The process of waking up had been perfected by Barnaby years ago, to the point that he was virtually unable to break the good habit he'd instilled in himself. His alarm clock was rarely needed to get him up in time, and he had never touched the snooze button. If there was an important appointment, he always woke in enough time to shower, dress, get breakfast, and be fully prepared for the day ahead without needing to rush at any point. It wasn't even an ability he prided himself on, it was simply the way he did things, and could not conceive of doing them differently. But around the time he learned that alcohol could be used to help induce sleep on his sleepless nights, he also learned another important fact.

Having a hangover blew all those carefully laid habits to hell.

So instead of awakening quickly and easily, recalling the day's schedule, and setting about preparing for it, he woke up with a dull throb in his head and an uncomfortably dry mouth. He tried opening his eyes, but immediately closed them and wrote that off as a bad idea. How could something as beneficial and necessary as light hurt so very badly?

A detached part of his mind clinically reviewed the information and came to the conclusion that he had a hangover. It then ranked this particular hangover on the list of his worst. Not a new record, but not a forgettable one, either. He must have gone through a fair bit of his wine collection to get to this point. Did he? He started to bring up the memories of the night before, though they were hazy and his head continued to throb. That detached part of his mind started to weigh the benefits verses the disadvantages of overindulging on alcohol: on one hand, this hangover made him miserable, but on the other, he woke up with it, therefore it must have at least allowed him to sleep.

Sleep. Something about sleep. He had nothing going on today, so he could nurse this hangover without having to go to extraordinary measures to hide his misery. It was the weekend. He usually spent time on the weekends with Kotetsu. Well, that explained why he'd drank that much. He tended to lose track of how much he was drinking when it was with Kotetsu.

Something about Kotetsu. And sleep. And... He frowned. He needed to do something about this headache, it kept intruding on his thoughts and scattering them before he could get a fix on the situation. He reached for his glasses.

Out of reach? Then where was he in the bed-

He froze as the memories came flooding in. Kotetsu. Kotetsu had been too drunk to drive back. He told him to stay. And somehow Kotetsu had convinced him to share the bed.

His body tense, he turned his head to the other side of the bed and blinked warily. The light again stabbed straight through his eyes into his aching head, forcing him to close them again. The vague blur he'd managed to register in that blink wasn't enough for him to tell what was going on. He needed his glasses. He groped out again for the bedside table.

"Here, Bunny." And his glasses were placed in his hand.

Steeling himself, Barnaby slipped them on, then hesitantly opened his eyes again. The light didn't hurt any less, but at least he was able to see now. And what he saw was Kotetsu, in the rumpled and slept-in clothes he'd worn yesterday, standing next to the bed and holding a glass of water.

"Thought you might be thirsty when you woke up, if you feel the way I do," Kotetsu explained in a voice that betrayed an undertone of pain, setting the glass down on the bedside table and then leaning back.

Barnaby peevishly noted that he hadn't even used a coaster, and he pushed himself up into a sitting position so he could save his furniture from the indignity by taking the glass. Also, so that he could drink the water. The old man was right, he was thirsty. "Thank you," he said after downing most of the glass.

"You must feel the way I do," Kotetsu observed, with a note of sympathy in his voice. "But what I want to know is how your hair is still so perfect."

Barnaby frowned, a hand going self-consciously to his hair. "It's not perfect," he insisted. "It's a mess." His fingers itched to fix it.

"My hair's a mess. Your hair looks good enough for a photo shoot."

"Considering that tastefully tousled is in this season, I'll give you that one."

"Hah." There was a pause. "Need another drink? I mean, water, not hair of the dog that bit us."

"No, I'm fine."

"You are not, don't even start. Breakfast?"

A thin smile. "Fried rice?"

"What else?" Kotetsu was grinning, though Barnaby could see lines of pain etched in his face. Not severe pain, but definitely significant discomfort. He knew his partner's face well enough to read that. So Kotetsu had a hangover too. Barnaby felt a sudden stab of guilt as he remembered that he hadn't yet learned how to make fried rice. At least, not the way he wanted, he had yet to get the recipe just right. And he'd promised. He'd-

He didn't want to think about that. They hadn't talked about it, that horrible waking nightmare when Barnaby's partner had again taken a hit to save him, to save them all, and was now dying in his arms. He didn't want to talk about it, or think about it, because the very thought of it brought that aching despair welling back up again.

No. Back to the present. Where he was in his bed and Kotetsu was offering to make breakfast and it was almost like a repeat of that time they'd been pressed into being babysitters, except they were alone this time. The hangover was about the same, though. "I suppose it will have to do," he finally answered, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. This wasn't as awkward as he feared it would be.

"Then I'll do that, and you can shower while I make breakfast."

