(Is this a true story, you ask? Why, yes, it is. Who am I in it? Well, that I couldn't possibly tell you. A mere innocent bystander, perhaps.)

standard disclaimers apply

Wake Up Call

by Bryony

Something woke Zechs up. He blinked, stared blearily at the clock. 3am. What was - oh. His phone. He dragged himself from the bed and stumbled to the living room, from whence the ringing came, fumbling in the dark until he managed to locate his mobile. "Yes?" he grumbled down the line.

He could hear sounds, but no one answered him. A pocket dial? "Hello?" he tried again, trying to tamp down his irritation. He'd had a glass of bourbon or four before going to bed and waking was a struggle.

"Yes, who's this?" A woman's voice. Familiar, but he didn't immediately recognize it. She sounded harassed.

"Who's this? You phoned me." He took the phone away from his ear and glanced at the caller ID, frowning at the name he saw. "Where's Noin?"

"Oh, Zechs. It's Sally here. Listen, everything's fine." She spoke with great determination, as if that could make the words truer. He heard her take a deep breath and steeled himself for the inevitable. "But -"

There was a burst of static and what sounded like a scuffle. He listened intently, with mounting unease. Eventually Sally's voice came back: "I'm taking Noin to the hospital."

"What?" he demanded, at the same time that he heard a muffled voice on the other end of the line retort, "Like hell!" Noin's voice, he was certain. Relief flooded him. He repeated, "What's going on?"

Noin's voice, still muffled, saying, "Tell him - tell him."

Sally told him, "She had a little fight."

His brain seemed slow to process this. Noin? In a fight? Noin?

"It's fine," Sally told him again, and, "I'm going now." The line went dead.

Not quite sure what he should do, Zechs slowly put his phone down and stood in the dark for a few minutes. Then he went back to bed. Whatever was happening, Sally was taking care of it.

Forty minutes later he was roused again, this time by a persistent buzzing at his front door. Again he heaved himself out of bed, making his way this time to the hall. He opened the door to two figures positively drenched in blood. "What the -" he started.

"It's fine," Sally cut him off, shoving past into the apartment and dragging Noin behind her. Zechs peered outside. There were bloody footprints leading right up to his door. Great. Wonderful.

"I thought you were going to the hospital," he accused.

"Yeah, well, we're here instead. Noin wanted to see you."

Noin was having trouble standing on her own two feet, was what Noin was; Sally seemed to be taking more than half her body weight. "I told you he wouldn't mind," she slurred into Sally's ear.

"She certainly looks like she should be in hospital."

"It's one cut." Sally pointed to the massive egg-shaped lump on Noin's forehead near her hairline. "It's just about stopped bleeding now. Finally."

"Some fucker kicked me in the head," Noin told him.

"And what did you do?" Zechs retorted.

Noin drew herself up, rather admirably considering how drunk she was. "I," she declared, "was the very model of restraint."

"They kicked us out of the bar," Sally said. "As soon as they saw the blood. You'd think there would be some sort of duty of care, but apparently no. And then it took forever to find a taxi that would take us."

"For God's sake, go clean yourself up," he told Noin, pointing her in the direction of the bathroom. He threw a clean t-shirt in after her and hoped she would take the hint. To Sally he said, still not quite able to comprehend, "She got in a fight?"

"I didn't actually see the fight myself," Sally replied defensively. "We were dancing, and then I went to the bar. When I got back she was dripping blood everywhere and telling everyone who would listen that some fucker kicked her in the head. Including the bouncer. Who then kicked us out. Do you have any booze?"

He went to the kitchen and poured her a measure of bourbon. Sally accepted it gratefully and knocked it back in one. In the bathroom, the shower seemed to be running. That was a good sign, he hoped.

"We couldn't get a fucking taxi," Sally continued, "so we started walking. Well, as best we could with Noin bleeding all over us both and drunk off her ass -"

"Why was she so drunk?" Zechs interrupted. "She hardly ever drinks at all. A glass of wine or two, at most."

"Well I guess there's your answer, she hasn't built up a tolerance, has she? We were just blowing off steam after a long day." She snorted. "Too much steam, maybe, in some people's cases. So then the cops see us. And they can't not stop a pair of women walking around covered in blood. And so then we almost get arrested, because Noin's all -" She broke off and just shook her head. "Anyway we eventually talked them out of hauling us in, and they got us a taxi, on the proviso that I was taking Noin to the hospital. But she began kicking up such a fuss and the driver was freaking out so much about his precious seat covers that in the end we came here instead. Thanks for the drink."

"No problem," he said, dryly. Sally put the glass down on the counter and turned back toward the hall. "Wait - you're not leaving?"

"I was planning on it."

"But your clothes…" he protested. "And what about Noin? You could sleep on the sofa. Or take the bed with Noin."

"No, thanks; I'd rather get home."

"Are you sure she shouldn't be in hospital? A head wound - she could have a concussion."

Sally peeked into his bedroom, where Noin was now sprawled facedown on top of his duvet and snoring gently. "I'd say she's fine." He could think of no further excuses. "See you." And then Sally was gone. He stared at the closed door, feeling the first faint stirring of something like panic.

With dread, he went into the bathroom. It looked like a crime scene - Noin's bloody clothes and towels strewn across the floor; pink blood stains drying all over the sink and tub. The shower hadn't been turned off properly and was still dribbling water down the tiled wall. He sighed and shut it off, shoved the clothes and towels into the hamper to deal with later. Maybe Noin would do the laundry later on, in a fit of guilt once she'd sobered up.

Once again, he went back to bed.

Later that morning, Noin sat up in bed, waking him. She smacked her lips a couple of times and glanced around, apparently unfazed at finding herself in his shirt, in his bed. "I'm thirsty," she announced; and, bemused, "My head hurts."

"You were in a fight," he reminded her, feeling the beginnings of a hangover himself.

"Oh, no," Noin mildly replied, "that was a lie. I just hit my head against the stage. I don't know why I said all that other stuff."

Zechs could only roll his eyes and turn over to go back to sleep. But then it occurred to him. He rolled over again and asked suspiciously - anxiously, "What other stuff?"