Author's Note: I said I'd update biweekly, but I think it's just weekly. Next chapter will come next Monday at the latest. I might be persuaded to post earlier, though. It depends on progress and mood and reviews. :o)

Chapter Three: The Hangover

Greg raised his heavy lids a few times before letting them fall closed again. He was vaguely aware that his cheek was lying against something hard and flat, and it was pushing the flesh of it between his teeth. But he was too exhausted to care, and had too many other sources of discomfort to even really notice. There was a dull throb somewhere in the back of his head that threatened to erupt into an aching pound if he ever decided to move. And something was swirling unpleasantly inside of his stomach like a whirlpool. Not to mention the fact that it seemed every muscle in his body was sore, like he'd just run a marathon and had forgotten to stretch. He decided he should just sleep it off, and was about to fall back into unconsciousness when something under his arm moved and groaned.

Greg's eyes snapped open to see Wendy sitting up and pushing her shoulders back. His eyes widened when he noticed that she was completely nude. A quick look down told him that he was in the same condition. He seemed to realize this before she did. She blinked at him, then sleepily smiled. When he didn't smile back, her expression vanished. She threw her arms across her chest and her eyes darted around the room.

They were lying on his hardwood living room floor between the couch and the coffee table, both of which seemed to have moved away from each other during the night. Their clothes had been hurled to the wind. Wendy was closest to the couch while Greg's back was pressed against the legs of the coffee table. On his other side, Greg saw a green plaid blanket that had been flung under the table. He stretched his arm, trying to reach it, and just snared it between his fingers before tossing it to Wendy. She wrapped it around herself and leapt to her feet, staring down at Greg.

"Oh God…" she groaned. She walked backwards away, then looked down. She picked something up at her feet and threw it at Greg, who caught the fabric. They were his boxers. He immediately sat up and put them on. He pulled a knee up and rested his elbow against it, placing his forehead in his hand.

"Ugh…" he moaned, feeling something banging against his skull like a hammer.

"I need…" Wendy began, and then shook her head. "I need to take a shower."

Without moving any other body part, Greg's free hand pointed down the hall in the direction of the bathroom. Wendy made a dash for it. Greg winced at the sound of the door slamming.

Slowly and painfully, he rose to his feet and hobbled over to his kitchen. Eggs on toast was his hangover remedy of choice, and he pulled out a carton of eggs from his fridge before turning on his stove. Half-awake, he fumbled in his fruit bowl for some bananas and found a few that were way past their expiration date. He debated a moment about whether he should throw them out, or save them to make bread later. He decided he'd figure it out when he was more awake.

He seized a frying pan and stuck it on the stove, then scrounged around for the bread. He pulled out his toaster and dropped two slices inside. He went back to the stove and cracked the egg. The sizzling of it echoed inside his ears, and seemed much louder than it should have been. Greg tried to ignore it. As the egg fried, he poured himself a glass of water and gulped it down.

There was a knock at the door. Momentarily forgetting where she'd gone, Greg thought it was Wendy, coming back to retrieve something she'd left behind. He flipped the egg onto a plate, then headed to the door. When he opened it, he didn't see Wendy at all, but Nick, holding, of all things, a modest bouquet of flowers.

He offered the flowers to Greg. "I came to apologize."

Greg cocked an eyebrow and did not accept the flowers. "Seriously?"

Nick closed his eyes and winced, as if silently chastising himself. "I'm new at this."

Greg almost smiled. He stepped back and gestured for Nick to come in. "You want some eggs and toast?"

"No, I'm good," Nick told him, looking around Greg's apartment. His eyes moved from the sofa to the coffee table, to the scattered clothes lying about the floor.

"About yesterday… When I said I needed time to think, I feel like you… might have… taken that to mean… something it didn't— Greg, do you have someone in your shower?"

All of a sudden, a light clicked on in Greg's head. Instantly, he was fully awake and icy panic trickled down his spine. "No," he said.

Nick turned around to face him, his eyes suspicious. "Then why do I hear running water?"

"It's from upstairs," Greg said. "Now, um, what were you saying?"

But Nick's mood had changed. What had started as an apology slowly morphed into an accusation. "You put words in my mouth, and then stormed off like you were the victim. Everything you assumed I'd do, everything you thought I was thinking, was so wrong, I couldn't even believe it had come from you. I felt like, if that's really what you thought I'd do when you told me that you had feelings for me, that you loved me, then maybe you didn't really know me at all, and Greg, that's what I had to think about. That's what bothered me so much, and that's why I couldn't answer your question back then. Because if that's the guy you thought I was, and you loved him, then maybe you didn't love me at all."

Greg was quiet as he took in Nick's words. His skin was tingling, and he could feel the heat rising in his neck. He swallowed, then he realized the water had stopped. His head snapped up to look at Nick again. He forced a smile and reached out to the bouquet.

"I think I'd like those flowers now—"

The door down the hall opened and closed, and Nick turned towards it and away from Greg, taking the flowers with him. Greg stumbled as his grasp missed the bouquet. All he knew was that Nick could never see the person walking down the hall. He had no way of warning her to stay away, so the best he could do was distract the Texan.

