For Three

She's not stupid enough to turn down a drink at the Drop when she knows she's never said no to one before. (Not something she's ashamed of, just a fact.) So she lets Paul buy her a beer and leaves it sitting full on the table while she tries to figure out a subtle way to take it with her to the bathroom to pour it out.

This is sort of what she does for a living, so she's not too panicked, but she's also well aware that her coworkers are insanely observant federal agents, leaving little room for error. It won't be long before a full bottle on the table attracts unwanted attention and she'll have to invent the cover story to end all cover stories.

Carefully, she scans the faces of her housemates looking for signs that they're on to her, but the coast seems clear until she gets to Paige, who is tilting her head, looking at her oddly. Unintentionally, Charlie's eyes steal a panicked glance at her drink, and when they're pulled back up to Paige's face, she knows she's been caught.

She's fully expecting this to become a big deal, but instead of asking questions or making the announcement, Paige just nods solemnly, drains the rest of her beer, and discreetly holds the bottle under the table for Charlie to take.

Charlie makes the switch, smiling and shaking her head when Paige takes a few gulps out of that one too. She's almost ready to sigh in relief when Paul notices her empty bottle and goes for a new one, while Johnny starts talking up this new shot menu that they all have to try.

Paige blanches, and Charlie frowns apologetically.

She's going to owe that girl free drinks for the rest of her life.

She slips out from under Paul's arm and into the hall when the nausea kicks in the next morning. Any more of this, and he's definitely going to know something's up. They both love to sleep in, but lately she hasn't been able to make it past six without waking up queasy. She flicks the bathroom light on and narrowly avoids tripping over Paige, who's sprawled out on the bathroom floor, head resting on a folded towel.

Charlie winces and gently prods her with her toe.

"Ugh!" Paige moans, crossing her arms over her eyes. "Turn it off!"

It's still too dark to turn them all the way out, but she adjusts the dimmer to the lowest setting, and the lights fade into something more bearable. "Better?"

Paige mumbles something into the towel that might be affirmative. Her stomach flips again, and Charlie's reminded of why she's there, scrambling over Paige's tangled limbs towards the toilet. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees that her own retching has set Paige off, and she's now bent over the trash can, looking sickly pale in the low light.

She flushes and pulls herself to her feet, wobbling as she retrieves two wash cloths from the cabinet, wets them and hands one to Paige before clapping the other to her own forehead and sinking down onto the floor.

It's going to be a long morning.

When the sun comes up, they're both laying on spread towels, with their cheeks pressed against the cool tile and a trash can within reach. The light must aggravate Paige's headache because her face twists in pain as she struggles to pull herself up to lean on one elbow. "You have to tell him," she groans. "I can't do this again. I'll die, Charlie. I'll actually die."

If memory serves her correctly, this is only half the hangover Paige had the morning after her birthday last year, but she did really come through for her last night, so Charlie doesn't bring it up. "I know. And I will," Charlie concedes. "I think he's already suspicious after you told him that you were drinking for three last night."

"Three?"

"I don't know." She laughs and scrubs a hand over her closed eyes. "You, me, and the baby, I guess."

Oh wow. She hasn't actually used that word since she started to something was off, and it startles her into sitting up. A baby.

Paige looks equally stunned. "Do you know what you're going to do?" she asks hesitantly.

"No," Charlie says, shaking her head and chuckling a little hysterically. "Not a damn clue."

Helplessly, Paige watches as she laughs harder and harder, until she's heaving from lack of oxygen and it's clear that nothing is funny. After two failed attempts to get up off the floor and go to her, Paige grabs ahold of Charlie's towel and drags it towards her, pulling Charlie with it. It must have looked ridiculous and it makes her laugh even harder.

"You'd be a good mom."

The words knock the air out of her stomach, and she starts to feel queasy again. "You think so?" she asks quietly.

"Yeah, of course. Well," Paige shrugs. "Then again, you did let me nearly drink myself into a coma last night. So, I don't know, you could really suck."

For some reason, that's oddly comforting.

All it takes is a few minutes of quiet for Paige to fall back asleep, propped against the sink. When she does, Charlie gets up and locks the door before she sits back down on the towel. Curiously, she lifts up the hem of her tank top and pokes at her stomach before realizing how stupid she must look and yanking her hand away.

Like clockwork, her nausea disappears by nine, and Charlie gently pulls Paige's head into her lap because it doesn't feel right to leave her laying there considering she was a proud sponsor of this particular hangover . When Paul comes in to brush his teeth, he smiles at the both of them and kisses Charlie's head.

"The two of you hit it a little too hard last night?"

For a second, she forgets about Paige and thinks he's talking about…well…the two of them.

It doesn't feel as wrong as she thought it would.