Rory's eyes snapped open as she came to with a start. Breathing heavily, she glanced around at the shadows the moonlight cast around an unfamiliar room.

Dillon, her brain reminded her, before she could start totally panicking. Dillon, Texas. Home of the Panthers.

The word Panthers sent another jolt of panic through her. What had happened last night? The car had totally crapped out on her, she remembered that. And the mechanic she has managed to drag out to it in the morning had sucked in his breath through his teeth and told her the engine was 'Just about plum wore out', whatever that meant. Sure to be expensive, anyway.

And then she had missed the conference and her editor had totally reamed her out, and then she had read in the New York Times online that Mitchum Huntzberger was proud to announce the engagement of his son to a Miss Laura Asquith. So she had not been in the best of moods when she had stormed into Applebees and devoured a full rack of ribs.

And then… Tequila, she thought. A lot of tequila. So much tequila, in fact, that the waitress – a pretty young blonde who had been pestering her for info about Yale all night – had mildly told her she was being cut off, and offered to call her a cab.

Then – the memory was hazy, and Rory winced as the concentration sent a spike of pain through her head, which she now realized was pounding. Then, she had argued a little. Refused the cab and tried to stalk out of the restaurant, to somewhere that would still serve her.

The stalking had proved a little beyond me, she thought, seeing vague visions of repeated collisions with formica tables, and rubbing ruefully at a bruise blossoming on her pale forearm. More clattering, the waitress moving to help her, and then…

Oh God, she thought, as the next part of the evening came flooding back.

That was when she walked straight into him. Gorgeous as she remembered and just as scruffy, Tim Riggins had propped her up in the doorway, dark eyes amused. The blonde seemed happy enough to hand her over to him, and then she was in his car, then in the motel.

Did… Oh Lord, did he carry me? Rory thought, burying her face in her hands in mortification. He did, she was almost sure. She half remembered being clasped to a broad chest, her arms wrapped tightly – too tightly – around a warm neck. How had she let herself get into that state?

Car's ready this afternoon, she reminded herself. And then I can leave Dillon, and this mess, behind me forever.

Somewhat cheered, she suddenly became aware of the fact that her mouth was paper dry. Clumsily, she levered herself out of the bed, only to bring her foot down on something warm.

Something warm that moved.

And grunted.

Groggily, the something stood up and revealed itself to be a disheveled and shirtless – it was a testament to the man that the sight of his bare chest could give her a thrill even when she was this hungover – Tim Riggins. He squinted at Rory in the dim light.

"You're up. And, uh…" As he trailed off, Tim gestured vaguely towards Rory, ducking his head in an affectation of embarrassment – though his eyes never left her. With a squawk, Rory looked down and realized she was wearing nothing but a pair of faded blue panties. As she snatched up the bedsheet and bundled it clumsily around herself, Tim grimaced in obvious embarrassment.

"I, uh, I didn't. You… I mean it was your- you know," he finished lamely, gesturing at her. Rory flushed as the meaning of his words sunk in.

"I took my clothes off?"

He nodded, still looking at the ground, but the barest hint of a smile was beginning to play across his features. Rory sat on the bed with a thump, her mortification complete.

"Did I… did we… you know?"

Tim's reply was an apologetic mumble. "You, uh, wanted to. But I thought that maybe it wasn't such a good idea. And then you started getting out of you clothes and-"

"Begging," Rory whispered, staring fixedly at the grubby carpet. How on earth had she let herself do this? To a high schooler? Shaking her head in resignation, she winced at the pain the movement send ricocheting around her skull. He must have noticed her discomfort, because Tim disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, returning with a glass of water and two aspirin.

"Thanks," she murmured, downing the tablets before pressing the blessedly cool glass to her forehead. As she sat, eyes closed, a thought occurred to her.

"Why did you stay?" She asked, raising her eyes to his for the first time. He looked startled by the question.

"Huh?"

"You could have left. You didn't have to crash on the floor."

He shrugged. "Thought maybe you'd get sick or somethin'. Didn't seem right to just leave you. 'Sides, you seemed to want me to stay."

Unsure how to respond to that, Rory lowered her eyes again. Tim shifted uncomfortably.

"I can leave now, you know. I mean, you're, uh, obviously ok and everything so I can just…"

"No!" Rory told him, surprising even herself. She found herself flushing an even deeper scarlet. "I mean, of course you can, but don't feel like you have to go, in the middle of the night. You can stay on the bed if you want to."

He cocked and eyebrow at that, and she sighed in frustration.

"I won't assault you, I promise! I just thought… the floor can't be comfortable, and if you don't want to drive all the way home now, you could maybe-"

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," he repeated simply, brushing a lock of dark hair away from sleepy eyes. Rory took a steadying breath.

"Well then, that's… okay, I guess."

They both smiled hesitantly.

"Hey, Tim?"

"Mmm?"

"Could you maybe, ah, go to the bathroom while I digs out some pjs?"

"Of course," he replied, turning obediently around and disappearing through the open door.

What on earth am I doing? Rory wondered as she rooted around her bag for an old tee shirt.

Hell if I know, her brain replied.