A/N: I almost deleted this chapter. But then I didn't. Here it is!

By the time she finally woke up, it was dark outside. It was for the best, she supposed, as even the smallest amount of light had triggered a migraine-level headache during the few minutes she had been awake earlier in the day. With a quiet groan, she pushed herself upright on the couch, feeling only a slight amount of dizziness as she did so.

"Evening, sunshine," Lacey's voice said from behind her.

She turned to see Lacey sitting on her bed, wrapped in a blanket, an open book in her lap.

"How're you feeling?"

"Better than shit. So there's that." She blinked her eyes hard and reached to the table for her glasses. "What time is it?" she asked, looking around for a clock once her sight was restored.

"Nearly nine," she answered as she closed her book, got up, and headed toward the kitchenette.

Emma's jaw dropped. "I've been out that long?"

Lacey was leaning into her minifridge, but looked over the door to nod. "You woke up to call in sick around what – seven this morning?"

Emma nodded.

"So then fourteen hours? Every time I came by to check on you, you were asleep – looked like you hadn't moved – not even to have a wee or anything."

"Jesus," Emma whispered, roughly rubbing both sides of her face.

Lacey approached and offered her a glass of bright blue liquid, which she tentatively accepted.

"Gatorade?" Emma verified.

Lacey nodded. "Or as close as we can get out here." She returned to the kitchenette and came back with a bottle of vodka. "Hair of the dog?"

Emma grimaced. "Just a little."

Lacey poured a small amount of the vodka into the sports drink, set the bottle on the coffee table, and sat next to Emma. "Shove over."

Emma made room for her friend.

"I'd first like to begin by saying how offended I am that you got as drunk as you did last night with someone other than me."

Emma let out a quiet laugh. "Yeah. I didn't make the best choices last night."

"Were you with –" Lacey raised an eyebrow.

"Ronon. Yeah." She looked down into her lap and began absentmindedly chewing at a loose piece of skin on her bottom lip. "In his quarters."

Both of Lacey's eyebrows went up this time. "And you left and came here because…?"

Emma shifted her gaze to the side so as not to make eye contact with Lacey. "Um," she continued to bite her lip, "we were drinking and things got pretty…heated between us until he put a stop to it. So I left."

Emma stole a quick glance at Lacey who narrowed her eyes. "He just…stopped? Changed his mind?"

"I think he was worried about how drunk I was." Emma figured a half-truth would keep Lacey satisfied.

Lacey tilted her head and gave it some thought. "Probably the right call," she said, "based on the state you were in when you got here." She wrinkled her forehead together. "But he was drinking, too, wasn't he?"

Emma nodded. "Have you ever seen Ronon drink?"

Lacey shook her head. "I can imagine, though."

"A few days ago, I overheard Eva telling one of her nurses that she requires a higher dosage of almost every medication we have due to the differences in her genetic makeup. I imagine that would apply to alcohol, too." The thought prompted her to take a sip of the forgotten blue beverage in her hand.

"Not to mention Ronon's got a few stone and some extra inches on you."

Memories of the night before came rushing back to her and hit her like a semi truck. It was still hard to believe that she had been the one to kiss him; sure, alcohol lowers one's inhibitions, but she couldn't have imagined it would help her make the first move with someone like him. Even harder to believe still – he had kissed her back, unlike anyone in the past had kissed her before. There was no second guessing, no hesitation, but rather immediate familiarity and intimacy that she would have expected from a long-term partner, but not from a first kiss. She had fallen back onto his pillows and he had come with her, enveloping her body with his own and shutting out the entire world. In that moment, there was nothing but him. The scratch of his beard on her cheek and neck, the scent of leather on his skin, the heat of his hands and mouth.

There was both power and restraint, protection and dominance in the way he held himself around her. The recollection of it made her feel as though her skin were separating itself from the rest of her, and a tugging longing in her lower belly reminded her how unsatisfied she still was. She had been with several men before, some who were good men, many who were not, but never had she experienced attraction like this. Just when she thought it was at its peak, it would somehow grow even more. She wanted him with every piece of her body and soul.

"I don't get why you didn't go back to your place," Lacey commented, seemingly oblivious to the emotions surging through the person next to her. "Don't get me wrong," she backpedaled. "I love you and you're welcome here anytime. It just doesn't make sense to me." Lacey's eyes met hers. She tapped the bottom of Emma's glass with her index finger. "Drink your juice."

Emma rolled her eyes but obliged and took another, this time larger sip. She inhaled deeply, trying to decide if she should confide in her friend.

"I've been nervous to stay in my quarters because I think someone broke in a few nights ago."

"What?" Lacey breathed. "Why didn't you tell me? Evan works with base security people all the time; he could have gotten their help –"

"I told Woolsey about it already," Emma interrupted. "Security was on it, but there wasn't much they could do or find."

"And you're sure?"

"Pretty sure."

"How did you know someone broke in? Were things broken, out of place, stolen?"

"I…don't really want to talk about it, Lace."

She nodded her understanding. "Little wonder you've been staying with Ronon. Dear God. I'm so sorry that happened to you!"

For the first time, it dawned on her that after her little outburst and storming out, she wouldn't be welcome in Ronon's quarters anymore. That is, unless she intended on making things purely physical with him. Counterintuitively, getting a taste of him the night before, as unbearably tempting as it was, only confirmed that would not be a feasible option for her. A couple times in the past, she had been with guys for strictly physical reasons, and none of those instances came close to what she had experienced with Ronon. Plain physicality was sloppy, rushed, even selfish at times. Ronon had been eager, definitely, but something in the way he ran his fingers through her hair, or touched the side of her neck, or cupped her face as they kissed made her further doubt his claim that he didn't have feelings for her. Making things "physical" between them would only lead to greater confusion for both of them.

Not only would she no longer be able to take refuge in the shelter and comfort of his sleeping embrace, she was going to have to accept consistently staying in her own quarters again. Feeling the prickle of tears at the back of her eyes, she tipped her head back and willed them back in; her extreme dehydration at least helped in that regard. She wasn't sure what upset her more – the fear of sleeping alone in that place that had been compromised, or the devastation of losing Ronon. The gravity of the night before was finally starting to sink in.

"Think you'll go back to his place tonight?" Lacey asked.

"What?"

Lacey waved her hands in front of her. "I'm not kicking you out! You've already got a lovely little nest here," she said, patting the edge of a blanket. "I just figured you'd maybe want to continue what you started with Ronon."

Emma shook her head. "No. I think that ship has sailed."

Lacey gave her a curious look, but knew Emma well enough to tell when she was done sharing.

"Right then," she said, slapping her thighs and standing up. "What kind of hangover is this?" She went back to the kitchenette and opened the fridge again. "The 'let's absorb the toxins with carbs and cheese' kind of hangover," she held up a grease-spotted cardboard takeout box from the commissary, "or the 'if I even think of food I'll vomit' kind of hangover?" In her other hand, she held up a clear plastic cup of pale broth.

Emma groaned. "The latter."

A/N: Thanks for reading and/or commenting! :)