It was early morning, and Mark opened his eyes just enough to note that he was not in his own bed.

What in the hell? He had a headache. That much was certain. Had he passed out? He couldn't remember. Opening his eyes again, he surveyed the unfamiliar room, with its four-poster bed... and, his heart started pounding-what the hell had happened last night!? He lifted his head, wondering where his clothes were, and then belatedly realized that he wasn't alone.

Sophia stirred, still mostly asleep.

"Still tired," she mumbled, and her nose wrinkled. "And hung over." She snuggled into his shoulder, throwing one arm across his waist. Apparently, her sleepwear of choice was a sleeveless t-shirt.

Abruptly deciding to remain in bed for the time being, he leaned into the sleepy embrace, curving his other arm around her bare shoulder and pulling her close. Her skin was so smooth and soft, and laying here pressed up against her felt so deliriously good and warm that he thought he might just not move an inch until she woke up. He could do this all afternoon; headache be damned. Her breathing evened out, as she fell asleep again.

Her hair was a tiny bit damp; she must have had a shower. He laid there for a long time, breathing in the soft, lemony scent of her shampoo, and enjoying the closeness. He felt like he could never get enough skin contact again, as long as he lived. It was intoxicating. He tried to remember how, in the name of God, he'd wound up here. What had happened last night? Not that he was complaining, exactly.

He tried to replay the events of the previous evening. He no problem remembering Oaiea talking, the dinner had started... and then things started getting fuzzy. He had a flashing memory of some loud music, and feeling woozy. Then, nothing. Had he really had that much to drink? He'd had a couple glasses of champagne, and he remembered a couple of glasses of wine with dinner. Then he realized what had happened-a basic failure to do the math-he'd hadn't taken into account that he was still about thirty pounds underweight, and hadn't had a drink in over two years. Whoops. Apparently he'd been a cheap date. He hoped he hadn't done anything embarrassing. He didn't think anything other than sleep had happened in this bed, though. He didn't think he could have possibly forgotten THAT.

He was starting to relax again; his heart was calming down. He pulled the covers back up, and cuddled up closer against Sophia, wrapping his other arm around her waist, surrendering completely to the delicious warmth. A wave of contentment washed over him, followed by a wave of sleepiness. Nothing else really mattered right now.

x x x

"For fuck's sake, would you answer that," mumbled Beth as she prodded Chris. She pulled a pillow over her ears and rolled away from him.

Groggy, he fumbled for his phone. "Yes," he paused, listening, "He never checked in?" Beck took about two seconds to deduce where Mark likely still was. "It's fine. He's fine. He'll be back later today. Yes." He hung up, shaking his head in amusement.

"You want some breakfast, babe?" He raised one corner of the pillow so that she could hear him.

"God, no." Beth groaned. Morning sickness again, it seemed. She burrowed back under the covers, trying to tune him out.

"You'll feel better if you eat something."

A grumpy sigh of agreement issued from under the covers.

He smiled. He'd missed this.

"So guess who stayed out past curfew last night?" He walked the three steps to the tiny kitchen to start the coffeemaker.

"Our favorite Martian?" Beth poked her head out from under the covers. "Seriously? Watney and Sophia Roberts?" She shook her head, sleepily. "Did not see that one coming." She sat up, looking nauseated. "How long has that been going on?"

"As far as I know, he only met her maybe two weeks ago." Beck grinned, as he cracked open an egg.

"Oh well, not everyone properly appreciates a slow burn." She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

"A slow burn, is that what that was?" Beck rolled his eyes. "Could have fooled me." More like spontaneous combustion.

She padded into the kitchen to join him, occupying the chair closest to the coffeemaker. "Watney knows, by the way."

"Hmm?"

"He totally noticed our little bump last night. Guess we'd better start telling people."

