A/N: When last we left off, our dear Patience Mount had just been broken up with via letter. The nerve!

It was odd, Patsy supposed, but waking in the arms of a stranger was becoming almost routine. She could count on one hand the number of nights that she had spent recently in her own bed and still have fingers left to spare. At least this time, she'd had the good fortune of stirring before her latest conquest. Norah? Nicole? It certainly started with an N. She rolled, swung her legs over, and made to stand. She was upright for all of three seconds before her knees gave way.

Thump.

The carpeted floor muffled the sound. That was, at least, something to be grateful for. The room spun and she willed herself into a crawl, grabbing her clothes as she slowly made her way out of the bedroom. She was dressed and out the door in decent time, with only a small feeling of guilt as she hear the lock click behind her. It disappeared as she rode the lift down, each floor distancing her from it just a tad more. By the time she was on the ground level and into the lobby, her mind was focused on other things. Chief among them being figuring out where the fuck she was and finding her way home.

She stepped outside, immediately wishing that she hadn't. Even in pale light of the early hours, the brilliance of the clear sky was too much for Patsy. The drummer would stop playing in her head eventually, but for now, she would have to find her own ways to mute him. She lit a cigarette eagerly, using the rhythmic puffs to find her balance. She was never drinking this much again (alright she was, but it felt nice to promise it to herself for the time being).

Ten minutes later, Patsy was slouched over in a cab, desperately trying not to be sick. Of all the times for her motion sickness to kick in, it would have to be then. Emily had teased and teased her about it after an unfortunate episode involving a drive to Brighton, a runaway cow, and ten quid worth of Canada Dry. After that, Patsy had insisted on being the one in the driver's seat every time, even if she had to forgo alcohol to do so. She shook her head to clear the memory, instantly regretting the decision as the cab floor swam before her eyes. She hadn't thought of Emily in nearly two weeks.

Emily of the dusky blonde hair, green eyes, and wry smile. Emily who understood the demands of her job and asked no more of Patsy than what she was willing to give. It had been easy, at first. Short nights spent together in a ball of passion, wearing each other out until dreamless sleep fell over them.

Patsy Mount had thought herself to be self-reliant, confident in who she was. But she had craved Emily's attention like a drug, each moment feeding into her addiction, her body relishing in the idea that she was worth time even as her mind refused to let go. It scared her, still, to think that she had become so dependent on someone else. So she had stepped back, throwing up ten foot walls, dodging phone calls and picking up extra shifts when she knew Emily had something planned. Patsy had wanted distance; the Army had seen to that and then some.

The cab slowed and she chanced a glance outside, spying the familiar blue archway and grey painted brickwork that denoted her building. Even in her most drunken state she could always remember to look for 'Archie Grey,' as Trixie called it. She tossed a couple of notes to the cabbie as she made her exit, the effort to ask for change seeming too great. Shielding her eyes from the bright rays that threatened to make her head explode, she ducked inside.

All things considered, she should have won a gold medal for making it to her flat in one piece. Several feats of high caliber gymnastics had been achieved to get her up the stairs after the lift had taken too long. Damn her for having a flat on the top floor. Whose brilliant idea had that been, anyway? She had been forced to stop halfway up for a breather, leaning her head against the wall to absorb some of its cold and steel herself for the rest of the journey.

A rummage for her keys had proved useless several times over, and she frustratedly spilled various knicknacks out of her bag before remembering that she had used her fob to swipe into the building. The keys were promptly located in her pocket. Then she was home, her couch waiting for her temptingly, its proximity too good of an invitation for her to pass up. A couple hours of a nap would do her good. She barely managed to set an alarm before her body gave in to the soft plushy goodness beneath her.

"Late night?" Trixie teased as Patsy entered the break area in search of desperately needed coffee. The nap had done her a world of good, easing her headache to make it bearable even with the sounds of the hospital and leaving her thoughts a lot clearer than before. But still, there was only so much it could do to erase what she had done.

"More like early morning." She shot back. Trixie's eyebrows raised slightly as she made an appreciative noise.

"Now you have to spill the details!" Though not inclined towards the ladies, Trixie could still appreciate a good time. At the moment, she was going through a dry spell, and picked as many opportunities as possible to remind Patsy that she was living vicariously.

"Beatrix Rose Franklin, a lady never kisses and tells." She tutted in mock disapproval.

"That's right, Patience Elizabeth Mount, a lady never does." Patsy rolled her eyes and tossed her jumper at Trixie. The blonde gave a muffled 'oof' as she caught a mouthful of fabric.

They had developed an easy, bantering rapport almost immediately, Trixie's constant playfulness and excitement balancing Patsy's penchant to brood. Four years they had known each other, providing support both inside and outside the hospital walls. Trixie was the nearest thing Patsy had to a best friend, and Patsy would have sworn that fate had brought them together. If she believed in that sort of thing.

