Disclaimer : I don't own Claymore

To drink or not to drink?

The problem with alcohol is always dealing with the aftermath. Any event involving the inhibition-removing beverage will systematically lead to unexpected circumstances ; a single slip will lead even the most reasonable person into a situation they wouldn't be caught dead otherwise.

A spiky mass of hair slowly moved under the bed sheets as its owner's brain made its way back to consciousness. Even then, the mind associated to this brain, usually sharp and quick, was unwilling to follow if the groan of protest that came from parted lips was any indication. Indeed, the blissful fuzziness of sleep was far more appealing than the harsh reality of the real world at the moment.

Celebrating the end of the Organization was pretty justified. However, allowing themselves to get wasted was definitely not a good one. Who had suggested that they party like humans and not filter out alcohol again?

Amidst the jumbled thoughts in Miria's head at the moment, a name echoed painfully. 'Damn you Helen.'

Still, Rubel singing "I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt…" while standing on a table had been either hilarious or nauseating depending on your point of view. Then again, he had been naked, his hat covering his crotch and lights reflecting off his bald head.

The sobering image was enough to jumpstart Miria's return to reality. Her brain began to process her surroundings again even though her eyes remained closed. She didn't want to open them yet; right now it was like her bed was moving. Not like a boat through a storm though, unlike what most people with a hangover would feel. No, she was gently being pushed up and down, with a slow, peaceful rhythm that was inviting back to sleep.

Miria's awareness came back full blast when she realized that this was not an illusion.

Her bed WAS moving.

More accurately, breathing.

Silver eyes snapped open and Miria cursed inwardly as the brightness of the day assaulted them, accompanied by a pounding headache. Regaining her bearings, she saw that the warm, firm pillow she was still hugging was actually a naked, athletic male chest (which had apparently been used as a scratching post by a rabid cat as it was covered with red welts). She felt the blood leave her face as her eyes traveled up until they found messy brown hair and a distinguishing scar on the man's left temple.

'Oh shit.'

Raki.

Almost scared now, the intrepid Phantom warrior looked around the spartan room, which was quickly identified as one of the warriors' quarters in Staff. Clothes were strewn on the floor though her attention was caught by a strange dent in one of the walls; as if something had been roughly slammed repeatedly into it.

Seeing this dent made her realize her back hurt a bit, and that she was sore all over. She could also feel the sheets clinging to her naked back, and her front pressing against Raki's body, which was equally naked if she was right.

A peek under sheets confirmed that. Yup. They were both naked. A part of her mind slyly noted that her eyes lingered a little longer than necessary too, and a small tinge of pink appeared on her cheeks before she put the sheet down. The stickiness of her thighs, and the mixed scent in the air left no doubt as to what had happened.

That, and the sheets were in such a state they would have to be burnt.

'I… and he… and we…' The enormity of the situation left her uncharacteristically stuttering and unable to form any coherent thought.

'Did the wild thing? Went at it like rabbits? Danced the horizontal tango? Screwed each other's brains out? Got your freak on?' an odd mental voice that sounded eerily like hers supplied. 'Hell yes you did!'

'Clare's going to kill me!'

'Clare's gone back after Priscilla.' that voice in her head reminded.

This was why Raki had been drinking too in reality. While Clare had been glad that her friend was fine (barring the dying parasite in his shoulder), she had made it clear that she did not plan on resuming her travels with him. Her only purpose from now on was killing Priscilla, or die trying, and she refused to force him down that road with her. It had taken a lot of gentle persuasion, but he had finally relented to her wishes, smiled and bid her farewell.

Clare had been happy that he understood and took it so well, and declared she really hoped they'd meet again some day.

If Clare had paid more attention, she would have seen how fake his smile was.

While Miria and the other remaining warriors were partying, Raki had then joined them and proceeded to drown his sorrow the old-fashioned way: by getting completely and utterly drunk. The sheer aura of gloom he radiated had caught Helen's attention, which turned into worry when she and Deneve noted how much the young man was putting away.

The two friends had been about to confront him, and possibly offer some comfort when Miria told them to enjoy themselves and that she would deal with it. Miria knew her friends meant well, but they were not that good at listening to others. Also, they were already fairly intoxicated and this might end up in a mess.

More accurately, the kind of mess she was currently in.

Miria had patiently listened to the man as he talked about the past few years. Meeting Isley and Priscilla (Miria choked on her drink at that one), pushing himself past human limits, traveling. How he was caught by one of the Destroyer's parasites, and only the thought of his promise kept him from being taken over. And how much it hurt that, even though Clare cared for him deeply, she did not care as much as he did for her.

Not that she was cruel or unfeeling, or even selfish, he had just been mistaken on her priorities, and the truth had crushed his self-esteem.

This could have been it, but then he asked Miria about her life. And because of her own slight intoxication, or to humor him, or simply because she needed to talk to someone for once, Miria found herself talking more than she had in years. Memories of her life as a human, Hilda's death, her secret vow to destroy the Organization, the guilt over the casualties in Pieta. Having someone listen to her for once felt good.

They had gone from mere acquaintances to drinking buddies in a matter of minutes.

It only took them two more hours to go to the next level.

More images of their intimate night flooded Miria's mind. The cool leader buried under her long-restrained urges, her inhibitions thrown to the four winds. Panting breaths and hoarse screams, both his and hers. Their fingers, lips and tongues roaming, exploring each other. Her nails clawing at him in the midst of passion, drawing blood. She especially remembered the look of passion in his eyes as he gazed up from between her…

Her thoughts and memories steadily got raunchier, darkening her cheeks to an uncharacteristic red color with each new one. Miria mentally scolded herself as she tried to get her blush under control, with little success.

