Disclaimer: I just mess around in the sandbox that other – smarter - people have built. I own nothing.

A/N: So I'm sitting here with four GCSEs left and a lot of spare time coming up to play around with, deciding to finally start the Fiction 100 challenge that I've wanted to do for a long time. Basically it's a set of one hundred prompts with the aim of producing one hundred drabbles. I say drabbles and yes, part of the challenge is to have the ability to say all you need to say in a hundred words but so many of my stories run away with me and take forms of their own so I'm going to stretch the rules, saying not that the target is one hundred words but that the minimum is.

Anyway, let's get started. This should be fun :D

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001 – Beginnings

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Her head pounded and she blinked slowly, forcing herself to shift the fog in her mind.

Surely she was ill. A fever? Possibly.

It was more probable than her present situation, anyway; but did that make it more unlikely? Did the improbability of her coma conjuring up golden-maned, course-tongued men mean that in fact the probability of the Earth still being spherical and toast still tasting good with jam practically impossible?

She groaned. It hurt to think. Clever, sane, non-comatose Alex would've known the answer…

"Ah, Drakey; you're awakey."

She squinted up in the direction of the voice and saw her DCI's jawline swim above her, the mere effort making her woozy and more than a little nauseous. She shut her eyes tight. The foray into consciousness came with the realisation as senses managed to struggle back to her that he was carrying her up the stairs in Luigi's, most probably headed for her bedroom.

AlexDrake+GeneHunt+Bedroom=?!

At this she let out a hysterical shout of laughter, surprising even herself with the images her sewer-like mind conjured up at the equation. Her outburst apparently sounded more like a strangled sob however; something - her muddled brain quickly grappled with - to be fairly gratituous of in the circumstances.

"Don't cry Bolls," he scolded gruffly, "you just can't hold yer drink. The Gene Genie won't kick you off 'is team fer that, it's not the end of the world. Mind you, might warran' another bum stamp…" he trailed off distractedly, it all too clear what his mind was now occupied with. If she had been sober Alex would've rolled her eyes, raised her eyebrow and made a sarky, feministic comment. Intoxicated Alex did nothing of the sort. Her subconscious was taking advantage of her less than rational state and running away with her in frankly wild fashion.

It's not the end of the world. Well no, but it was definitely the beginning of something.

She grinned hopelessly.