Wine, Women and Song
Summary: He used to think they'd all forget about him. Owen kind of wished that they had.
Sanyu DarkStar: Hi there I was wondering are you still writing Gargoyle fanfictions? I would love if you could write another drunk Owen one if you had the chance or a 'bromance' one with Owen and Xanatos like the one called mirror,mirror.
KatanaDoshi: As a matter of fact, yes I am. And funny thing, guess what was floating around my brain this morning...
AN: If you haven't read Five Minutes to Midnight (how you managed that is beyond me), suffice it to say that "Owen" was under the impression that all of Avalon would strike Puck from their collective memories. He found that very upsetting at the time. This technically comes after Once and Future Things which is the start of an offshoot of the FMtM series. So... Might need to make a map.
Spoilers: FMtM, CHBW season 2 of Gargoyles
Warning: language, good people behaving badly, mild ooc (your mileage may very)
Lyrics: Whiskey in Mind by Christian Kane (paraphrased), Johnny Tarr by Gaelic Storm (awesome = this song)
It wasn't until noon that Owen realized it was his anniversary.
He sat, staring at his desk calendar like an idiot for nearly three whole minutes, wondering just how the hell that had happened when Coffee Intern knocked on his door.
"Mr. Burnett?" She was standing in the doorway, hesitant to enter without permission, carefully curled hair pulled up into what he imagined was supposed to be an artful mess. He'd snapped at her for spilling coffee on his tie once and she'd never fully recovered.
"Yes," he said automatically, looking more through her than at her. The Intern (though surely she'd worked at Xanatos Enterprises long enough to deserve better than that transient title) hesitated only a second longer before fully entering the room.
Owen's coffee mug sat at the corner of his desk, pristeen and waiting. The girl paused again to see if she'd be told off or given different instructions than usual but Owen had returned to staring at his calendar.
Mentally shrugging off the blond's behavior, Coffee Intern Girl went about her usual routine. Steaming, expensive coffee was poured from carafe to mug, followed by a small splash of cream - only enough to turn the liquid from near black to dark brown - and two cubes of sugar. Stir with a small spoon three times clockwise to distribute the cream and disolve the sugar and she was done.
Straightening, the girl turned to leave and froze again only three steps from the door. Owen hadn't thanked her.
Even at his grumpiest, his most distracted or his most dismissive, Mr. Burnett always managed a quiet but unmistakeable "thank you" before she was completely out of the room. She turned slowly, low (as per regulation, the Coffee Intern needed to be reprimanded only once per violation) heels clacking on the hard floor.
"Mr. Burnett?" she waited for him to look up at her and when he did, Owen looked mildly startled. "Are... are you alright?"
"It's Alexander's birthday," he said blankly. She blinked. "Alexander Xanatos. I-" he cut himself off with a more characteristic scowl. "Thank you, that's all."
He waited for the young woman to scurry off before leaning back in his chair. He'd known, of course, that it was Alexander's birthday. A hard thing to forget what with Xanatos throwing the boy the biggest party of the year (Fox had pointed out that Alex wasn't even likely to remember it. Owen hadn't corrected her) but the significance had somehow escaped him.
No, Owen corrected himself, it was as though he'd deliberately ignored the significance.
The blond pulled a report out of a stack that needed his looking over and deliberately ignored the date for the next three hours.
(LINE BREAK)
The party took place in two parts. Part one started at three in the afternoon and would last until seven. It featured an acrobat, clowns, a massive custom cake that garnered many compliments for the decorators and the many children of New York's well-connected business men and women. There were a great many presents, most of them gadgets for children that were either unavailable to the public yet ("It's coming out just in time for Christmas next year. My people assure me that it'll be the biggest seller we've ever had.") or too expensive for common folk.
Alexander Xanatos seemed fairly disinterested with the proceedings, which only managed to make him seem like the spoiled little rich boy he was expected to be once he was old enough for school.
Owen had very little thinking to do for that portion of the evening.
Part two took place in what was generally refered to as the livingroom of Castle Wyvern. It featured live Gargoyles, hand painted banners, a boat load of cupcakes ("Broadway, these are amazing!" "Aw, thanks.") and a police detective. There were a handfull of presents, mostly handmade and scavenged for, though all were clearly given with love and worried over.
Alexander liked these best.
Fox had tried her hand at knitting and had made her son a sweater which she gave to him here, in front of the only people that mattered.
"Oh no, David!" Fox bit her lip as Alexander cheerfully waved his arms around, sending his too long sleeves waving through the air. Xanatos laughed, kissed his wife and picked up his son.
