AN: Thanks to everyone who has been reading and thanks for the reviews! I'm living with limited internet at the moment but I promise I'm reading and loving the reviews and I'll reply once I'm back in the land of decent internet service! All usual disclaimers apply.
The sunlight intruded, and even behind her eyelids, it hurt. What was worse was that her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth, and it didn't taste great. Her right foot felt weird, and not good weird either. Even stranger, her left foot was touching carpeting, and she didn't own a carpet. Her floors were a cheap laminate that creaked, and this felt like deep pile wall to wall. That was when she realized that the mattress she was lying face down on, was not a mattress but a naked chest, and the night came rushing back to her.
The first kiss had been electric, and it led to a near frantic, drunken make-out session on the picnic table. The sound of a bunch of kids coming towards the gazebo broke them apart, and after he literally poured a bit more tequila down her throat and she returned the favor, they staggered off to find a cab.
She straddled his lap for most of the ride home. His hands were on her ass under her skirt, and by the time Joe and Molly got to his house, they decided that the stairs were too difficult to negotiate in her shoes and that his big sectional sofa was a great idea. She remembered him tossing her over the back of the couch, and laughing as she bounced on it, then he was over top of her, kissing her, and telling her, he had to take her shoes off. He managed to remove one and was working on the other when she realized that his couch was the most comfortable couch in the world, and everything after that was black.
She was still dressed, her thong was still in place, her bra was missing, but she thought it was possible it was in the back of the cab. No, it was in the pocket of Joe's jeans. Which she'd pushed off of him at the door. He was really comfortable, and to her booze-addled brain, she thought it best if she kept her eyes closed, so the hotness of the night before wasn't replaced by reality. He couldn't possibly be as handsome as she thought.
He shifted in his sleep, and steadied her by putting his hand on her ass, and when he moved she felt the rather impressive morning wood. Okay, now she really didn't want to open her eyes because if he was as hot as she remembered, she was going to kick her own ass, because she really needed to end the prolonged drought. And she could have done it with a really really hot guy, and if she didn't take her makeup off last night, then there was no way he was going to be interested this morning.
She decided she was thinking too hard, and it hurt, and if she kept it up, she was going to throw up. She tried to find blissful unconsciousness again, when her phone vibrated in her little purse, on the table. It sounded like a jackhammer, and she had to answer it, just to shut it up. It was 7:00 and unbelievably the call display showed Ric's number.
"What," she grumbled. "You have messed up priorities if you think calling me this early is acceptable."
"Lester was concerned about you, and he's on his way to your place right now."
"Oh God," she said, "I'm… I don't know where I am."
"You're on Slater Street," Ric said, "I'm out front with Gatorade and Advil. I've detoured Lester; you have five minutes to get your shit together if you want to get home before he gets there. You owe me."
"I figured you seemed uncharacteristically altruistic," she said. "Wait a minute, why would I want to beat Lester back to my place? I'm a grown woman, and I'm allowed to have drunken sex with a stranger if I want to."
"Open your eyes, Molly. It wasn't beer goggles, and if you don't want Lester to kill him before you have the chance to fuck Morelli…"
"I'll be out in two minutes," she said. She didn't even bother asking how he knew she didn't seal the deal or that she was refusing to look at Joe, and why. She'd long ago accepted his omniscience.
She hung up, peeled her eyes open, and attempted to gracefully get off of Joe, only to fall onto her back, on the floor next to the sofa, where she came face to face with a smelly, mangled, tennis ball, and a startled orange dog. The dog reacted by whacking his head on the coffee table and washing her face for her with a million dog kisses before he bolted for the back door. She hobbled over, realizing halfway that she was still wearing her other shoe and it hurt a lot. She slid the back door opened for the dog, who did a few laps of the yard before peeing an improbable amount on what used to be hydrangeas. While he did what he needed to do, she looked back at the sleeping Joe.
He was hotter than she remembered and way too long for the sofa, which seemed bigger the night before. He was shirtless, she'd done that, and he was wearing a pair of navy blue boxers with minions all over them. She flashbacked to the night before.
"Minions?" She said, as he pushed her up against the hall closet door and hiked her up higher so he could kiss her some more.
"They were on sale," he said as his teeth nipped at her throat.
"I like them," she said.
"Then you'll love the Scooby Doo ones," he said.
She grinned. It had been a fun night, even if it hadn't started that way. She let the dog back in and followed him to the kitchen where he demanded breakfast. She fed him a couple of scoops of dog crunchies and went back to retrieve her shoe. She bent to pick it up off of the table, and it felt like her brain was going to fall out of her forehead. Nope, she couldn't wear those shoes home. There was no way she was putting them on without puking. She opened her purse and found a pen and a business card. She wrote a note on the back of the card, shoved it into her shoe and staggered to the back door to steal a flip-flop she'd seen there. She got an impatient text from Ric, muttered uncomplimentary things about him under her breath, prepared the coffee pot, so Joe just had to hit go, plugged in his dead phone, and she left.
Ric raised an eyebrow when he saw her. "The Mets got creamed last night," she said by way of explanation. He didn't comment, she just slid into the passenger seat and accepted a blue folder from him. The papers inside were held to it by a Batman paper clip.
