Hey guys, this is a short story I wrote for a challenge over in Livejournal. The prompt was vodka. It is my own crazy, alternate ending to the NDF, Till Death Do Us Part. And it is crazy - just a warning! Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys!

Sun burned in through a narrow gap in the heavy velvet curtains, the too-blue sky an unwelcome intrusion on her sleep. Nancy was so hungover that she wanted to cry, the steady hum of the air-conditioning inflicting further torture on her already aching head. Sighing irritably, Nancy bunched the blankets tighter around her body and became vaguely aware of another presence in the bed, a hand draped casually on her back. Ned, Nancy realized after a pause, her mind cloaked in confusion.

What the hell is he doing here? she wondered groggily, burrowing deeper under the blankets, seeking solace from the welcoming dark, her mouth dry and uncomfortable, her body yearning for a glass of cool water.

Though Nancy loved Ned deeply, sexually, she had kept herself at a distance from him, afraid of what would ensue if she allowed herself the freedom of exploring their relationship in that way. They were too young anyway, Nancy had always theorized, though she knew deep down that Ned didn't agree. Now, they were alone, in this strange four-poster bed together, the sudden hazy memory of Jessica Thorne and of them driving through the blazing heat of the desert, explaining that anomaly.

Ned was sated and relaxed in sleep, his breathing slow and even and that somehow relaxed Nancy, reassured her that all was okay. Murmuring contentedly, she shuffled over in the bed and curled into the warmth of his back, the realization she was naked slowly sinking in.

"What the fuck did we do?" Nancy fretted fearfully, suddenly willing Ned to wake up and reassure her that this was some innocent, easily explained mistake, though the evidence to the contrary was mounting rapidly. She was naked for one, her pale-pink nightgown tossed in an untidy heap beside her on the bed, and as far as she could tell, Ned was naked too. Her level of hangover was worrying as was her almost complete lack of recollection of the night before.

"God, what the hell did I drink?" she wondered grimly as she turned over in the bed, her stomach heaving unpleasantly.

Nancy's uncertainty winning out over her almost painful exhaustion, she forced her mascara-smudged eyes open, her eyelids clamping instinctively shut in retaliation as they were flooded by a blast of unforgiving sunlight.

The room was strangely pretty, filled with a mismatch of wonderful antique furniture. The wallpaper was a delicate silver, the edges of it peeling back in careless ribbons where the paper met the ceiling. Nancy's suitcases lay untidily on the floor, clothes spilling out, the contents of her make-up bag strewn across the carpet.

Two tall glasses, one lipstick-smeared, stood on the vanity table, a stern reminder of the previous night's excesses; the mostly empty bottle of vodka standing beside them was evidently responsible for the banging state of her head. Worse, a trail of clothes and finally underwear marked the short path from the door to their bed but that was not what was worrying Nancy most; the sight of an apparently new, short white dress draped on a spindle-backed chair claimed ownership for that.

"Where did that come from?" she wondered, trying to block out the crazy and wonderful fragments of memories the dress inspired. She had vague recollections of drinking with Ned in a bar, enjoying spending time together after the cruel restrictions her previous case had placed on their relationship. The mood had been teasing, light-hearted, Ned even jokingly suggesting she reconsider his hasty proposal, that they return home as man and wife. It was ridiculous of course, completely impossible. But there had been kissing after that, Nancy recalled worriedly, a lot of kissing and making out and behaviour that was completely inappropriate for the otherwise deserted bar they had been drinking in.

God, no, she sighed but a fearful glance at her hand and the sight of a narrow band on her ring finger, confirming her worst fears.

"Ned," she whispered urgently, shaking him hurriedly awake, clinging to the vain hope that this was a joke, a bad dream, anything but the reality that she was a teen bride, married to her high school sweetheart in some tacky Las Vegas ceremony. Deep in sleep, Ned was slow to wake up, Nancy struggling to snake out of his grasp as he resolutely pulled her close, unwilling to break the physical connection between them.

"Ned," she tried again, her voice rising from a whisper to an almost roar as her desperation grew. "Ned, what the hell happened last night," she demanded as his eyes opened in reluctant slits, his expression momentarily vacant as he made sense of his girlfriend's words. "And why is there a wedding ring on my finger?"

"We got drunk," he replied groggily, his demeanor completely unperturbed, until his gaze came to rest on her finger, the sparkling diamond, the damning evidence of what they had apparently done the previous night. "We didn't...," he began hesitantly, backing away from her as though physical distance from the ring would make the situation any less real.

Her heart pounding, Nancy stepped out of the bed unsteadily, dragging the sheet with her self-consciously, the length of white material twined around her bare skin.

A sheet of paper tossed casually on the bureau was the final, irrefutable piece of evidence of their marriage.

Seeing it, Nancy sighed, dropping back onto the bed and cradling her face in her hands. "What the hell are we going to do now?"