Morning dawned in Boston, and as Rosalie went to sit up, she found herself instantly lying back down again, incapacitated by the pain in her head.
"Mary, Mother of God!" She gasped, bringing a hand to her throbbing head. She looked at Alan, who lay sleeping peacefully next to her. She stroked his cheek gently, and pulled the top sheet of the bedding around herself. Staying as low as possible, she crept into the bathroom in search of water; cool, clear water that would rush through her head and refresh her.
Sitting on the toilet, a glass of water in her hand, Rosalie reflected on the evening. It was an all too familiar pattern – too much wine, not enough canapes, and waking up in a strange room with a headache. At least this time it wasn't a fellow professor. She shuddered slightly, remembering the time she woke up in a bed with Professor Stadler - and his collection of antique Russian dolls. Luckily she probably wouldn't need to look Alan in the eyes at a faculty meeting afterwards, and she didn't have to deal with the incredibly creepy feeling of getting dressed in front of thirty unblinking porcelain babies. She heard a quiet ring at the door, and remembering that Alan had mentioned he got the papers and coffee delivered every morning, she crept silently out of the bathroom to collect it.
Alan stirred an hour later, sat up straight and chose to ignore the pain in his head. Pulling a pair of pants on, he walked out into the living room to find Rosalie sat on the couch, a pencil held in her mouth as she looked over the New York Times crossword. Whilst he had slept she had dressed and tidied up, and she was sat in a pair of jeans and a grey sweater. If it wasn't for her being on the couch at all, it would have been as if she hadn't ever been there at all.
"Good morning," he said, walking over to the coffee table and pouring himself a cup of coffee. "The answer to three down, what did we do last night, is 'Nooky' I believe."
"It's actually 'Hanky-Panky'," she replied, looking up at him and taking the pencil from her mouth. "Good morning to you too."
"How long do I have until we make polite goodbyes?"
"How long would you like? I'm not due back at the university for six months. I'm on a research sabbatical."
"In an ideal world I'd like at least an hour. I'm fairly certain there are significant portions of your body I am yet to be acquainted with."
"Undoubtedly there are, although I'm not sure we'll need an hour." Rosalie sipped her coffee and put the newspaper down. "But I'm afraid I shouldn't stay. I need to get back to New York and sort my apartment out. I'm due on an excavation in France next week to start my work." Alan pursed his lips and nodded.
"Very well, I respect your decision. But I would like you to know that I very much enjoyed your company. And, given your electives in psychology, I am sure you'll be comforted to know that last night was my first night without a night terror for nearly a month."
"I am comforted by that." She paused, putting the pencil between her lips again and looking him dead in the eyes. "Well, as much as I should go, I could probably use a shower. Could you show me how it works?"
"So, night terrors," Rosalie said, panting slightly as she rolled away from Alan in the bed. "How long has that been a thing?"
"How long has post-coital psychoanalysis been a thing?" Alan said with a wry smile.
"I'm an academic, blame my thirst for knowledge." She laughed and tied her still-wet curls into a messy bun.
"It's been about six months, on and off. I don't know what triggers them but they are deeply unpleasant. In fact, I even shared a bed with your father to try and stop them."
"That is a definite mood-killer and the thought of it will give me night terrors," she replied with a mock shudder. "I used to have something similar as a child. Sleep paralysis. I used to dream I was trapped in a coffin underground and I couldn't move, couldn't scream, couldn't… well, anything."
"That sounds horrifying." Alan ran his fingers along her collarbone and down towards her cleavage.
"Which is why it came as a surprise when I decided to spend my professional life investigating people who have been dead for a thousand years." She closed her eyes and almost purred at Alan's touch, before shaking her head and pulling herself upright. "I should go, I have a plane to catch. Plus I would prefer to put a bit of distance between Dad and I."
"He cares about you, Rosalie."
"Did you even know I existed before yesterday?"
"I… I didn't."
"I don't even know why I came. In fact, I don't even think he meant to invite me – did you see the look on his face? How many women he must have in that little black book with my name." Angrily, she stood up and started to get dressed.
"He's just… forgetful sometimes, that's all." Alan sat up and rubbed his chin gently. "Would you like lunch before you leave?" Rosalie looked at her watch and sighed.
"I can't Alan. It was nice meeting you, and we both had a good time, but I can't do this now. How about I leave you a pair of my pants to remember me by instead?"
