The next morning, the sun rudely woke me up as it streamed through the window right into my eyes. I groaned and yawned, stretching some, until the previous night's events flooded my memory.

"Aww… crap," I mumbled, getting out of bed. Today would not be fun.

In the kitchen, the boys were already awake. Church was crankily attempting to make some instant coffee, trying unsuccessfully to rip open a plastic pack of ground coffee beans. Tucker sat at the table, his head in his hands. Caboose, however, sat eating a large pile of sugary cereal, completely cheerful.

"Good morning," I yawned, plopping down at the table as well. "How are you guys?"

Church, busy with the coffee, didn't turn to me. "I've got one hell of a headache," he grumbled, tugging irritably at the vacuum-sealed pouch. "Last thing I remember was downing that mug of whiskey. Then it's all blurry."

"Same here," Tucker replied, dropping his head on the table. "I can't remember a damn thing."

…And that's probably a good thing, I thought grimly.

"Yesterday was a fun party," commented Caboose, his mouth full of cereal. "I liked the contest. But I still don't know where our new movie is." He frowned, swallowing his multicolored breakfast. "Will it come in the mail?"

I tensed, glancing worriedly at Church and Tucker, but they paid Caboose no attention. Church ignored him, continuing to wrestle with the pack of instant coffee, and Tucker simply sighed, his head still on the table. Relaxing, I sat back in my chair. Thank goodness Caboose said odd things all the time. The others were used to his (usually) unintelligible garble.

Tucker looked up drearily, but upon seeing me, sat straight up in his chair and almost toppled over.

"Ells, what the—" he gasped. "Why are you wearing my shirt?"

I looked down at myself and jumped, remembering that I had gone to sleep without changing—which meant that I was still wearing my dress from the previous night along with Tucker's button-down shirt.

An explosive pop rang out from the other side of the room. Coffee grounds littered the floor, and Church gaped at me, the now empty pack of coffee still frozen in his hands.

My face flushed in embarrassment as I ripped off the shirt.

"Uh, here you go, Tucker," I said sheepishly, handing it to him.

"What the hell happened last night?" asked Tucker, half amazed, half panicked. He gazed at the shirt in his hands as if unable to believe I had been wearing it. "Something I should… know about?"

"Nothing," I replied quickly. "Honestly. You guys went to the bar, got drunk, and then I got you home. No big deal."

"So… how does that correspond with your taking my shirt?"

"Um, I definitely didn't take it. It was… taken off."

Tucker raised an eyebrow. "Taken off? By whom? You?"

"No. Uh… by Simmons."

I winced. This was just getting worse and worse.

The Blues looked at each other, their mouths hanging wide open. I would have laughed if I hadn't been so embarrassed.

"Eleven wasn't wearing her dress last night!" piped in Caboose. "She was all dressed up and then she—"

"Caboose. Shut. Up." I said through gritted teeth. The Blues looked about ready to pass out.

"Why the hell was Simmons taking off my clothing? And why the hell did you end up with it?"

"Would you relax?" I spat angrily. Enough was enough. "If you're so damn interested in what happened last night, here it is: you all started a freakin' bar fight! Tucker, you and Simmons started it—over something really stupid—and when you two were going at it, your shirt came off in the process. I had to dress like a Bingle representative to persuade you guys to get out of there, okay? That's why I wore your stupid shirt. It looked as lame as what a computer nerd would wear!"

I stormed out of the kitchen to my room, where I showered and changed irritably. Guys' minds were so deep in the gutter, it was a wonder I could even breathe through the toxic fumes.

Without mentioning a word to the Blues, I decided to leave. On my way out, I walked past the kitchen quietly. Church, a worried look on his face, was telling Caboose to help him clean up the coffee grounds; Tucker, meanwhile, still sat at the table, gazing at the shirt as if in a trance. Hoping they wouldn't hear me this time, I left and headed toward the Red base. I would choose a hung-over Simmons over any of the Blues at the moment.

