Every time Ann goes out on a weeknight, it makes her feel old but she still promises herself she will never, ever do it again. Well, she promises that but she also promises that if she does she'll at least drink some water every once in a while.

She stumbles out of bed and into the shower, a thought nagging her at the back of her head or maybe it's just the hangover.

Or maybe it's a thought. Did she make out with someone last night? Did she at least have the sense to get his number? Or the sense to lose his number if he was a really crappy kisser or looked hotter in the dark than he really was? Or the sense not to give him her number if that was the case?

She has a bottle of B12 in her medicine cabinet that she decides to put in her purse and bring with her to work to share. No one ever has these when they really need them, although as many times as this has happened maybe she should just leave it in her desk and buy another bottle for her house.

Stepping out in daylight is the worst, and she wonders if she can get away with wearing sunglasses all day.

She goes by the Parks office first to see how Leslie is doing. She's a little embarrassed that everyone seems fine, that they didn't go on a mini-bender on a Tuesday night and come to work in sunglasses. April is giving her a look that's strangely lacking in any of the usual I-come-from-the-fires-of-hell-to-call-you-a-slut-a nd-resent-you-for-kissing-my-boyfriend thing she has and wow, Ann really hopes she didn't do something stupid like forget to button her blouse. She's actually checking when Leslie sweeps her into her office and offers her a huge chocolate chip muffin. Ann actually backs up a little, the smell of chocolate and sugar making her groan.

"Wow. That bad, huh? You didn't make out with anybody, didja?" and it's one of those Leslie jokes that comes at exactly the wrong moment, where she realizes she's the only one giggling about it a little too late, and then her face gets very serious and she goes, "Oh no." But she can't stay serious for too long and starts asking was it good or was it bad and who was it and then tramples right over her mumbled answers that she doesn't remember and starts talking about the campaign and her low numbers and Ann guesses it is kind of a bigger deal than who she did or didn't make out with last night. She tries to listen and decides to take another B12, unzipping her purse and bringing out the giant bottle and a napkin with writing on it. Okay, so she got a number. Maybe that's good.

She feels like she's falling through space as she reads what's written on the napkin. "Oh my god," she says out loud, and Leslie stops mid-sentence and mid-muffin.

"Ann?"

Ann is having trouble breathing. Okay, that's a little over-the-top but there is no way this is true. I'm the one you made out with last night. April, the napkin says, and how would that even work, how would April's head not fall off of her shoulders from rolling her eyes so hard, how would Ann not dissolve into a puddle of acid if they ever - no. This is impossible. "Oh my god," she says again.

"Ann!" Leslie says again. "What is it, what's the matter?"

"Um," Ann replies, trying to think of something to say. "I forgot ... something. I have a report to file."

"You didn't tell me you had a report to file. I would have helped you, I love writing reports," Leslie is saying as Ann is standing up, cramming the napkin back into her purse and struggling with the zipper.

Ann says a little too frantically, "Yeah, but you're trying to focus on your campaign, remember? It's fine, Leslie, I have to go!" She tries to rush out of the office but she only manages a walk that is slightly faster than normal. She feels April's eyes burning into her as she leaves the Parks office and considers leaving Pawnee or maybe Indiana altogether.

She wrestles with the lock on her office door, looking up and down the hall at the people going through their mornings and wonders if April's told anyone. Obviously not Leslie. She didn't see any knowing looks in the office. Andy didn't even look up at her from the table where he was tearing open sugar packet after sugar packet and dumping them in his coffee. If anyone in the Parks office could indicate whether or not April had told anyone, it was Andy. An office that small doesn't allow for secrets. Word would get to Andy somehow. And if Andy knew everyone knew.

"Knew." There was nothing to know. Nothing had happened. Ann had not made out with April. There was just no way. There was just no way April would be able to keep herself from either clawing her own eyes out or just breathing fire on Ann.

She gets into her office, takes the napkin out of her purse and allows herself to stare down at it for fifteen minutes. That's how long it takes her to drink her coffee, check her email and feel generally human on most normal mornings.

How did April get this into her purse? Was it when she walked into the Parks office? It couldn't be. She hadn't gotten up from her desk at all while Ann was there.

It had to be last night. April could have done anything last night and Ann wouldn't know a thing. Obviously. She remembers getting to the Snakehole and Leslie buying her drinks as she talked about Eric dumping her and then she got up so she could leave Leslie alone to maybe go talk to Ben and then she found the nearest person she knew -

April. She was talking to April. It could have happened.

But it didn't. It didn't.

There's a soft knock on her open door and she grabs the napkin and shoves her hands down onto her lap and she knows she looks completely catatonic, looks at best like she was staring down at her empty desk but she just tries to be cool, just greet whoever it is and act like she wasn't just contemplating the mysteries of the universe that are on her desk calendar.

"Hey," the person at the door says, and it's exactly the low, subdued voice that she wants most not to hear right now.

"Hi, April," she says, trying to put on the kind of cheery voice that usually sends April turning around and leaving right away, but what comes out is a sad kind of croak, the kind that only gets April interested, especially when Ann is involved. April takes a few slow steps to the chair on the other side of Ann's desk, and Ann is about to say that she's busy and she really doesn't have time to chat but that's clearly not the case, with the vast empty wasteland on her desk. April lingers next to the chair and presses her lips together and Ann tries not to notice the clear lip gloss making them shine, even under the fluorescent lights in her office.

"Hangover?" April finally asks and Ann can't take it anymore, can't take not asking April what the hell is wrong with her and what she thinks she's doing, so she does, and April says, "Nothing," and Ann holds up the napkin and asks, "So what the hell is this?"

"Um, it's a dumb little note I left you because I didn't want you to forget about making out with me."

She expected a thousand horrible April responses but not something like that. "So we ... We really did," Ann says, and her breath leaves her.

"Yeah. It was actually kinda cool," April replies, and Ann wouldn't know who the hell she was talking to, except April starts snapping her gum and takes a retractable pen out of the cup on Ann's desk and clicks it in and out, again and again and again.

"Cool?" Ann says, her voice small and faint.

"Yeah, that guy's totally lame for dumping you. You're actually a really good kisser."

"Oh. Um. Wow, thanks, I think. But you can't stay with someone just because they're a good kisser." She can't believe she's actually defending a guy for dumping her but there's a lot going on right now that she can't believe and most of it's even weirder than that.

"Sure you can. It's why I married Andy."

"Yeah, about that. Is Andy cool with ... What we did?"

"Andy and I have an open relationship. I get to make out with whoever I want and I can mess around with girls, and he gets to make out and mess around with Eddie Vedder and everyone else on Earth except you. We should make out again."

It's all delivered to her perfectly wrapped up without a note of interest, this stream of information she's not sure she actually wanted to know about April and Andy's relationship. "We could do it right now," April adds like she's saying they could go for sushi for lunch.

"Okay, look," Ann says. "It's a nice offer and I'm glad it was fun for you, but I don't remember it at all and I think that's probably for the best. Can't you just, I don't know, say something horrible to me and leave so I can get to work?"

April sits there, no horrible remark coming. Does she look a little sad? Ann can't tell, but that might be because she's still wearing her sunglasses. "April?" she says and April explodes, her Janet Snakehole voice echoing throughout the hallways. "You have broken my heart, Ann Perkins! You'll never kiss these sweet lips again!"

She storms out of Ann's office and now Ann knows the reason for the delay. Several people are standing outside her door, looking in at the woman wearing sunglasses and putting her head on her desk. "Good," she says to herself. "That's good. I love having an audience on days like this."