"Look, he loves it," David grinned. "Don't worry, he'll grow."
Lexington presented the youngest Xanatos with a stuffed bear which Owen could tell would be well loved. Maza and Goliath's carefully wrapped gifts proved to be pop-up books. Angela produced a white shirt embrodiered with a baby gargoyle on the front and little wings on the back that she'd somehow found the time to do herself.
Brooklyn had salvaged, cleaned and repainted a toy truck. Hudson regaled them all with the story of how long long ago, Gargoyles had celebrated Hatching Day once every ten years. Alexander listened enraptured.
Owen spent too much time thinking here.
He slipped his own gift under some wrapping paper, waited until the everyone else in the room was too busy cooing over the birthday boy to notice and slipped out.
Owen and "Uncle Puck" had pooled their resources and, during a moment Puck had known Alex wasn't watching, made a sort of snow globe. Only instead of snow it had little fireworks and flying gargoyles.
While a small, distant part of him wanted to see the reaction to his gift Owen was pretty sure he would end up being sick.
He left the Eyrie Building.
He'd had a rare few good experiences upon leaving the building but he felt somehow this time would be different; that the pros would somehow out-weigh the cons. He was so very wrong.
"An' what've we here?" Owen stopped in the middle of a relatively deserted sidewalk. The heavily accented voice was familiar. A little too much so. "Been a while, eh Robin?"
Owen turned slowly and faced a young woman with a shock of short, pink hair in a too small shirt.
"So it has, Shee."
"Molly," she corrected with a tsk. "Thought you'da known better."
"I've been out of the loop for a while now, Molly," Owen held still as she walked toward him, her hips swaying. "I thought you'd have known better."
"Naow don't tease me," she smiled like a cat that had gotten both cream and canary. "I didn't come to fight," Molly pursed red painted lips at the impassive blond and rested a hand on his shoulder.
"Shouldn't you be back on the island?" Owen asked shortly, eyes flicking to her hand for a moment.
"Selene and them was busy fer a moment and I slipped away," she bared her teeth in a feral smile. "Be back before they even notice."
"Ah," Owen bared his own teeth, though it resembled nothing like any kind of smile, and pushed her hand from his shoulder. "If only we could all be so lucky."
With that he turned his back to her - never a wise thing for a man to do - and started walking.
"Hold on now," he wasn't walking fast enough that she had to work very hard at getting in front of him. Gripping him at the elbows, Molly stared up at him curiously. "If I didn't know no better I'd say you was upset."
"Good that you know me better," Owen tried to push her way but she kept her grip on him.
"Come now Robin, you can tell ol' Molly whats troublin' ya," her smile was smaller, genuine and comforting. Owen hated it about as much as he'd managed to hate anything.
"Don't call me that," he stated flatly. Molly raised a slender eyebrow. "It's Owen, now let go."
"Don't care for it," she made a face. "And it's what Viv calls ye now. May as well get used to it- hey!" Owen had pulled free and started walking again. "Don't you start that. Look, I know what you need and ye ain't gettin' it without me, right?"
"Whatever you're thinking-" she caught him again and pressed a hand hard against his mouth. A pair of punks walked past, watching in interest but Molly's own appearance persuaded them not to get involved.
"What you need," she said quietly against his cheek "is mná fíon agus amhrán!*"
(LINE BREAK)
"This is absolutely against my better judgement," Owen noted as Molly pulled him into the bar. He'd stopped struggling some blocks back when he realized he wasn't going to get loose and simple accepted his fate.
"All the best thing are, Robin!" Molly's grin might have been infectious for the rest of the room, but it did nothing for Owen.
He'd expected an Irish Pub though he'd should have known better; a paltry copy would only have annoyed her. Instead he found himself being lead up to the scarred wooden counter of a very old bar. It was, thankfully, free of theme though there was music playing quietly from somewhere.
"My friend here," Molly started, shoving Owen onto a stool and stripping him of his jacket. "He needs a drink. We'll be startin' with a glass o' yer best red, thanks."
The man blinked at the pink-haired punk and her companion, the office worker for a moment before getting down two wine glasses.
"Anything else?" The raised eyebrow was implied. Molly plunked down onto her own stool and grinned.
"Oh plenty, but give us a minute, alright?" With a grunt the bartender went to see about his other customers, of which there were blessedly few. "Now," Molly raised her wine glass. "What shall we toast? Good health? Long Life? The old Bastard that brought us to drink?"