Beck considered that for a few minutes as he folded over an omelet for Beth. He slid the plate in front of her and started making another for himself. "You want to tell them all tonight? I was thinking it'd be nice to get the crew together one more time before people start getting back to their regular lives. Alex and Helena have a flight tomorrow morning."

"You want the crew to know first?" She smiled up at him quizzically. "Before we've told our parents? Your sister?"

"We'll call the family tomorrow," he hedged, with a grin.

"Agreed. I can't wait to see the looks on their faces!"

Beth was wearing that mischievous smile that he loved.

x x x

Was he really going to have to do the Walk of Shame in a tuxedo? Mark cringed at the thought, but there was not going to be any getting around it. Awk-ward! He wondered if anyone had informed the President yet. Not much question that someone had, by now. So very awkward! At this very moment, no doubt, some poor Secret Service agent was typing up a report about it. Would it make the evening news? Yes. Yes, it probably would. Shit. There were probably photographers at the gate, gleeful at the thought of this very scenario.

Sophia had disappeared a few minutes ago, to see if anything could be liberated from the downstairs kitchen. It was past noon, and they were both starving. He'd had a quick shower in the surprisingly tiny en-suite, and now he sat, towel around his waist, staring mutinously at the tuxedo, wishing there was some way to get out of putting it back on.

A soft tap at the door. "It's me," whispered Sophia, as he unlocked it.

"Sorry, it was slim pickings. They were cleaning up from lunch."

"Looks good to me, thanks." They shared a grilled sandwich, with melted cheese and tomatoes. At least it wasn't potatoes. And some hot coffee. He and Sophia shared the same mug; he guessed that she'd been too embarrassed to take two from the kitchen.

Now things were getting a lot more awkward. He was definitely out of practice; this whole morning-after thing was like being raked over the coals. And nothing had even happened! Not that anyone would ever believe that, now. He found that he couldn't even meet her eyes.

Sophia was quiet, perhaps her thoughts were on a similar plane.

"Let them talk," she smiled at him. She gave him a sympathetic look, then. "C'mon. I'll drive you back."

x x x

More awkward silence during the long drive back to Langley.

The longer that Sophia stared impassively at the highway, the more certain he was that he'd really fucked things up somehow. Maybe he was just not ready for all of this.

Finally, breaking the silence, he ventured, "Sophia, I'm sorry. I just..." he trailed off uncertainly. What had gone wrong, exactly? "I'm rusty. It's hard for me to talk to people now."

Sophia nodded thoughtfully. She was silent for a few long moments, and then, slowly, "Mark, I get that. Truly. I do." She paused again. "I've thought about that; I've thought about it a lot, actually."

"Any brilliant observations on the topic?" He grinned at her, sheepishly.

"I don't know. This all happened so fast." She smiled at him. "Unless I miss my guess, this would never have happened in the first place, if Elaine hadn't twisted your arm."

Mark shrugged at that. "Maybe, maybe not. I'm not sorry that it did."

"And last night." Sophia paused again, trying to find the right words, "Maybe it was a bad idea. I could have sent you home. But I didn't want to." She smiled at him, "And I've noticed that you seem to be... shall we say... very appreciative of physical contact with me. I thought you would like it."

"You weren't wrong." He grinned, embarrassed. "You weren't wrong about that."

"And I didn't really think about how it might be embarrassing for you, or that it might reflect poorly on you. I should have thought about that. I'm sorry."

"No apology needed."

They lapsed into a much more comfortable silence, as the miles passed.

"Mark?" She had a sly smile.

"Yes?"

"Doesn't it kind of suck," she bit her bottom lip thoughtfully, "That everyone in the world is going to assume that the two of us were enjoying White House sexytimes last night, and it's not even true?"

"Yes, that does indeed suck." Mark laughed, nodding.

Sophia was quiet for a moment.

"So I was thinking. If everyone's already assumed we're guilty..." she trailed off.

"Yes?"

"Then why don't we just go ahead and commit the crime?" She smirked at him.

He liked the way she thought.