A/N-Alright the REAL angst comes in another chapter or two later.But enjoy what we have so far. And Katie-Hi!
Who's that knockin' on my door this mornin'
Can't they see I'm dead
There ain't nothin' left to do this mornin'
'cept to make it to my bed...
...Oh, how am I gonna stake my claim on the future
When I cannot lift my head
Oh, I ain't nothin' but a drunken loser
And my liver's overfed
America-Hangover
The alarm was far too loud and the room was far too bright. He groaned and fished around in his nightstand for one of the small packets of Alka-Seltzer that he kept there purely for that purpose and downed them with practiced ease before getting out of bed and walking gingerly to the shower, turning the water onto one step shy of sauna.
He let the hot water run over his body, relaxing muscles and trying to ease the pounding in his head. Strong fingers rubbed his temples, trying to ease the headache away, trying to ease the morning after. Eventually he felt somewhat closer to human, close enough for him to get out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. He half considered shaving but didn't feel up to it, more than likely he'd nick himself and he hated having to clean up the never ending blood supply that came from a nick.
He ran his hands down his face, trying to do something, anything to ease the throbbing. He wasn't going to drink this much on a work night. Especially not that close to how early he needed to get up. He wanted to go back to sleep for another four hours, but he didn't have that luxury.
Instead he grabbed his sunglasses off the table by the door, and didn't bother to take them off once he was in the building. Florescent lighting was more than he could take. He walked in and sat down at his desk, leaning his head down on it. "Hey boss." Jordan said, walking in. He merely grunted in response, not lifting his head.
"I have a migraine, go away." He said, the sound muffled by the fact that he was talking directly into wood. She laughed, a sound which he normally enjoyed cutting deep into his brain.
"And lemme guess. That migraine's name is Johnny Walker?" He grunted. "Right." He heard her collapse onto his couch. "So that means that you're not doing any autopsies this morning and would love to do my paperwork instead where you don't have to put up with all that bright light?" Her voice was purposely in it's upper register and annoyingly loud.
He groaned in pain and looked up at her. "Are you delighting in torturing me?" He complained. She grinned and nodded, and he let his head slump back down onto the desk. "Now leave, and tell everyone that the next one to bother me gets fired." She laughed, the sound still cutting through him. "Out." He ordered, and she complied, closing the blinds and shutting off the lights for him before gently closing the door.
He fought to stop the throbbing in his head. That was a very stupid thing that he had done. If he had done it when he had come home it wouldn't have been that bad, he would have slept the worst part of it off. But no, he had done it at two in the morning after waking up from that nightmare.
And he was never going to do it again, never was he going to drink to the point of getting drunk on a work night. He still wasn't back on firm footing again, he still had to watch out for Slokum to find the first thing to call him on. He couldn't risk coming in with hangovers. He knew his limit.
He sat there, head down, wishing his stomach would stop lurching and his head would stop throbbing long enough for him to at least look at the paperwork. He didn't even remember how much he drank-he thought it was five glasses, but he wasn't sure. He remembered the nightmare, worse than the usual ones that he had, and remembered grabbing a bottle and a glass, and after the second one things started to go hazy. Right now, the only thing that he knew had happened was he had drank himself into a hangover. But he wasn't going to do that again.