Story List

1. Embarrassment Supreme (5 parts)

2. Marlon Remembers

3. WiP…

**this story takes place the very next day after S2 E8's ending**

Embarrassment Supreme

Part 1 of 5

Richard stumbles back to soupy consciousness. Against his better judgement. DEFINITENLY against his stomach's strict orders to ignore this entire day and go directly to tomorrow. With his brain's enthusiastic endorsement of this plan!

Nevertheless, he cracks an eyelid open and immediately closes it in abject apology to his screaming retina, clapping his hands over his eyes. Oh, god, why is it so bright? He runs trembling fingertips over his cheeks. Oh, dear god, why does my skin hurt? His hands halt at the edge of his sheet where it is pulled up properly to his collarbones. Oh, dear sweet Jesus, why can't I feel anything below my waist?

With his eyes squinched shut as tight as he can manage and holding his entire body as still as he is able, he slides flinching hands down his torso, under the sheet, and hesitantly assures himself that he is intact in all matters male. But, as his hands pass with shudders over his body, he still can't tell if his legs are working. He cracks an eyelid once more and peers down the bed to see if his feet are there. They are. One of them even manages to wag slightly. Yep, I'm here! I'm pretty sure my partner is alive too so it's ALL good! He shuts his eye and quivers from stem to stern. He counts to ten. He breathes in then out then in again and tries to remember.

Remember… remember… music… drinks… her… dancing close… so desirable. The smell of her… the look of her… her voice… that laugh low in the throat… a laugh private and pitched just for him. What had she said? What had HE said? He remembers feeling confident… sure of himself and of her… but… surely… that had been the drinks talking? Surely he hadn't really asked her if she… if he… if they… Oh, dear god AND sweet baby Jesus… surely we didn't actually… actually…!

He sits bolt upright in bed then stiffens in pain as his head explodes and his stomach heaves and he jack-knifes sideways and tries very hard not to vomit! Oh, I am NEVER going into La Kaz ever again! Catherine must be trying to kill me! Why would she do that, I wonder? She kept the drinks coming and I kept drinking them! Why would I do THAT, I also wonder?

You know why… a sly little voice starts up in his head.

"NO, I DON'T!" he blurts out then claps a hand over his mouth. Oh, great! Now I'm talking to myself! Can it get any worse?

Just as he is getting control of his gag reflex and thinking maybe about crawling to the bathroom for a nice cool ANYTHING… the sound of running water that has been droning on in the background without his conscious notice stops… and it gets worse.

Way way WAAAYYYYYY worse!

But, for now, the sudden silence merely drives home the thunderous thumping in his head. I left the shower running! That's not like me. I left the shower running and now I'm out of water! If I want to wash, I'm going to have to go into the ocean. NOT! I can't possibly walk that far. Also, I need aspirin. Aspirin and a stomach pump. Aspirin and a stomach pump and a doctor and maybe even a priest!

Nah, the little voice chuckles, you need a NURSE… and here she comes!

He has just enough time to think (if 'think' is actually the word that describes what is happening inside his head) that maybe he is hallucinating when he hears another voice. A female-type voice!

He stiffens and stills upon his bed of pain and listens with all his flagging strength. I hear singing. SINGING! In my bathroom! He simply gives up all hope of ever regaining his sanity. That's IT, he despairs. I've gone mental! This island has finally driven me insane and now I'm on the twist… gone around the bend… up the flagpole… my knickers in a knot...

This thought about knickers gives him pause.

He waits. Nothing comes. What? His memory stirs sluggishly, trying to say something, trying to show him something. What is it? Knickers? What about them? It was just an expression. I don't wear knickers, you know that. I wear boxers, always have, always w...

Really, whispers the voice? Where are they then, hmmm?

His hand slides down to a sheet-covered hip. Well, they're right here…

But… They're not. His contour is smooth all the way down. No waistband or seam to be found.

He remembers now. When he checked beneath the sheet, he'd been naked. His brow crinkles in puzzlement. Now, how often has THAT ever happened? How often have I fallen asleep and forgotten to dress? Never, he thinks, scandalized! That's how often! NEVER! I always dress properly. Where are my pajamas? His hand checks beneath his pillow. Nope. They're not there. Where are they?

He struggles up into a more or less sitting position and groggily looks about. There is NO sign of his pajamas anywhere! But... he peers across the room to his desk… are those his boxers? Are those his actual boxers lying there in a heap atop his desk? And what's that lying beside them? He peers harder and his headache amps up another notch. He simply can't make out what he is seeing!

He scrubs at his face and looks again. He stares for several seconds, simply unable to process what he thinks he sees. Can't process… and can't believe! Knickers! Lacy knickers! Tiny black lacy knickers resting beside his boxers!

He can't accept it. He HAS to be in some sort of dream-state. Is he even actually awake? There is absolutely NO WAY this can be real! The sheer impossibility of the situation gives him the strength to sit up, VERY slowly, and slide over to the edge of the bed, again VERY slowly, and carefully lower his feet to the floor. It is with great relief that he registers the cool planks against his soles. Thank goodness! He still has feet! Now he totters onto them and stands swaying for many moments before he regains his balance and manages to stagger across the vast stretch of floor until he runs into his desk and almost topples down onto it.

He fetches himself a sharp rap on the hip as he catches himself just in time and leans heavily onto the desk top and stares down at… at… what is he seeing? He reaches out a shaky hand and prods his boxers. Yep, these are definitely them but how did they get way over here? His finger pauses fearfully before it prods the black lace.

The unknown item jostles slightly but doesn't transform into something else more sensible, like a handkerchief or a sock or even a tie. It stubbornly remains black lace. He picks it up between thumb and forefinger and looks at it in absolute bewilderment.

It is! It IS! These are definitely lacy black knickers and SO not his! A woman would wear stuff like this… a woman… but… a woman… that means… a woman… His head klaxons once before his skin rashes out in gooseflesh and he stills, eyes staring out the window, seeing nothing, hearing nothing…

… except that gleeful voice in his head, shouting! A woman! A woman! You got a woman!

And all he can do is moan miserably in dreadful reply, "A woman? Here?! NOW?!"

Just as his shocked mind slams back into focus and escape plans shoulder their way into his head, he hears a voice speak from behind him, "Well, THIS is nice! What a way to greet the new day!"

END – part 1