"Nick!" he said, seizing his arm.

Nick turned to give Greg a confused look, but only for a moment as footsteps announced Wendy's arrival.

"Greg, have you seen my…" She stopped dead in her tracks, wearing nothing but a towel. Greg buried his face in his hands. Nick simply stared. For a seemingly endless moment, nobody spoke.

But it seemed Wendy felt the urge to break the awkward silence. "Hi, Nick…" she said with a smile. "Um, this isn't what it looks like."

Nick looked around the apartment. He crouched down and hooked one finger in the strap of Wendy's bra. He held it out to her. "No?"

One hand holding her towel, she snatched the bra out of his hands. "Thanks, I was, uh, looking for that." She walked very stiffly over to her shirt, which had somehow ended up by the kitchen. As she passed Nick, her shoulders hunched forward in shame. Nick watched her silently as she collected her clothes one by one. She seemed to take forever. After she'd gathered every last article of clothing in her arms, she darted for the bathroom again.

"I'll just leave you two to—"

"Yeah, thanks," Nick interrupted, a little too sharply.

The second they heard that door close again, Nick turned on Greg, who was leaning against the back of the couch with his hands buried under his arms. He looked up at Nick, guilt etched in every corner of his features. Nick said nothing, he only gave Greg a look Greg had never seen before. His eyes were round and glistening and his mouth was half-open, his brow slightly furrowed. It was the same look, Greg imagined, that Caesar, bloody and broken, gave Brutus as he inhaled his last rattling breath. Greg couldn't stand it, but he couldn't tear his eyes away, either. Somehow, that seemed like a cheap way out. No, this was his punishment. He had to see this, and he wouldn't disrespect Nick further by looking away.

He pursed his lips trying to think of something to say. Everything that went through his mind just sounded like an excuse. We were drunk. We were lonely. We'd both had bad days. We thought the men we loved didn't love us back.

"It's…" Greg began, and stopped. The room had been filled with silence for so long the sound of his voice echoed off the walls like a tomb. He managed a helpless shrug. "It is… what it is," he said, because of all the things he could think to say, that was the most honest, if also the most obvious. It wasn't enough. Greg knew that it wasn't enough. "Nick, I—"

Nick just held up his hand, signaling Greg to stop, and shook his head. Without a word, he headed straight for the exit, throwing the flowers at the ground before leaving the apartment and slamming the door behind him.

Greg let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding and shook his head. He collected his scattered clothes from off the floor and headed to his bedroom, tossing them in the hamper. He dug through his drawers of clean clothes and put some on. A part of him wanted to take a shower, but Wendy was still in there.

He went back to the kitchen and continued making breakfast. He fried three more eggs over easy and slid them onto two plates, along with the toast. Wendy still hadn't made a sound.

Setting the plates on the table, Greg made his way to the bathroom. In the middle of the hall, he stopped. Something cold and slick slithered around his stomach and clenched. He let out a sob and his hands flew to his mouth to stifle it. Tears rolled silently down his cheeks and he sniffed before wiping them madly away with the back of his hand. He straightened, took a deep breath, and continued to the bathroom.

He knocked, then said with the steadiest voice he could manage, "Wendy? I made you breakfast." She didn't say anything. He knocked again. "Wendy?"

"You can come in," she said.

He slowly opened the door and saw her leaning against the cabinet under the sink, hugging her knees to her chest. She was wearing the clothes she'd worn over and her wet hair was neatly brushed and pulled back into a ponytail. Judging by her red face, Greg knew he wasn't alone in his misery. He kneeled down beside her and put a hand on her knee. She flinched and he withdrew.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean… It's OK." She reached out and took his hand, putting it back on her knee.

Greg smiled. "He's gone. Come out and have some breakfast."

"Greg, I'm so sorry," Wendy repeated, a hitch in her voice telling him she was on the verge of tears again. "I didn't mean to screw things up with you and Nick. If I'd have known he was there, I would have… crawled out the bathroom window onto the fire escape or something."

"Like some five-dollar hooker?" Greg said, sounding appalled. "Not a chance. You're a classy lady, Wendy, you deserve to have breakfast with me and walk out the front door."

"All of this started because of what we thought we deserved…" Wendy said. "We thought we deserved to be happy, so we gave into our instincts."

"We do deserve to be happy," Greg insisted.

Wendy was shaking her head. "It was a stupid, stupid idea."

"Are you saying you regret what happened?"

"Don't you?"

"No," Greg said. Wendy raised her eyebrows and Greg sighed. "OK, maybe. A little. I regret how this happened, I regret how it made things with Nick and me so much more complicated, and just when I thought it couldn't get any more messed up. But sex, with you? Wendy… I told you last night. You're beautiful. Why would I regret that?"

At that, her face contracted and she started crying again. "Damn you, Greg Sanders, why do you have to be such a fucking sweetheart all of the time?" she blubbered.

"Not all of the time," Greg said. "You should have seen how I handled Nick. It was horrible. I think he hates me a little."

