuff, but when I'm done those, we can hang." He paused. "If you want." He added quickly.
"That would be nice," Shaelin smiled, ushering him out the door. "Now what hotel were you staying in?"