"Hey, Ells," yawned Donut as I walked into the base. "How're you doing?"

"I'm a little pissed at the moment, but I'll be fine," I said, sighing and sliding into one of the kitchen table seats. Donut gave me a questioning glance, and I rolled my eyes. "I accidentally walked into the kitchen this morning wearing what I was last night—just my dress and Tucker's shirt. So Tucker freaked out."

Donut smiled. "Well, I guess you can't blame him. He does have a guy mind, after all."

"I just wish it were a little less prominent."

"Don't we all?" He headed to the fridge and took out a carton of eggs. "You want an omelette?"

"Ha, that would be great, Donut. Thanks."

As the eggs sizzled in the pan, a yawning Grif trudged into the kitchen.

"Can I have one too, Donut?" He saw me and smiled lopsidedly. "Hey, Eleven. Come to tell us what happened last night? 'Cause I definitely don't remember."

I gave Donut a meaningful look. "Hardly. I'm here to make sure you didn't die of alcohol poisoning."

"Ugh. I must have had a shitload to drink then. I feel terrible. And for some reason, I'm really freakin' sore. Like I was beat up or something last night."

I said nothing, looking down at the floor and pretending to be very interested in the pattern of tile. I wasn't going to be the one to tell Grif he now sported some nice purple bruises on his face.

"Hey, Eleven!" said Simmons, walking into the room. He was already dressed and actually looked semi-presentable. His hair was wet as well… had he showered? I sniffed and smelled Old Spice. What soldier, recovering from a major bout of drunkenness, would look that respectable at this time of the morning? "Come to thank me?"

My eyebrows knitted. "Thank you for what, exactly?"

He looked at me as if unable to believe I couldn't remember. "I totally saved you from the Blues last night. They kidnapped you from our table, and I rescued you."

…And all this time, I thought he'd been just as drunk as the rest of them.

I got tired of the Reds. I'd thought that they would be a break from the confusion over at Blue base, but they were simply... annoying. Grif started getting suspicious once he discovered his bruises, and Simmons kept trying to convince me that he'd been all chivalrous and manly and whatnot. When Sarge revealed a large bottle of vodka he'd managed to sneak out of the bar, it was the last straw. There was no way I could deal with that right now.

Even in the presence of an annoying group of Blues, I decided I'd just be able to ignore them and carry on with my day by myself. Back at the base, I found Tucker, Church, and Caboose watching the football game on TV. When I walked in, they saw me and stood up simultaneously.

"Eleven, we've decided you need something," said Church. "Come on."

They looked so grave, I didn't think it would be a good idea to ignore them, so I grudgingly followed them into the kitchen.

"We've decided that you had way too much to drink last night," Church explained seriously, handing me a mug. It contained a very thick, reddish-looking liquid. "This will probably get you out of your hangover. I mean, I know we had some to drink, but we would have remembered something as crazy as a bar fight. I think that if you're drunk enough to start having hallucinations and delusions and shit, you gotta let your friends take care of you. So drink up."

I stared. Church and Caboose smiled at me eagerly. "Are… are you serious? You think I was the one who had too much to drink?"

"Well, duh, if you thought that a freakin' fight happened last night. I mean, we would have remembered that."

I gaped at their expectant faces, but Tucker wouldn't look at me. He gazed at the ground instead, saying nothing.

"You are all insane," I said. "I wouldn't make that up. But if you really think I'm crazy, I'll drink this. Just for you." I paused, looking at the drink tentatively. "I hope you're happy."

I took a swig of what was in the mug and thought I'd died.

I spat it all out over Church's face, hacking, coughing, and falling to the ground. My insides were surely on fire.

"What—what the hell—what did you give me?" I gasped, almost licking the tile floor. At least it would be cool. I ran to the freezer and stuck my head inside, resting my tongue against an ice pack.

"What else is better for a hangover? Tabasco sauce."