Owen didn't answer, choosing instead to lift his own glass and down it in a single gulp.
"Hey! You don't go treating good wine like... like American Beer, Robin," Molly took his glass away from him and watched, worried as Owen yanked his tie loose and dug his fingers through his hair. "A bad day is it?" Owen snorted.
"So that's the wine," Own rolled his shoulders. "And I guess you'll do for a woman," Molly's eyes narrowed at him. "I'm very much not in the mood for any song. I do need something stronger than that, though," he jerked his chin Molly's wine glass. She grinned faintly.
"Oh?" She flagged down the bartender. "My friend, he'll be needin' a stronger drink. How's the whiskey in this place?" She waited until a glass of amber liquid was sitting in front of Owen on the bar before leaning against his side, voice a low purr and accent gone. "How do you like the hard kick of old Kentucky bourbon? And the slow burn of Tennessee rye? At this point in the night no need for conversation. Slide over and kiss me. I got more than whiskey in mind..."
Owen pushed her back on to her own stool. It took him three gulps, but he got the whiskey down. His throat burned.
"Keep it coming," he almost coughed out. The bartender stared at him.
"Best water it down, love," Molly smiled, patting Owen on the back. "Or this lad'll drink you dry."
(LINE BREAK)
David waited exactly one hour after realizing Owen had left the room before deciding to become concerned. Surely one hour was long enough for the usually brutally efficient man to go gather a last minute surprise present or deal with some small company emergency.
Perhaps a bit longer if he were settling things and turning off their fey alarm system in preperation for "Uncle Puck's" visit. But the man didn't return and the fey never appeared. He was drawn from his thoughts at the sound of surprised gasped and returned his attention to the gathering.
From a pile of discarded wrapping paper Fox had pulled a crystal ball, about the size of Alexander's head. David didn't need to get close to see how special it clearly was with the bright flashes of color and light.
"Wow!" Lex crept closer. "Look there's little gargoyles in it. They look like us!"
"It's amazing," Fox handed her son the ball as the clan gathered closer to see. "Owe-" David saw the exact moment, as Fox looked up, that his wife realized the blond was no longer with them. "Oh wow," she covered quickly. "I bet this will make a great night light, won't it Alex?"
She waited until Brooklyn and Lex had distracted Alex with a game of police-truck-and-Teddy-bear-robber before jumping up to question her husband.
"Is everything alright?" the redhead asked without preamble. David could only shrug.
"As far as I know."
"Well... where is he?" she was understandably annoyed. Not knowing where Owen was was a lot like suddenly noticing that your right hand had wandered off.
"I have no idea," David's lips pressed into a thin line and Fox's eyes widdened.
"He... he can't have been called away, right?" she asked a bit nervously. "Not after Oberon... not without Alex there, right?"
David wasn't sure. He hadn't given it any thought before and now he was genuinly worried.
(LINE BREAK)
It was a good hour before Owen realized he was in trouble and he only realized it when he noticed that he was singing and Molly hadn't been the one to start it.
"Robin," she said, biting her lip. She watched Owen sway in his seat, eyes half lidded. "Robin you scarin' me."
"Johnny Tarr!" Owen crowed. "And even if you saw it yourself, you wouldn't believe it. But I wouldn't trust a person like me, if I were you. Sure I wasn't there, I swear I have an alibi. I heard it from a man who knows a fella who says it's true~"
The rest of the bar, the hand full of people that had been there and the few that had arrived after Owen had suddenly found himself singing, cheered him on and thumped their fists on the tables. Fuzzy with the alcohol he was still knocking back too quickly, Owen kept singing. He didn't notice when Molly disappeared from her stool.
"He had money in his pocket. He had whiskey in his eye. He said, "Get up off your asses and set up the glasses; I'm drinking this place dry." Now all the serious boozers, they were soon broken hearted when Johnny finished off six and he was only getting started," He didn't miss a beat when Molly sat back down beside him. "-He was lookin' alright to be drinkin' all night then Nora brought out the brandy, Johnny Tarr!"
He must have been singing a long time, the same song over and over, because other patrons had started joining him on the chorus. It didn't make him quiet down any.
He was far enough gone that he didn't even notice the familiar figure that hesitantly entered the bar and sat in the corner. Didn't notice how the man stared.
"He was waiting for his pint when his face turned green. Jesus, Johnny fell down after only fifteen! And you could've heard a pin drop, then the crowd let out a roar. It took five Cork women to lift Johnny off the floor. The doctor looked him over and said, "Better call the hearse, but it's not what you're thinkin', it wasn't the drinkin', this man died of thirst!" Johnny Tarr."