Barnaby frowned. Now he was getting suspicious at how not-awkward this was. Kotetsu was here, in his apartment. Kotetsu had slept here after drinking with him last night. In his bed...

Or did he? His chest tightened, and a chill seized him. He couldn't remember. He wasn't sure. His memories were hazy. Usually that didn't matter after a night of drinking but this time, this time it was important, and he couldn't remember.

"Hey, Bunny," and Kotetsu's hand was on his shoulder, his gaze worried. "What's wrong?"

"I-" Barnaby swallowed, his mouth dry from more than just the hangover. "You...you stayed here last night, right?"

"Yeah, you wouldn't let me get a taxi. You insisted that I stay here. It was storming." Kotetsu's voice was calm and careful, worried around the edges, but patient. Barnaby started to feel the clutch of fear ease up around his chest. The storm...he remembered the storm. He remembered Kotetsu getting up, and walking him to bed again, and...

He looked down at his hands, feeling a warm flush in his face that he hoped he could pass off as just the hangover. "You slept in my bed."

"And I told you, your pillows are too firm."

"...and I woke up in my bed."

"I woke up earlier, and got up to get some water. I was going to shower but the noise would be too loud for my headache," Kotetsu explained patiently.

He was calming down. The memories were all there, just a bit hazy from the alcohol. That's all. Nothing sinister. Just a normal byproduct of overindulgence. But it was another point in the cons column of why drinking wasn't a good sleep aid. He shivered.

"What's wrong, Bunny? Cold? I didn't steal the blankets." It was a joke but it wasn't, and in those warm brown eyes looking down at him was concern.

He swallowed. "I just couldn't remember, at first. I remember now. It just worried me for a bit when I couldn't remember."

The hand on his shoulder tightened. "Ah, I see," Kotetsu said, and his voice was soft with compassion for those words. It then brightened. "Well, there's nothing to worry about. We didn't even spill any wine on the carpet."

"Good." Barnaby tore his gaze off his hands to look up at the man standing beside him. His partner. "I'm sorry, Kotetsu. I shouldn't have worried you like that."

"I told you, there's nothing to worry about! Except our hangovers. So I'll go start breakfast, okay?" He patted his shoulder, and then started to walk away.

Barnaby put his hand on Kotetsu's. "Thank you."

"What for? I haven't started breakfast yet. Save your thanks for later, in case I burn it." With a chuckle, Kotetsu left the room, and left Barnaby with a small smile on his face.

Well. That had been...something. Awkward and frightening and reassuring all at once. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, discovering with a sour note that his hair was indeed quite a mess, despite Kotetsu's observations to the contrary. What did the man know about style anyway? He managed to keep his beard neat, but that was just about it. And that ridiculous hat he insisted on wearing...

Now his thoughts were wandering again. Barnaby sighed again. A shower. Kotetsu had suggested he take a shower, and it sounded like a good idea. He rubbed his temples, hoping the headache would ease soon, and with its absence make his thought processes clear up. He had to admit that the memory issues bothered him far more than the headache and other physical discomforts. Yes, he was definitely going to have to rethink this drinking thing, because being unable to think clearly was far harder to deal with than simple insomnia. At least for him. Still troubled by the haze in his memory, he set about getting that shower done, feeling oddly self-conscious about undressing, even after shutting the bathroom door.

Memories. Another thing he hadn't talked about. Another thing he didn't want to talk about. It had only been a few weeks since...since all that. Since he'd almost lost everything. And never mind that he'd been manipulated, he still felt the heavy burden of guilt for what he had almost done.

"My name's not Bunny."

Wait. Where was he? The bridge, he'd been chasing... Kotetsu? No, that didn't seem right, he'd been chasing a criminal. Kotetsu was here, though. But why was he cringing on the ground, his suit battered and broken in many places? Why was he tensed with a look of abject despair on his face? Why was he now staring up in shock?

"It's Barnaby." He was annoyed. Maybe not as annoyed as his voice let on, because he had to admit, he had been coming to secretly enjoy the fact that his partner had a nickname for him. But he didn't want to let that on. He wanted it to look like he tolerated it when he was in a good mood. And he wasn't right now, because there was something important going on and Kotetsu was calling him by that childish nickname again when they should be-

Should be what?

Why was it so hard to remember?

"What's going on?" Why were they here like this?

Kotetsu, unsteadily rising, his brown eyes wide. "You're back to normal?"

Normal? What did he mean by that? Did he have to explain, patiently, why that nickname bothered him? Apparently so, because Kotetsu was still staring at him. With...with tears in his eyes? "What happened?"

"You know who I am, right?"

How infuriating of him! That was no answer, and what kind of question was that, anyway? Frustrating old man, never being forthright when it was important... He narrowed his eyes, peering curiously at his partner. "Kotetsu?"