Nor did she succeed at keeping a shit-eating grin from her face, a grin that also kept growing as her recollection went on.

On a side note, she had been given extensive evidence that Claymores do not risk Awakening from intense sexual pleasure. Scratch that, any pleasure she might get from releasing Yoki from now on would be nothing after this mind-wrecking night. Honestly, if what she had received was a mere fraction of the worship Raki wanted to bestow upon Clare, her friend was - let's face it - an idiot.

A loud banging on the door interrupted her thoughts, and Helen's voice made itself known from the other side.

"Hey Big Sis! Wake up!"

Groaning, Miria decided to go answer before Helen tried to get in. And since she didn't have the time to put on her clothes (which she now remembered had been pretty much ripped off from her body anyway), she did the only thing she could; giving the slumbering Raki an apologetic glance, she removed the upper sheet and draped it around herself.

She nonetheless took a second to enjoy the view. Yep, Clare was an idiot, and she would have to thank her some day.

Schooling herself into her normal serious composure was not easy with that grin threatening to show again, but Miria did her best. She then cracked the door open a bit, enough to see Helen but not enough for her to look into the room. "Keep it down Helen." Miria hissed. "You're going to wake up everybody."

Helen didn't answer immediately, taking in the sight of her leader. Her spiky hair was even messier than usual, she had bags under her eyes, and she looked completely relaxed even though the way she moved indicated some soreness. Her attire was highly strange too, not to mention the few incriminating stains on it. Then the former Number Twenty Two did something that scared Miria shitless : she shot her a smile so devious and evil it would have put Ophelia to shame.

"Oh, don't worry Sis. First everybody's already up, except Rachel that is." Helen then grinned wider. "Also, the warriors who usually sleep in the adjacent rooms decided to go somewhere else last night. Apparently a beast of some kind got lost in the corridors; they said it sounded like a mountain lion. Damn thing kept them up all night with its howling, but they couldn't find it."

Helen practically drank the look of complete mortification on her superior's face and quickly turned away before she lost it.

"Really? I didn't hear anything." Miria replied, attempting to sound casual.

"You must have been really tired then. You were up late after all, looking after the kid and all." Helen continued, mirth in her voice, picturing Miria's face going cherry red.

In reality, Miria's blush-o-meter was now broken.

"Anyway we have a meeting to decide how to reorganize this place. Just thought you'd want to give your input."

"Huh… I'm not sure I'll be able to come… I… am still… huh… very tired. I kinda… drank too much yesterday." Miria stuttered.

"Well than, you should go back to bed and sleep a bit more. We wouldn't want you to overexert yourself after all." Helen had still not turned back to face her, but Miria could hear the repressed laughter in her voice.

"Right… I'll do that… See you later…"

Just as Miria was about to close the door, her friend left her a parting shot. "Oh, by the way," Helen flashed her a thumbs up, "way to go Sis!"

Miria could hear the ensuing cackle mocking her as Helen promptly disappeared down the hallway. "Damn you Helen!" she shouted, pulling at her hair, the action causing the bed sheet to fall on the floor.

A small chuckle coming from the bed, ending with a groan of pain, drew her attention to the other occupant of the room. Turning to Raki, she was treated to the sight of lean muscles rippling as he stretched lazily, a view that she found herself enjoying a little too much.

His eyes fell upon her naked form, and she was surprised that he didn't seem put off despite the fact she was facing him. Instead he was looking at her like one would admire a work of art, his eyes gently tracing every line and curve of her body without paying any attention to the scars that marred her torso.

'Then again, he got a very close look all night. Especially when you nearly crushed his face between your breasts.' the new voice in her head, which she was forced to admit was her recently-awakened libido, was quick to remind her as an unknown form of pride swelled inside her.

Was it because they were already past the awkward stage, or because she secretly enjoyed being looked at that way? Miria didn't know, but she made no move to cover herself, instead simply sitting on the side of the bed.

"So," Miria started, "what do we do now?"

Raki looked confused for a moment, then he smiled. Miria let out a surprised gasp when he pulled her down, the two ending in the position they had been in when Miria woke up.

"You know, I don't feel like thinking right now. I'm still tired, you're still tired, so why don't we do as you said and go back to sleep?"

In spite of herself, Miria made herself comfortable on his chest as he continued. "Who knows? Maybe we'll wake up later only to find out this was just a very pleasant dream. After all, who would have thought the feared Phantom Miria was such a hell cat – OWWW!" Raki's statement was cut by a yelp of pain from Miria's swat on his still-healing chest. The sight of the wounds Miria had inflicted made him grin mischievously. "I rest my case."

Miria huffed in defeat then sighed. "You're insufferable, but right. I'm way too tired to agonize over this so I guess we'll talk later."

Raki hummed drowsily in approval as the unlikely couple slowly lulled back to sleep.

'Note to self : get drunk more often.' was Miria's last thought before unconsciousness claimed her.

---

Rubel was intelligent, sly and cunning. He had spied on the Organization for decades, stalled its research and planted the seeds that had ultimately destroyed it. He had done all this without so much as raising suspicion on himself.

But now he was trapped with no hope of escaping.

Not with several cracked ribs and a possibly fractured pelvis. Even less with one hundred and sixty pounds of dead weight from a very muscular, very amorous and very drunk Claymore currently pinning him down.

Who would have thought that Rachel was the snuggling kind?

He just feared what would happen when she woke up. Would she kill him, or start again? The mere thought nearly made him cry… she had been the man that night.

'Note to self : don't EVER get drunk again.'