"Drowning your sorrows?"

I was one shot away from driving away the demons, that pesky thing that people call guilt (after all killing someone can do that to you), when a small hand shot out and stole in from my finger tips.

"Yes, and I could be continuing to do that if you'd hand my drink back."

A wide smile was all I could see as the world around me was spinning, flashes of blond hair were doing summersaults across my head, and the only thing I wanted was resting on her open palm.

"I think you've had enough and since I'm tending the bar I think it's my call, mister."

Each time my hand reached out to take it back, needing the poisonous stuff to numb every part of me (why is feeling so damn important?) I missed either because I went for the wrong of the three images before my eyes or she was faster then me.

(the very thing we'll argue about when we're getting wasted as a couple)

"You-"

Before I could tell her off, her who was turning into a wicked grinning tinker-bell before my eyes (I need to lay off the strong stuff), and then everything fell into the dark.

"God, even I can hold my liquor better then you, pretty boy."

-

"Where the hell am I?"

(unfortunately back then I used this statement many times)

Before the side effects of last night kicked in, after so many nights in a row I'm starting to grow numb to it all, her wide smiling face came out of nowhere.

"In the apartment above the bar you passed out at, Mr. Queen, my apartment."

The idea of this little bitty thing before me being any kind of threat passed from my head, I could break her like a twig or so I thought, and I got ready to make my way home once again.

(I've woken up from here to Texas in last few weeks)

"How do you know my name?"

As I sat up, noticing that my shoes were off and I was covered in a blanket (out of all my adventures this was first), the night before came flooding back which is both bad and good.

(when is a hangover ever good?)

"Your wallet, don't worry I'm not a thief, it had your name but no address. So here you are, my hung-over guest. The names Jo Harvelle by the way if you ever need someone to drag you home."

The idea of this small creature carrying me in any way brought a laugh that I held in pretty well for the state I was in.

"Thanks for that, I'm glad I didn't have to spend the night on the bar floor."

"Trust me, Oliver, you would have died from that sooner then alcohol poisoning."

That smile, the one that was floating around in my drunken dreams (something I haven't seen or given in such a long time), brought out a small one of my own.

And it had been quite a long time since these lips have been up instead of down.

(Clark these days helps me keep this permanent grimace)

"You can stay as long as you want, it's kind of nice to have someone around besides the rats. While you get yourself all pretty I'll be serving the alcoholics their morning drinks."

The thought of staying rather then moving on to the next place, and I doubt that one would have Jo Harvelle to catch me (and she would be catching me for years to come), and so instead of letting the demons take me over I shut my eyes and slept until that wide grin of hers woke me up.

"Come on rich boy, how about I show you have to serve some drinks? But you can't be drinking anything, you're so goddamn heavy I almost broke my back carrying you last night."