The man from the corner was suddenly next to Owen, wrapping a warm arm around his shoulders and pulling him up from his stool. Molly pulled the glass from Owen's hand and stood as well, helping the man - helping Xanatos - carry him out.
"Come on Owen. Let's get you home."
"Ya got 'im?"
Didn't matter. Owen didn't even have enough sobriety left in him to be embarrased. He slurred on with his song, determined to finish even as his face hit cool night - no, very early morning - air.
"And even if you saw it yourself, you wouldn't believe it. But I wouldn't trust a person like me, if I were you. Sure I wasn't there, I swears I has an alibi. I heard it from a man who knows a fella who says it's true~"
"Look, I was only wantin' a bit o' fun."
"I've heard a lot of people use that as an excuse," Xanatos's harsh tones, the ones saved for people he was seriously considering possible enemies.
"I didn't know he was so upset! Robin, Robin!" A small, female hand grabbed at his shoulder and Owen made himself look at it's owner, no matter how much he didn't want to. "Why dinnae tell me? I wouldn've brought you there with those people."
She looked upset. Very upset. He should say something.
"Home, Shee," Molly frowned at him and Owen had to work very hard at getting the words in his head out of his mouth in the right order. "Gu Home, Shee. Tell Nimue and Raven and them to stay there an just frogit- ferg-" something very near a sob broke out of his throat as his tongue failed him and the arms holding him around the middle tightened. "Jus' go."
He was ready for her to kiss him but he hadn't expected the soft peck on the tip of his nose. Blinking blearily behind his glasses, Owen watched as she smiled at him from behind the pink hair and punk exterior. That hurt more than the rest of the night combined.
" 'Night Robin," Molly turned and darted across the street. Owen watched her disappear into a dark alley and pretended he could feel home open up to her. He shut his eyes and let David pull him into a cab.
"This is going to be Hell for your reputation," Xanatos noted casually as Owen slumped against the car door, feeling sick.
"Lots a things are," Owen muttered. "I keep survivin'."
"Robin," Owen sat up too quickly and was almost sick as he twisted around to look at David. The dark haired man was frowning softly at him. "Vivian called you that too. Why?"
Owen went back to leaning on the car door, relaxing visibly.
"Nickname," Owen sniffed. "Trying to get them to stop."
"Ah."
(LINE BREAK)
Owen saw it coming as soon as David walked him into the elevator. The cameras were shut off with brutal efficency and the lift stopped. He was drunk enough not to care about the closed doors and tight space.
"You left the party," David's tone was as accusitory as the billionaire ever let it become. "Fox found the crystal. Alex loved it."
"Good," Owen pressed himself into one of the elevator's corners and tried not to slip down onto the floor. Xanatos's eyes narrowed.
"You'd have known that if you'd stayed. Why Owen?" A flash of anger that could have been easily squashed had he been sober flowed through Owen all too freely now.
"I couldn't," he snapped. David leaned back, eyes wide. It's wasn't Owen's usual sort of outburst, though Owen didn't typically have outbursts at all. "I wasn't ordered to stay," Owen pointed, accusitory at the other man. "You never said I had to be there for the gathering. I have sick leave saved up, take the time out of that!" He pushed away from his corner, hand making a violent motion in the air between them and David took a step back.
"Owen, get control of yourself."
"Get control of myself?" the bark of laughter was far from pleasant. "Control of myself? What exactly do you think it is I do every damn day for you?" Understanding slowly dawned on David's face and the darker man straightened up, holding his ground. "Of all the days in all the months of the year I deserve this one for myself and if I want to spend it drunk and useless in a bar-!"
David cut him off with a bruising hug.
"You told me you didn't regret it," David whispered in the blond's ear. "Owen you can have every day off for the rest of your life if you want but please don't tell me you hate it here."
All of the anger bled out at once and Owen slumped with nothing left to will himself upright.
"I don't," tears burned at the corners of his eyes. "But today... with Molly and with Vivian..." he pulled in a breath through his nose, finally bringing up his arms and returning David's embrace. "It can be so hard."
He waited until he knew he wasn't going to start crying before letting go and this time David released him. He watched the other man turn the elevator and cameras back on and had a horrible thought.
"Was-" he cleared his throat before it had a chance to crack. David watched him. "Was I missed?"
"Only Fox and I realized. Lex and the others kept Alex distracted with his toys, thank goodness. Still, he's refusing to go to bed until Uncle Owen and Uncle Puck visit."