"Stephanie," Ric said, by way of explanation. Molly opened the folder and looked at it. It was German, but complete jibberish.
"Did she use google translate or something?"
"No," Ric said, "It's an encrypted message."
"Dammit Ric, I'm a florist, not a code breaker."
"Easy Doctor McCoy, I just want you to do a literal translation. I'll work on the code."
He started the car, and the firm suspension of the 911 combined with the condition of Slater street made reading impossible without throwing up. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine a time when her eyelashes didn't hurt, and that she wasn't hungover. He nudged her alive when they pulled into the lot of the industrial park that she called home. She opened the door, and the smell from the recycling plant at the end of the park hit her nose, and she bolted to the alley beside the little strip mall she lived above.
After puking up two thirds of an apple pie, (Joe made her eat more so the pastry would absorb more booze) a half bottle of tequila, a beer, mozzarella sticks and three Appletini's, she was pretty sure death was imminent, but on the plus side, her stomach was now completely empty. She came out of the alley to see Ric leaning on his car, holding her purse and the folder in one hand.
"Can you handle the locks?" Ric asked.
"No," she said and suppressed her gag reflex. Ranger found her key on his key ring and unlocked the store, disabled the alarm and handed her, her things. She took the folder from him, and the purse and didn't bother saying goodbye as she limped up the stairs. Her foot fucking hurt and she knew she'd feel better if she just took off her shoe. Once in her apartment, she kicked off the flip-flop and hobbled to the bathroom. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and tried not to cringe at her hair. She left her dress on the bathroom floor, remembered that she forgot her bra in Joe's pants, decided not to care, and flopped face down on her bed, in her underwear and one shoe.
The blankets were blissfully cool against her face, and if she kept her bare foot on the floor, the room stopped spinning. She pulled a corner of her quilt over herself, covering her ass and not much else, and then she gave in to the need to pass out again.
"Well look, it's roadkill!" Lester said seconds or hours later, and she jolted out of sleep.
"Coffee…" she said.
"Yeah, you're out," he said.
"I live next door to a diner. Don't speak until you have coffee and I've drunk it."
"Put some clothes on," Lester said, "I'll be back."
She wasn't sure if she flipped him the bird or gave him a thumbs up, but some hand gesture was involved. She found a pair of cotton pajama shorts and a tank top. She put them on, struggling to get the shorts over the shoe, then she went back to her bed…The place of less pain. She tried the buckles again but they just made her head hurt, and whenever she tried to readjust her foot to make it easier to reach the straps, it felt weird, and it made her want to throw up which made her think something was probably wrong. Then again she was giving serious consideration to how often she needed to blink because that made her want to throw up. She gave up on her shoe after a few attempts and flopped onto her back, both feet over the side of the bed.
Lester came back and saw her lying there, feet on the floor, tears leaking out of her eyes. "What's wrong?"
"I'm going to have to cut my foot off if I ever want out of this shoe," she said.
"Where's the other one?"
"In a taxi possibly? Don't ask difficult questions. Joe and I may have done a few shots before I went home."
"Define a few?" he said dragging her into a sitting position.
"Maybe a million? I'm pretty sure we finished that bottle he was carrying," Molly said. Lester handed her the coffee, and she took a restoring sip while he knelt in front of her on the floor.
"You're probably the best big brother ever, you know that? First, you rescue me, and then you get me coffee, and now you're taking my shoe off," she sniffed, "And I probably ruined your whole night because I know you were probably worrying about me. I'm really sorry…"
"You're pathetic when you don't feel well," he said.
He managed the buckles and then peeled the straps off of her swollen foot, "Yeah, I'm calling Bobby; your foot is deformed, and kind of purple. Does it hurt?"
"Everything hurts. All of me hurts. I can feel my hair growing, and it's painful."
"God, you're a wimp. I don't suppose you have ice?"
"I might have ice cream in my mini fridge," she said.
"Lie down properly on your bed," he said, she wiggled back, and he put a few pillows under her foot. "Try not to die while I go beg ice from next door."
"No promises."
She woke up as Bobby pinched the back of her hand, and she swatted at him. "You're really dehydrated," he said.
He turned her arm over, tied a bit of rubber tubing around her bicep and stuck an IV catheter in her arm. He tore open a bag holding IV bags and attached the tubing to the bottom, and then had Lester hold the bags up, while he assembled a portable IV stand. "What are you giving me?" She asked.
"The ultimate hangover cocktail," Bobby said. "Saline, electrolytes, a slew of vitamins, painkillers, and anti-nausea drugs."
"Is this legal?" She asked.
"Yep," Bobby said, "If you go to Vegas, they have busses that go up and down the strip that provide this service. You'll feel better once you're rehydrated and have had a chance to sleep."
Once she was set up, he checked out her foot. The straps had cut into parts of it, so he put antibiotic ointment on the raw skin, and then he sat on the end of the bed, picked up her foot, and began massaging life back into it. After about fifteen minutes, her foot felt quasi-normal again, and she felt a lot less like she was going to puke.