"Anything I can do…" Wendy said, "anything at all to make things right between you two again, I will. If you want me to move to Portland tomorrow and never see you again just so you two can patch this up and be together, I will. I swear, I'll be on the next flight out of Vegas."

Greg looked horrified as he shook his head. "No! No, never. I don't know what I'd do if you left."

She shrugged. "I'll tell him I seduced you. You were drunk, I took advantage."

Greg smiled, biting back his own tears as he rubbed her arm and laughed. "What am I, some blonde coed at a fraternity? You don't have to do that. In fact, please don't."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Have breakfast with me. And maybe stay away from Nick for a while. I'll talk to him. OK?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "OK."

Greg knocked before walking into the layout room, and Nick looked up. At first, his expression was curious, almost inviting, but it turned sour when he realized who it was. He turned swiftly back to his work.

"I'm busy."

"Yeah, I know, real busy," Greg said, entering the room anyway. "You were long gone on assignment by the time I got in today. Catherine said you were in a big hurry, but of course, she had no clue why."

Nick shoved a photo across the table at Greg. "What do you make of these spatter patterns?"

Greg took one look and made a face. "Arterial spray with a person-shaped void." He pushed the photo back across to Nick. "Anyone can see that. Why do you ask?"

"Because unless it's about a case, I can't talk to you," Nick said, matter-of-factly as he rearranged the photos in front of him. He was purposely not looking at Greg, who went ahead and closed the door to the layout room.

"So you ask me a dumb question just to make a point," he said. "I get it." He went and leaned on the layout table, across from where Nick was still ignoring him. "Nick, look, I know you're mad at me—"

Nick slammed his hands on the table and turned his head to the ceiling, his eyes closed. "No, Greg. I'm not doing this because I'm mad. I mean, I am mad, but that's… that's not why I can't talk to you."

Greg tried on his best puppy dog face. "Then… why not?"

"Because it hurts," Nick finally burst out, and then his hands flew to cover his mouth and nose. He closed his eyes. "It just… hurts, Greg."

Greg dropped the cute expression. He realized that he had no right to use it. He looked down at the table as the weight of Nick's words sank in. Nick was hurting because of him. And living with the knowledge of what he'd done, that was Greg's penance.

He began to wring out his hands. "I'm sorry." And he meant it, probably more than he'd meant anything ever in his life, and yet he knew that it fell far too short. He had to give Nick something, lay something at the altar as he prayed for forgiveness, but this meager two-word offering, though all he had, was not nearly enough and he knew it. And the gods would not be kind to him.

Nick's eyes were closed as he shook his head. The defeat in Nick's voice shattered something in Greg that, in light of recent events, he'd forgotten he still had – his heart. "Please… just go."

His mouth dry, Greg simply nodded. In complete disgrace, he turned around and left. He hesitated, at the door, thinking he should say something, but he'd already given everything he had and he'd been rejected. So, quietly, he opened the door, and left.

Hodges jogged to catch up with Wendy as she headed to Catherine's office with her results. She groaned, inwardly, and tried to make herself as small as possible. It was no good – Hodges still saw her, and he matched her pace, even as she sped up.

"You're wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday."

"It was a late night."

"Archie said that you and Greg Sanders came to work in the same car."

"We were working a case."

"That's not what Archie said."

"Archie's a gossip and a flirt," Wendy said. "I wouldn't trust a thing he says. Don't, in fact."

"Then why are your shoulders up to your ears?" Hodges asked.

Wendy stopped walking and forced her spine to straighten. She turned to face him. "They're not."

"Not now." His wide, blue eyes were so full of innocent confusion it almost made her nauseous. "Wendy?" It wasn't accusatory or angry; it was just one word, her name, brimming with the simple question he never wanted to ask.

She blinked, mostly to keep the tears in check. "It was just a… way of curing our mutual isolation."

Hodges blinked back. "That's an oxymoron, Wendy."

"You're an oxymoron," she returned, knowing she sounded rather juvenile. And while it had just been a knee-jerk reaction, she thought about her accusation. "You are! What's the matter with you, Hodges? One minute, you're saying the sweetest thing about me, and the next you go and insult me. One day, you're fantasizing about me, the next you're turning down my invitation for a date. And now, you're judging me?"

Though he didn't move, it looked as if Hodges had shrunk and Wendy felt something pang deep within her gut like a stone in an empty bucket.

And then, Hodges rolled his shoulders back, regaining some ground. "I'm not judging you," he said, holding his head up in a completely judgmental way.

She sighed, looked down at the floor, then up again at Hodges and offered him a modest shrug. "I just… don't understand why I have to feel guilty about cheating on someone I've never gone on a date with."

He seemed to back down. "You shouldn't, I guess."

"Shouldn't I?" Wendy returned.

"Wait, I'm confused…" Hodges began.

"You're always confused," Wendy snapped. "And that's the problem."

And she stormed off, somehow finding away to be angry at him, even when she knew she was the one in the wrong. She found safety behind the next corner, quickly ducking around it and leaning her back flat against the wall. As she sank against the wall, throwing her head back against it and contorting her face, she marveled at the many ways she found to torture him.