"Forgive me sir," Owen flushed hot with shame and swayed a little. "I didn't-"
"Stop apologizing. I should have realized that today..." David's lips pursed. "I should have taken it into consideration," a pause, and then the darker man put his hand on Owen's shoulder. "You," he said deliberately, making sure that Owen was meeting his eyes "are as much part of my family as Alex and Fox. You should not feel the need to go out and get desperately drunk when things are... hard."
"I'm s-"
"No," David cut off what was sure to be another apology. "It's as much my fault for not making it clear the first time this happened."
The elevator doors opened and Fox stepped in before either had the chance to get out.
"Are you alright?" in a move far too matronly for her slim and fit figure, Fox pulled Owen down so that his head would have been pressed to her chest had he not aborted the attempt by firmly pressing his ear to her shoulder.
"Mrs. Xanatos I-"
"Is he alright?" the redhead questioned her husband before Owen had a chance to reassure her. David smiled faintly.
"Drunk, but otherwise unharmed. No sign of cameras either so there may not be much damage."
"Good," Fox forced the blond upright and gave him a stern look that he could only return with a bleary one of his own. "We were worried. I was frantic. We made Brooklyn search the city for you. He only just got back. And then we get a call from some strange woman-"
"A friend of Owen's," David interrupted. Fox stopped long enough to look at him. "He was being watched. Just not overly well."
"Good," the redhead pulled Owen down again and this time he wasn't quite fast enough. David was apparently unoffended by Owen's proximity to his wife's breasts if the laughing was any indication. "Alex is inconsolable. He'll drift off and then suddenly jerk awake and cry for you."
"If you let him go," David suggested gently. "He might be able to do something about that."
(LINE BREAK)
The nursery was dark and quiet. Leaning heavily in the doorway, Owen played with the idea of leaving for his own rooms. But it wouldn't be right not to share a few words with the birthday boy.
The room was, as always, immaculately clean. The fancy mechanical gadgets with their long battery lives, bright colors and flashing lights had all been tucked out of sight while each of Alex's "family" gifts were obviously displayed in places of honor.
The bright green (Alex's favorite color, of course) and yellow truck sat on the shelf next to pop up books and the old, well worn panda that Lexington had gotten the Xanatos heir what seemed a life time ago. The newer, soft brown and red ribboned bear had apparently taken it's place in the crib. Owen had no doubts about what shirt Alexander would be wearing the coming day.
His walk was, blessedly, steady as he made his way to the pram. Alexander was dozing fitfully next to his new bear and the blonde watched him squirm for a long moment before reaching down and stroking the infant's cheek.
A set of bright, sea green eyes opened up to him and the small face broke out in the sort of all encompassing, joyful smiles that only small children can accomplish. Owen managed a smile of his own.
"Good morning, Alexander," Owen said with a slight nod, feeling proud at the lack of slurr in his voice. "Happy belated birthday."
In the crib Alex squealed happily and Owen realized, with a sharp stab of pain in his temple, that he would be quite miserable when he managed to wake up later.
"Well," Owen let a little fist close around his finger. "I'm pleased to see you making such a grand effort at making me feel appreciated but I think we both know who you really want to see."
He gently removed his finger from the grabby hand, stepped back and removed his glasses. Alex was old enough and powerful enough to see through the theatrics so there were none. One moment Owen was swaying in place, staring at a spot on the floor and the next he wasn't.
"Boo!" Puck popped up on the opposite side of the crib, making Alex shriek with laughter. "There's my little prince!" The small fey lifted the baby out of his pram and held him against his hip. "Have a good evening?" Alex giggled. "Eat lots of Broadway's cupcakes?" The quarter-fey waved an arm around. "Get lots of good presents?" Cheerful burbles. "Good! Sorry I couldn't be there to liven things up but," Puck made a face. "Uncle Owen was busy making a mess of himself. Now lets see..."
It didn't take much looking. Puck's firework crystal was sitting on the end table, having apparently replaced the Pooh Bear night light (why they'd had it, Puck wasn't sure since Alex was good friends with the monsters that lived in the dark).
"Here we are! So this is how we make it change colors... and how we get the gargoyles to land and- Oh! I just had the greatest, most amazing idea ever! Are you ready for this?"
It only took the better part of an hour to get Alex satisfactorily settled in his crib and sleeping. Puck stayed floating above, watching the little boy sleep for some time longer.