"Are you seeing anyone Bobby?" She moaned, "Because I feel like I owe you marriage or kinky sex, just for this…Ouch!"
"As it happens, I am seeing someone," he said, brow furrowed as he probed the area that she'd flinched at, "Or I'd take you up on that offer."
"Well, it's good for the day, and one doesn't necessarily preclude the other… Hell, you can bring her along" she said.
"You're just saying that because you can feel your toes again," he said with a sigh. "I'll call her, and she'll come over, and you'll chicken out."
"I dunno," Molly said, "It's been a while; is she cute?"
Lester whacked her with a pillow, "Stop, you're freaking me out."
"Man, she was engaged to and living with, a Frenchman who literally thought of sex as a religion," Bobby said, "She's probably done a lot more kinky things then you have my friend."
Molly peeled an eye open and looked at Lester's stricken face, and she cracked up.
"That's better," Bobby said. He wrapped her foot in an ace bandage, and he produced a small machine. It was a bucket that looked like a small cooler, the lid turned out to be a pump. He filled the bucket with ice water and attached some tubing to the pump, and what looked like a deflated ice pack. He put the pump back in the bucket, closing the lid tight to form a seal. He wrapped the ice pack around her foot, and secured it with Velcro strips, then turned on the machine. In seconds Soothing ice water was circulating around her foot.
"I've set it on a timer; it'll run for ten minutes and stop, and come back on in half an hour. Let it cycle like that until the ice is all melted and the pack isn't getting cold anymore. And stay off of your foot as much as possible. If it gets worse or isn't better by tomorrow, you're going for an x-ray."
"My phone is in my purse, somewhere, can you plug it in for me, and hand me my remote, before you go?" She asked.
"Only because you offered kinky sex," Bobby said. He found what she needed, removed the IV and packed up, Leaving her alone with Lester.
"What happened last night, really?" Lester asked. He sat beside her on the bed and stretched his legs out. He held out his arm, and she wiggled closer and put her head on his shoulder.
"Before or after you picked me up? Because after you left, things are a little fuzzy," she said.
"Before," Lester said, "Was it, Lucien?"
"No," she said, "No this guy was just fucked up. He hit on me every day for a month, bought flowers from me every day, brought me coffee when he had a break. He asked me out yesterday morning on his way home from his shift, and he was super cute, and well, obviously I said yes. He called me at the bar after he left me sitting there for an hour, to say he couldn't come because his wife was in labor."
"You're joking," Lester said.
"She was on bedrest and couldn't put out, so she gave him a hall pass." Lester bit back a laugh, and she rolled her eyes, "Go ahead. I don't know how I find these guys, I really don't. I'd cry, but it's not even surprising anymore."
"You just need to get your Mojo back," he said, "It was a bad breakup, and you're not seeing the decent guys that are looking. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you're thinking that you don't deserve the good guys. It doesn't help that Lucien keeps showing up here to tell you that you'll never find anyone better."
"Do me a favor?" She asked.
"Yeah?"
"If I meet a guy, and I like him, like really like him, resist the urge to protect me from him."
"I'll try, kiddo, but you're my Molly," he said and kissed the top of her hair. She smiled, and fingered the ring on the chain around her neck, and hugged him hard. "I would love to stay to make sure you'll be okay, but I'm on duty."
"I guessed that by all the guns you're wearing," she said.
"I'll call to check on you around four," he said.
"Thanks," she said.
"I'm buying you some groceries," he said as he unfolded himself from the bed beside her, "You're getting too skinny."
"Yes dad," she teased.
He left her, with her remote, a glass of orange juice, and her phone. She turned on the TV and promptly went to sleep.
"Daddy, tell me about my bear?" Molly said. She was four years old and reluctant to go to sleep. They were on a camping trip, and Lester was with their mom, doing some evening fishing.
"Well," Javi said, "It was my turn to pick you and Lester up from Daycare. You were just a little baby, not even one, and Lester was almost three and a half. You were growing teeth, and you'd been crying a lot- because growing new teeth hurts. He could hear you from his classroom, and he got very upset.
He started saying something, and his teacher thought he was saying that he wanted his mommy, but they didn't know who he meant. They were silly and didn't realize you and Lester have the same mommy. They thought it was the mommy he had before we met you guys. So they were walking him up and down the hallway, trying to get him to calm down, and they walked passed your classroom. He saw you and started saying, "There's my Molly!" And they realized that he didn't want his mommy, he wanted his Molly.
They told me at the end of the day because they thought it was cute. But I realized that yes, you and your mom were our girls, and it was time that we made that stick. When two people decide to do that, the man buys the woman he loves a ring and asks her to be his. Since there were two of you, Lester and I decided you both needed something. So I picked out a ring for mommy, and Lester picked out your little bear." She touched the gold bear pendant that hung from the chain around her neck.
"That night, I made your mom a very nice dinner, and Lester helped. Then he gave your mom a big box all wrapped up, and there was a card in it, that he made, that said, 'Will you be my mommy?'And he gave her the ring, and I got down on one knee and pulled out the little box with your bear and I asked you, if I could be your daddy."
"But I didn't say yes, because I was too small, so mommy said yes for both of us."
"That's right."