He didn't expect the excited whoop, or the sudden embrace, or the tears that brimmed and rolled freely down Kotetsu's cheeks. None of what was happening made any sense to Barnaby. Why on earth was he acting like this? What was going on? He still didn't have an answer to that question, and he started to open his mouth to ask again-

He definitely didn't expect the kiss.

It took him so completely by surprise to feel Kotetsu's lips on his that he froze entirely, and something, something deep-down that he'd pushed back there into the dark recesses to never ever be considered, never be entertained, never even consciously admit, that something took this opportunity and responded.

By kissing him back.

His lips were moving with Kotetsu's, and he registered the other man's surprise in a small hesitation, a soft and muffled sound of delight, and then they were kissing again. And again. Small, feverish, desperate kisses, Kotetsu's cheeks wet with tears and his chin all stubbly and unusually unkempt, and the awkwardness of their suits in the way of truly feeling this embrace, and-

It was Kotetsu who broke it off, who stepped back and put his hands on Barnaby's shoulders, as if afraid to be too close but unwilling to be apart. For a long moment their eyes were fixed on each other, lips parted, breathing heavily, silent and awaiting some sort of sign or acknowledgment...

No, everything was still too confusing. What just happened—something. Something just happened. He still didn't have an answer to his question and that was far more important and that released something was once again pushed down to be a deep hidden something because he needed to be able to THINK and this was getting in the way, whatever this was, and no, it'd be dealt with later.

Except there hadn't been a later. There had been horrible revelations, a terrible situation, the worst fight they'd ever been in, and... and that soul-crushing moment when he thought his partner was dying in his arms. And they hadn't talked about that, either. So that earlier moment, that moment before he realized everything that was going on, that moment before he was in his usual careful control of everything he did and said, that moment went completely unacknowledged. He even tried not to think of it, and he was usually successful at that.

But sometimes, intruding into his sleeplessness, was the memory of tear-streaked cheeks and soft, warm, wanting lips. And how very much he wanted in return, with an ache in his chest that overwhelmed him. How, after learning what had happened and how terrified and defeated Kotetsu must have been, he wanted those kisses to repeat, to express to his partner his fear, his relief, his...

Barnaby buried his face in his hands, feeling the hot water running down his chest and an aching and obvious reaction to his thoughts a bit further down. Yet another reason not to overindulge: apparently it also brought those deep down memories bubbling back to the surface. It hadn't been this bad, but this was the first time they'd really drank since then. He'd been hesitant last night, he'd half-expected them to talk about the manipulation and the near-death, with the alcohol freeing their tongues. But it had just been Kotetsu being Kotetsu. Boasts and bad jokes and avoiding the subject that was still so sore to both of them.

Steadfastly ignoring the extremely inconvenient physical reaction he was having to these intrusive and troublesome thoughts, he returned to the routine of his shower with renewed determination. Now was not the time for any of this, not with Kotetsu still in his apartment. If he absolutely had to have these thoughts, he'd do it later, when he could...handle them.

Not that thinking about the future solution really helped his current situation.

In fact, by the time he finished his shower, he was worried that Kotetsu might...suspect. But, no, he wouldn't, he'd just make some joke about Barnaby's precise hygiene rituals. Not a raunchy joke about what else might have delayed him. Funny, it was the sort of joke he'd might make anyway, but he was certain that his partner wouldn't say it now, not when he'd already shown signs of distress. As frustrating as the older man was, he was also remarkably well-tuned to his partner's moods, and how he might take a jibe at any given time. Barnaby rarely got truly upset with him anymore. Annoyed, oh he was annoyed frequently, and that only encouraged Kotetsu. But there was a line, and it just wasn't crossed anymore. Well, not since-

Not since that other time they didn't talk about, the skating rink and the overheard conversation and the accusations and the slap. He'd deserved it. He'd been the one who crossed the line that time, and he'd known it when he saw the hurt and anger on Kotetsu's face. But it was another time they didn't talk about. The time when everything started to fall apart.

Barnaby allowed himself to sigh, deeply and ragged with tears of frustration and other pent-up emotions. He really wanted another drink right now, if it could just STOP these thoughts from assaulting him. He knew having more alcohol was a very bad idea, even given the folk remedy it was said to be, but he was starting to get desperate for any sort of respite from his own mind.

Food. Kotetsu was making breakfast. He needed to get dressed and get out there and pretend that everything was okay. He had a lot of practice at that. Maybe he'd even manage to convince his partner.

Secretly, he doubted that.

He finished drying, dressing, and fixing his hair to a more manageable status, trying very hard to not think during these simple tasks that he could practically do on autopilot. He was good at pretending, but this was going to put his skills at maintaining a poised and unruffled exterior to the limit, because he was going to be in the presence of the one person who could see through all of those acts to the true discomfort beneath them.

This was not turning out to be one of his better days.