"Foolish, four-eyed twit," he said with little heat. Puck had a hard time being angry with himself over anything, even if the part of himself he was trying to be angry with was a bit more seperate than the rest. "We could have been here, eating cupcakes and playing stupid party games all night but noooo. You just had to feel sorry for yourself and go out drinking with Shee of all people. Once I can understand; a perfectly reasonable response to the situation we had found ourselves in but twice? Well, I think we can both agree that was fantastically stupid of you. Not your finest moment my friend, by far," Puck flipped himself upside down and tickled the sleeping baby's nose with the end of his hair for a moment. "And since you made me sit through your melodrama all evening, I think I'll let you suffer the consequences of your actions rather than ease your pain like I did last time."
(LINE BREAK)
Owen woke up alone in his own bed and in his pajamas. He supposed he should feel thankful that his other half hadn't dropped him naked in central park but it was hard to feel thankful when it felt like all of his insides suddenly wanted to be outside.
Owen Burnett had been hungover exactly once in his "existance". It had followed the three hours of ill advised drinking he'd done almost immediately following his mortal-hood and he'd honestly thought he'd die when he woke up the following morning having had no idea what a hangover was supposed to be like at the time.
Now, having some experience in the area of the consequences of alcohol, Owen knew he wasn't going to die. That being said he still felt a good ten times worse than he had that morning oh so long ago.
Owen's first experience had been with the (admittedly huge) bottle of cheap tequila he'd been able to get at a corner liqour store and had ended quiet miserably. High quality whiskey was apparently a great deal stronger than that.
Someone knocked on the door of his apartment and Owen could swear he felt it in his teeth. He pulled his pillow over his head and pretended he wasn't there.
There were only two people that ever knocked on his door and he should have known not answering wouldn't have made either of them go away.
His bedroom door opened.
"You alright under there?" David asked blandly. Fox had carefully and lovingly nursed Owen through the first few hours of his first hangover. Apparently the second time was to be treated with tough love. Owen groaned. "Good. Get up, I brought you something."
Owen said something very unflattering.
"Your head is under a pillow so I'm going to pretend I misheard that," the dark haired man said amiably as he pulled the pillow off Owen's head. Blond hair sticking out at odd and unfortunate angles and eyes screwed tightly shut, Owen curled up and tried to hide his head in his arms. "Come on, it's not that bad," Owen made a rude noise. "Alright, maybe it is. But this will help."
Something was hovered over Owen's head, near his nose. He could smell wheat bread, mayo and - he gagged a little - freshly cooked bacon. He managed to roll away though it hurt every part of him to do so.
"Easily digestable protein and carbohydrates. It'll help the muscle pain. Now sit up."
It was more the firm tone than the words themselves that got Owen up right though he gaged again when he got there. Ever prepared, David was holding a trash bucket as well as sandwich though the blond didn't need it. Yet.
"Eat," David pushed the edge of the sandwich against Owen's mouth and waited until the blond had swallowed two bites before pulling it back. The darker man pushed a gatorade bottle into one of Owen's limp hands. "Salt, sugar and water. Eletrolytes to replace what you lost last night, rehydrate you and a fuel source. Should deal with the headache. Here's an asprin. Drink.
They continued that way until the bottle was empty and the sandwich was gone. Owen really was feeling better by the time David had started pulling one of his suits out of the closet.
"Lots and lots of water to flush your system. Use the bathroom often," David sounded like he was reciting something and Owen realized that, tone aside, this was the same talk Fox had given him. "Carbohydrates and protein. No coffee until your headache is well and truly gone, alright?"
Owen was well enough to get out of bed and stand under his own power without tipping over or dying so he did.
"Yes sir," his voice was still rough.
"Brush your teeth, take a cough drop for your throat..." Owen shoved his glasses onto his face and relaxed when it eased the pain behind his eyes rather than worsened it. "and for the love of God, man, brush your hair."
"Of course sir," Owen stood waiting for his employer to leave so he could start dressing. David looked him over with a fond - if slightly exasperated - look.
"I'll have the coffee intern bring you one of the left over cupcakes with your coffee," smiling, David finally went to the door. "Now get ready, we've got a big day."
*Irish: "Wine, women and song!"
A/N: I kid you not, I like Coffee Intern Girl so much, I think she's going to appear in every story I ever right from now on. Srsly. And no, she will never be named. Not if I can avoid it. I like to think "Robin Goodfellow" is an ironic nickname that Oberon's children gave Puck and now it's what they call Owen because it's actually appropriate. Also, yes, that Molly.
In my head there are only two things that could ever drive Owen to drink: Depression and The Others. I'm indecisive so I decided to go with both.