Sober

Okay, I had no idea I hadn't touched this since November, haha. But even since then, I keep rereading this fic and I really missed it. Even if it looks like I abandoned it, it was only because I had NO idea how to handle their "morning after", and I've been in a creative stand-still of sorts lately. But I've been playing around with this chapter for like a month now, and I'm finally just gonna post it, even if its super short. Just want you guys to know that I really don't want to leave this one hanging and will hopefully start writing more of it soon :-).

And, well, it was disheartening when I rewrote the first chapter as a short story for the literary magazine at school, and since I'm on the staff, I had to sit while everyone criticized it. I suppose high school isn't ready for me, haha, cause most of the staff is a few years younger than me and had nothing to say about it. But whatever, blah blah blah, please enjoy the chapter :-) I hope some of you are still out there lol

Oh, and the whole birth control thing is settled in here. It just bugs me to write it in those scenes cause its so jarring in light of all the action.

This wasn't his bedroom.

That was the only thing that registered at first. He'd only taken a short glimpse at his surroundings, before his heavy eyelids snapped shut at the blinding light. It was blurry, and he was sure his head was spinning in circles. This place was white, anyway. Definitely not his own home.

As he gradually came to, things fell into place in their own time. He was naked. Naked and suffering from a massive headache. And a shower was going in the next room over, and he suddenly remembered her. His eyes drifted down, and caught the foil of an empty condom wrapper. A cold chill washed over his sweaty, over-heated body, even in the muggy room.

He didn't even know her last name.

"Fuck . . .", he mumbled to himself, rubbing his eyes. This was definitely not him. He'd never had a one night stand before, let alone slept with many women outside of his ex-wife. And he hadn't even known Rachel for more than a few days. Truthfully, he didn't really know her at all.

What was he to do? Stay here, in her bed, amongst her mocking white sheets, just waiting for her to emerge from the bathroom into one long, awkward moment? He could always bolt, he supposed, but he wasn't the kind of person to do that. That didn't sit right in his stomach, although that could have been accounted to the hangover. It seemed that thin air wasn't sitting in his stomach, either.

All too soon, he heard the steady flow from the shower cease. His heart was pounding as he tried to muster a coherant thought from his clouded mind. What was there to say to her, even? Should he apologize for last night, or embrace it? He had no idea, and didn't know how he felt about what happened himself.

And then, she was in the doorway, clad in pale blue linen pants and a white tank top, dabbing at her wet hair with a towel.

"Oh . . . you're up," she said, after a moment of them staring at each other. He wasn't sure if she was disappointed, surprised, or both. Or maybe she, like him, was just taking the moment as it came.

"Yeah . . ." he replied lamely. He was suddenly much more aware of the fact that he was naked, even with the hazy memory of last night's events. He clung her sheets closer to himself. "Do you mind if I . . ."

"Oh, sure," she understood, collecting his clothes from around the room and handing them to him. She left the room, most likely to search out some asprin and make coffee in the kitchen, while Ross retreated to the bathroom to clean himself up.

A brief shower left him refreshed, if not still nauseous. After dressing, he caught his own eye in the mirror. He took a deep, hard look at himself, but wasn't sure about what he saw. Something was different, but whether it was good or bad . . .

He tore himself away from his own image, going over potential openning lines for the inevitable "morning after" conversation in his head.

When he found the doorway to the kitchen, he could see her at the table. She sat, a bit hunched over, one hand supporting her head as the other stirred the mug of coffee in front of her. Her eyes were closed, as though she was in deep thought as well. Even in the morning, wet hair and all, she was still stunning to him. He allowed himself a few moments of just watching her, before he cleared his throat.

"Hey there," he uncertainly called out as she turned to see him.

"Hi."

He tentatively took steps foreward, eventually ending up across the table from her, their eyes locked the entire time. Her gaze questioned him, begging for some sort of answer that he couldn't provide anymore than she could. He sat down.

"I'm going to be honest," he began, thinking it best to just say it out loud. "I have no idea what to do now."

"Me either," she admitted, chuckling a bit. "I've never . . . done that."

"Neither have I."

They both then stared at the table, and he fought back images of her from last night. It felt almost wrong to think of her that way, when she was in front of him, so palid and frail. But still . . . he couldn't help it. He knew, somehow, that there was something more. Lust was one thing, but there was some string connecting her to him, though he couldn't yet decipher what it was.

"I want to see you again," he said at once, prompting her to look at him in confusion. "And I'm not saying like last night."

She nodded in understanding, and seemed to think about this.

"Yeah," she eventually agreed. "Me too."

He half-smiled, now pouring out coffee for himself, soaking up the silence between them. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but the tension could have been but with a single spoon. It was more the feeling of anxiousness, wondering where this would go, if anywhere, and what they should do next.

"Massive hangover?", she asked, cutting the silence with a sharp smile.

"Like never before," he laughed.

"What in God's name were we drinking?"

"By the time we left, who knows. It could have been apple juice and we wouldn't have known the difference."

"Most likely true," she noted. "I remember making you try an apple martini, at some point, actually."

"Well, there you go. I normally hate those."

She giggled, and he realized just how infectious her laugh was. However, his eye caught a clock hanging on the wall, and he knew he'd have to leave if he wanted to make it to work on time.

"I actually have a class to teach soon, so I better get going."

"I'll walk you to the door," she offered, and he laughed to himself when he noticed the door was a mere room's walk away. She was just as awkward as he was in all of this, and the thought kept him at ease.

"So, we should . . ." he trailed off. Do this again sometime? That sounded rude, considering just what they'd done. They didn't need to do that again anytime soon. He just wanted to get to know her, minus the effects of mixing alcohol and lust. "There's this coffee shop I know, if you maybe want to grab a cup sometime."

"Sounds good," she said, smiling. "I'm free Friday night."

"I'll swing by around seven."

They held each other's gaze for a moment, before she surprised him by leaning up and kissing him. Her lips lingered only a moment before they both pulled away, each a bit embarrassed. Ross felt like he was in high school, leaving a girl the morning after their first kegger.

"I'll see you, then," he said, goofily, even waving. As she closed the door behind him, he mentally kicked his ass for being so overly happy.

. . . Happy?

-----

So that was what 'happy' felt like. I had finally remembered.