Disclaimer: I don't own them, I wish I did, but I don't. Go watch the show and thank the powers that be for a loveable series. Please don't sue me. I'm poor and have nothing better to do with my life.

Author's Notes: Profanity and memory loss incoming, clichéd as hell and I'm not ashamed at all.

The Flies Revolt

Holy fuck I think I'm dead.

Oh the pain.

I can taste pennies.

Oh Gods.

This isn't good.

This is not good.

I haven't felt this hungover since…. Forever. I don't think I have ever felt this hungover.

I afraid that if I open my eyes I'm going to spontaneously combust like a vampire in the light.

My brain feels like it's actually pulsating in it's nauseating throb, my tongue is stuck the roof and my mouth and I'm fairly certain I'm going to vomit in the very, very near future.

Oh Gods.

Spirits.

Hell, even Satan, one of you do something, take this monster of a hangover and fuck off somewhere else with it.

What the hell happened last night? How did I get this hungover?

The last thing that I remember with any clarity is going back to get my Comm-badge….

I need to move.

I need to get up.

I'm going to die.

Oh Gods.

Gingerly, I open my eyes and immediately regret it.

The first sight that greets me is Tom Paris. Something I was not expecting. Especially not Tom Paris fast asleep, upside-down on the couch with his head on the floor, legs in the air, dressed only in his boxer shorts and somehow, still holding a full glass of cider.

How is that even possible? I mean, the man's upside down…. I couldn't attempt that sober, I'm actually sort of impressed….

And either I've been broken into by an interior designer or these aren't my quarters. There is clothing strewn across the floor, empty cider bottles littering most surfaces and what appears to be a half-eaten stack of pancakes in the rubber plant.

What the hell happened last night?!

In an attempt to get my bearings, I lift my head and instantly wish I hadn't, my stomach lurches causing a dry heave of such force that I nearly pull a stomach muscle. Swallowing hard and stilling myself for a moment, I fight back the nausea enough to realise I'm in Tom's quarters and somehow had been asleep sat upright at the dining table.

I have no idea what happened last night or how I've managed to get myself into this state and I don't even want to know about Tom's current upside-down situation but somethings waaaaaay off. Like I'm supposed to remember something, but I don't.

I need water.

Lots of water.

I glance at the replicator and wish harder than I have ever wished before that during last night's mysterious activities I developed telekinetic powers and won't have to walk over there to get a glass of water. After a few moments of intense glaring at it, I accept that I need to actually get up and that I will probably die in doing so. My head is going to explode any minute and my stomach is currently trying to exit through my mouth.

I hate myself.

What the hell did I do to myself last night?

Why did I see the need to get this messy?

I swear to the Spirits, I am going to become teetotal. This shit is not worth it.

With a heavy body, I drag myself unwillingly to the replicator and order the coldest water possible and lose myself to a few moments of self-loathing and regret that goes hand in hand with alcohol, as I lean painfully against the wall, hoping for death to spare me of any further discomfort.

Without warning, the sound of what appears to be a deeply pained Targ groans into life from the direction of the couch, followed by a loud thump and the sound of spilled liquid.

I'm guessing Tom's just woken up.

Turning around I see him now flat on his back on the floor, covered in cider and staring at the ceiling with more regret than I've ever seen on any lifeforms face in my entire life.

"Is this purgatory?" He croaks.

"You aren't that lucky Paris." I groan back.

"I think I broke my liver." He groans once more and attempts to haul himself to his feet, only to lose his balance and end up on the sofa, pointing at my water and beckoning me with a desperate look.

Wincing with every step, I wobble my way over to him, pass him the glass and join him on the couch in deep regret.

"What happened last night?" He asks.

"You're asking me?! I barely remember who I am Tom." I croak, cradling my head in my hands.

"Where's B?" He looks around painfully, with a fear I've seen more than once in his eyes.

I hadn't even thought about B'Elanna, she'd know what happened. She's also probably going to kill Tom because if we're in this state, something must have gotten way out of hand last night.

"I've no idea." I admit "Do you remember anything?" I ask before burying my head back into my hands.

"The last thing I remember is… ahhh…. you… you came back for you Comm-badge..." He groans again and attempts to stand once more, before admitting defeat and leaning back into the couch.

Great.

Neither of us remember.

This is going to be a great fucking day.

