AN: I've been sitting here reading and re-reading this fic and wanting to re-write it... and finally my muse has cooperated!


The buzzing in his head was well-strange. The way the room was tilted slightly off its axis probably wasn't a good thing, either. One too many drinks, his brain hissed at him, through the muzziness. Connor told the voice in his head to shove it. He knew he was a total lightweight, it didn't have to rub it in that he couldn't handle a little alcohol. Maybe coming here was a bad idea… but the others'd invited him along after the anomaly shout, and how could he say no to that? Connor not-so-accidentally had forgotten to inform them that he was this much of a lightweight. He hadn't wanted to be a spoil-sport, and now he was sitting here feeling like cotton balls'd been stuffed in his brain.

Maybe, Connor's mind suggested, amidst headache-inducing bursts of song from the radio behind the bar, the reason he'd not mentioned it was because he didn't want to think about the last time he'd gone drinking. That was the one and only time, because he'd ended up, well, in a certain situation - and to top it off he'd had a terrible hangover the day after. That'd been three years ago... almost to the day, oddly enough.
He'd kinda sworn off drinking completely. But Stephen and Abby had encouraged him, and then Cutter and Jenny had joined in, and he'd been positively bullied into joining the team, plus a few of the day shift lab techs and the SF's for drinks. And now Connor was sincerely wishing he'd protested more, because one little drink had turned into another, and then another - far too many - and here he was, pissed to… well, his brain couldn't even come up with proper metaphors right now, that's how much of a bad state he was in.

The last time he'd gotten drunk this bad, he'd gone home with, and consequently slept with (and therefore lost his virginity with) a certain individual who'd still been asleep early the next morning when he'd panicked and left. A certain individual who obviously didn't remember that night at all, otherwise he would've shown some sort of recognition… And why the hell was he thinking about this?! Oh yes, Connor remembered now: it was because that person was a few feet away, chatting with Abby. Connor was sloshed enough to admit that he fancied the pants off of both of 'em -one more than the other even as he pretended it was the other way around - though not enough to even begin to consider the possibility of a repeat performance from that event three years ago with said individual.

Connor decided he ought to be a bit more drunk for this, and reached for his glass of something-or-other (Abby'd ordered it for him, and wow he should've listened to Stephen's suggestion that it might be a bit much), finishing what was left. That was a bit of an ill-advised decision, since it made the world tilt more dangerously. His eyes slowly unfocused, his gaze wandering - quite without subtlety by this point, alas - as if drawn by a magnetic force, to Stephen and Abby a few bar stools away.

It was his own fault he felt excluded, the alcohol going right to his head and making him unable to think fast enough to trust himself to conversing with someone he fancied. But he still moped when neither of them turned to include him. He could probably talk to Cutter and Jenny if he wanted to, but no, he'd rather torture himself by lurking on Stephen and Abby's conversation.

With his eyes unfocused and wandering, his mind did the same, and then Connor started in surprise when he realized that the focus of his attention was gone - both of them. Someone tapped his shoulder, and Connor squawked in alarm, spinning 'round - and wow, was that a bad idea - to see Stephen standing there, smiling. There was something in his gaze that made Connor want to kiss the man, but he glanced away and then back, staring at Stephen's nose instead of his eyes. Safer, that way.

"You okay, Conn?" The tracker asked, voice laced with something Connor wouldn't identify.

"Yep!" He answered brightly - too brightly, as evidenced by the chuckle and amused smirk from Stephen.

"Bit drunk?"

"Just a little. Not more 'n a drop too much, just a smidge …. 'n 'm completely sloshed, aren' I?" Connor babbled, feeling dizzy. Stephen gripped his arm to steady him, which only made him dizzier.

"Not 'elping." Oh joy, word vomit! He didn't need to say that... and it got him a raised eyebrow. Wait, why was he looking at his eyes again? Connor thought he'd told himself firmly not to!

"What's not helping?"

"You're makin' me dizzier, 'n I'm already too pissed for this, can' even talk straight, c'n I?" Good job, brain, explain. Sort of.

"Maybe I should take you back to the flat…"

"Where's Abby?" Connor asked, remembering the dissapearance of his flat mate from the vicinity, leaning awkwardly to look around Stephen. He nearly overbalanced, and the other man yanked him upright and kept ahold of his arm. Probably a good idea on Stephen's part, Connor relented.

"Woah, calm down. She spotted a friend, over there, see?" Stephen told him, pointing. Connor cautiously let his eyes follow the sightline, and relaxed at the sight of Abby by a table. After a moment, he realized Stephen was talking again, and decided it might be a good idea to listen.

"My flat's closer than Abby's. C'mon." Connor's brain was still catching up, muzzy as it was, when Stephen muttered something to Cutter, and then steered Connor out of the pub, into cool night air.

"When did it get so dark out?" He asked, looking up. Stephen chuckled.

"It's called night, Connor."

"I know tha', pretty boy." Did he just say that? Oh he hoped he hadn't just called Stephen pretty... even though it was true. "I'm drunk, no' 'n idiot. There's a diff'rence, yeah?" Connor stumbled and Stephen caught him again.

"Alright, but I wasn't the one who asked why it was so dark."

"No' wha' I asked, 'nyways." Connor mumbled, then glanced at Stephen's hand on his arm. Stephen could see the younger man's cheeks flushing slightly, even in the darkness, but said nothing "You c'n let go now."

"I think that'd be a bad idea, Connor. You're falling all over the place. If I were to let you go, you'd probably collapse right here on the sidewalk." Stephen commented, pulling the geek along.

"If y' let go, I migh' no' fall over 's much." Connor muttered, unsure whether he was saying it out loud or in his head.

Stephen glanced worriedly at him. Maybe bringing him to his flat was a bad idea. He was afraid that he'd be tempted to kiss Connor, or that in this state he would decide to kiss Stephen. The lovable geek was drunk off his arse and he could not allow himself to be fooled by anything Connor said or did 'till the alcohol wore off. If he'd felt anything for Stephen, he'd never have left so quietly that morning, or he would have said something when they bumped into each other. But no, Connor had regretted sleeping with him, and it hurt.

Stephen'd at least half fallen in love with him three years ago, and this whole mess between them was because Stephen hadn't had the guts to ask his friend on a date, or talk to him. Instead, he'd gotten drunk with said friend... and then they'd had sex at his flat and he'd destroyed their friendship. That day Connor had run after he and Cutter, Stephen could have showed some sort of recognition, could've pulled the younger man aside and... he wasn't sure what he would've said, but he knows he should have spoken to Connor about that night. Stephen had been a bloody fool, and a coward, and - talking about it would have to wait until morning.

This was probably a horrible idea, bringing Connor to his flat, but he'd had little choice. His was closer than Abby's, for one thing... and the looks the oblivious drunken genius had been garnering from other patrons of the pub had made Stephen afraid that he would get distracted, and one of them would swoop in and take advantage of Connor. (Not that the younger man was unable to defend himself, but he was sloshed to hell and back.) So Stephen had decided to protect him. (It hadn't been so much a decision as... well, something else, a short circuit in his brain, of a sort. He hadn't even thought about it, just took the opportunity and acted.)

Connor was mumbling under his breath and clinging to Stephen by the time they got to his flat, and he fumbled for his key to unlock the door whilst supporting most of the younger man's weight. (How did someone so skinny seem to weigh so much? Stephen wondered if the alcohol weighed him down.)