She succeeded in locating a packet of instant just before the start of her shift and chugged it, mercilessly forcing her body to accept the caffeine. The taste was vile and she gagged, but at least it was in her system. Labouring mothers and their complications could come at her however they liked: she had fortified herself and would not be stopped.

Swing shifts had always been her favorite. They started late enough to (usually) allow for her to make something of her day, and ended early enough that she could still go out for a drink or two. Or five, as the case had been last night. The mothers had been kind today, somehow deciding as a group that today was simply not the day to have children. Patsy realized it was Halloween near hour five, causing Trixie to break down in a fit of giggles as she suggested that no one wanted the responsibility of a child with that birthday.

With an hour to go, she sat herself in the central station and started checking and double checking that all electronic charts had been updated properly. Everyone on the ward was meticulous in their work, but it never hurt to give the files a last look before turning them over. Before she knew it, Sister Turner, the night shift charge nurse, was nudging her out of the chair to take stock of the patients.

In the end, she hadn't used much of the energy the coffee had given her. Actual sleep was what she needed most at that moment, but her nerves fizzled animatedly. A nightcap wouldn't hurt. Trixie begged off: with her mother visiting tomorrow, waking up with the slightest hint of a hangover was probably not a good idea, even if she was 27 and it was Halloween. They split ways at the doors, Trixie heading to Euston to catch the Tube and Patsy to her favorite haunt, cigarette in hand.

Hare's Heart was a tired-looking pub in an even more tired-looking building, complete with peeling green paint and a sign that rattled whenever the wind blew a little too hard. To most passersby, the dusty windows and muted lighting gave the whole facade an unfriendly feel. This was not helped by the horror-skewed Peter Rabbit decorations haphazardly put up in honor of the holiday.

She had accidentally stumbled upon the pub one evening in her first year of university while exploring. The others in her group had rejected it offhand, but she had gone back on her own. Soon, she was using it as a revision space, pouring over theory and medical images while she munched on chips. In those early years of her life in London, it had not been uncommon for her to be woken by a bartender ringing for last call, packing her books as the final pints of the evening were poured.

Tonight, there was a new group of women among the regulars. They were laughing wildly about something or other as Patsy walked through the door, the noise so infectious that she felt the ghost of a smile tug at her lips. The leader was a woman with a shock of unruly candy floss blue hair, currently engaged in telling whatever story it was that had caused the surge of volume.

She turned away to the bar and nodded at the bartender, who was already pouring her a pint of the house draught.

"Evenin', Patsy. Will ya be wan'in ta' star' a tab?" She shook her head and passed him a couple of pounds in reply.

"Enjoying the holiday? I thought the Peters a nice touch, if a little startling to the unaware." John was usually the one responsible for such antics.

"No' tha' ya would know anythin' abou' touchin' pe'ers, now would ya?" He flashed her a cheeky grin as she flapped her hand at him. It had been a long time since he had said anything that made her choke on her beer.

"My word, do you talk to all your customers like that? If only they knew..." She said the words freely, knowing that he would take no offence.

"Wha' me? Never!"

John was a friendly bloke, with two kids and a wife who minded his long hours, but appreciated how well management treated him. She knew because he had told her so several times in the years that she had known him. They exchanged Christmas cards and swapped dirty jokes, and she had watched as his hair had made the transition from black to its current salt-and-pepper.

She settled into an easy silence, content to sip and absorb the atmosphere as John tended to other customers.

"Excuse me," the voice came from Patsy's right, "could I get another pint of the house brew?"

At an ordinary pub, the request would have been innocuous, and Patsy would have been content to down her drink and leave. But the Hare's Heart specialty draught was interesting to say the least, and that she knew of, it had never been ordered by anyone who was not a regular. An acquired taste, just like her.

She turned slightly to appraise the woman next to her, lifting her glass to her mouth in an attempt at subtlety. The first thing she noticed was not the shoulder length chocolate brown hair or the deep turquoise eyes, though she certainly kicked herself for that later. It was the fact that the woman was wearing what appeared to be a onesie in bright red, complete with red gloves. Patsy suspected that she was even wearing red woman turned to make her way back to her table, and Patsy saw a 'Thing 6' sign firmly attached to her chest before their eyes met. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks at being caught. The brunette opened her mouth to say something.

The sound of tyres skidding and windows smashing beat her to the punch.

A/N: Not entirely satisfied with the ending, but it was too good to pass up. Also, I would pay good money to see the Hangover Olympics.

Chapter title is because a) I felt the lyrics matched but, more importantly, b) I LOVE PUNSSSSSSS.

As always, feel free to say hi here, on AO3, or on tumblr at twomeerkatsinatrenchcoat.