I look at Tom who looks as nauseated as I do and wonder just how the hell we ended up in this situation. I watch as he reluctantly reaches over to the unit next to the couch and slaps his Comm-badge and opens a channel to Torres with a deep pain.

"Paris to Torres."

"Unable to comply."

The Comm hisses with static and cuts off.

Oh shit.

The look of worry that has just settled on Tom's face is a new level I've not experienced before.

"Computer locate B'Elanna Torres." He asks gently, wincing at the computers warbling reply.

"Unable to comply."

"Why!?"

"Security authorisation code required."

"Authorisation Omega 5-9-3."

"Invalid code." Tom sighs deeply and closes his eyes in defeat.

"Either she doesn't want you to find her or we've done something major." I admit, it wouldn't be beyond reason if we were as drunk as we fear last night, B'Elanna would be somewhere nursing a serious grudge today, but if that isn't the case, something more sinister is going on here and I don't even want to begin to wonder what it is.

"Wonderful, I must be in deep shit." Tom downs the rest of the water and sighs again "Do me a solid Chakotay, phase me between the eyes and put me out of misery before B'Elanna gets to me." He pleads.

"I'm not that generous Tom, if I'm suffering, so are you." Leaning back into the sofa, I begin to wonder if getting a hypo beamed directly to me would be worth the dressing down from Tuvok over misuse of ships systems. I vaguely remember they're offline anyway, so luck is definitely not on my side today as it is.

"Where's Har?" Tom sits up suddenly.

Oh shit, Harry!

He was here!

I remember that at least!

Slapping my own Comm-badge, which drunken Chakotay had obviously found and pinned back onto my tunic, I open a channel to Harry.

"Chakotay to Kim."

There's a long pause, during which I let the worry of what we might have done begin to really take shape before Harry finally croaks into static.

"Kim here." He sounds as good as we do, good to know we're not the only one's suffering.

"Harry! Where are you?"

"On duty on the Bridge." Poor man, to be in this state and on duty on the Bridge… Come to think of it… I'm supposed to be on the Bridge…. Oh no….

And so is Paris….

Oh shit….

Oh shitty, shitty, shit, shit…

It appears as though Tom has also just reached this realisation, as he suddenly leaps of the sofa and takes off towards his bathroom like a gazelle.

"Uhhh... we'll see you shortly Ensign, Chakotay out." Panic has now set in,

By the time I've closed the channel and stood up, a red faced and out of breath Tom is somehow dressed and holding a hypo out to me.

"Where did you get these from?" Tom knows full well he's not supposed to have medical supplies in his possession, especially given what he has access to in Sickbay, still it doesn't surprise me that he keeps them handy.

"I keep them in case of emergencies… I'm pretty sure this is one and I'd like to see you do a full Sickbay shift without needing the use of a hangover cure." He's got a point. The Doctor would drive me to drink. I accept the hypo and press it to my neck as the inevitable hiss of cold and wonderful medicine is pumped into my system.

While Tom starts hunting the room for his shoes, I take a moment to visit the bathroom and the sight that greets me in the mirror is not one fit for public. My hairs stuck up on end like I've been electrocuted, my eyes are bloodshot and ringed with black bags and I'm a shade of greenish-grey that I've never seen before. Washing my face and relieving myself, I make me back to Paris, who is now biting his nails and looking around the room agitated.

"We're going to have to fill in the blanks later, I'm fairly certain there's a small redhead waiting to throw us out the airlock on the Bridge and I do not need any more trouble where the Captain's concerned." Tom looks me squarely in the eyes and lays a heavy pat on my back in an attempt to man me up as though we faced battle, considering I'm late for shift and hungover, I'd say it was a pretty accurate assessment of the situation and that I actually need the encouragement to go face Kathryn Janeway in my current state.

The hypo has started to take effect and despite the fact I still feel like the walking dead, I have to get to the Bridge and at some point, figure out what the hell happened here last night. Resigned to my fate and fearing all hope is lost, I take a breath and start towards the door with an equally sullen Tom behind me. Just as the door opens our next problem presents itself.

"Tuvok to Janeway."

I turn to look at Tom who looks back at me horrified.

"Tuvok to Janeway, please respond."

The voice is emanating from the Comm-badge pinned to Tom's chest.

That's not his badge.

That's Kathryn's badge.

Oh Gods.

What have we done?

With a look of horror and pure doom we both realise that today is going to be way more complicated than first realised.