Author's Note: Well, thanks for bearing with me after the long delay on the last chapter. I was away celebrating my sister's wedding and before that had been stymied on how to end this baby. It refused to end on as light a note as it started, and I didn't want it to be all work and no play (which makes Abby a dull girl King a dull boy). Hopefully, though serious, it will be fun. Enjoy!

Never Have I Ever - Post Game Show

Sleeping in a room with five other people left little room for luxury just as a communal shower meant scant privacy. Abby knew Sommer muttered impressively polysyllabic words in her sleep. Zoe kicked off her blankets until she got cold, woke up, covered herself, fell back asleep, and kicked them off again. Dex slept on his side and used a sleep mask. Hedges snored wheezily when he slept on his back. In the two-three months since King had been added to that grumbling, kicking, vain, and snoring group, he'd yet to contribute his own quirk other than his ability to sleep through all the rest of theirs.

So when a gruff, thick, irregular snoring interrupted her at the shallowest point of her sleep cycle, Abby almost thought it was her fault. It would make sense; alcohol could do that to a person, and she was feeling what she'd had. Fucking carbonated beverages. Next time, she'd stick to water and fake it. Her skull throbbed in time to this promise: never, never again, never, never again. Against her wishes, she surfaced, expecting the snores to die off as she opened her eyes.

They didn't. She squinted, blinking sleep out of her eyes, trying to gauge her surroundings. She was downstairs in the de facto living room on the couch with the guilty snoring party unconscious beneath her.

"King," she breathed out, sighing, relieved, absurdly, that it wasn't her. With a smugness born of triumph, she contemplated elbowing him and pointing out to him how the drink had - belatedly but certainly - affected him as much as the rest of them. An interesting coda to an interesting evening.

However, that would mean waking him up while entwined with him. Sometime earlier in the morning she'd shifted, laying one leg over and between his, taking the afghan partially with her. He'd moved too, and his other leg rested atop her ankle. There were pins and needles shooting up and down her foot from the awkward position. Her left arm was trapped under him, and she was pressed between his body and the back of the couch. His arm went under hers and had at one point circled her waist; it was now limp behind her back, hand squeezed between her ass and the sofa. To say it looked suggestive would be an understatement.

On top of this, her head ached, her limbs were asleep or numb or else unresponsive, deadened and lead weight. She fell back down with a resigned sigh. Unless she found an inordinate amount of strength in her squirmy muscles, she wasn't going anywhere. King grunted when she collapsed back on his shoulder, turned his head away from her, made a few sloppy-sounding smacks, and went right on snoring.

With that ruckus, she would never sleep. Doomed to be awake, she drummed her fingertips on King's chest, trying to burn out what little energy she possessed. It was itchy, and ugly, and uncomfortable, this feeling - too much wakefulness to sleep, too much tiredness to move. She wiggled her fingers, rotated her free wrist and ankle, and hummed to herself.

So possessed by these small things, she missed King waking and the absence of his snores until he spoke. "Morning."

"Morning," she said back, still staring at the loop-de-loops her fingers made when she let them flop about while twirling her hand at the wrist.

"How you feeling?"

"Okay."

"Okay means you're your own Barnum and Bailey over there?" He sounded irritated; he caught her hand in his own, closing his fingers over hers and dropping their hands down against his chest. "Stop that."

"I was bored. You were sleeping."

"Well, I'm not now." Eyes closed, entire body supine with relaxation, it was hard to tell. "You do have your own bed, you know." He peeked open one eyelid, sliding a hazy brown iris in her direction. "Or do you like mine better?"

"This isn't your bed. It's the couch."

"Yes," King said, as though just realizing it. "I guess it is."

"You guess?" She couldn't keep a note of excitement out of her voice. Did he not remember? Too good to be true. So much for Mr. Can-Hold-His-Liquor.

"I remember."

"Do you really?"

"Sure. I got you some water, you were being flirty-"

"I was not-"

"And bossy. And nosy," King said breezily. "And I think I just babbled on and on until you stopped bugging me."

"You think?"

His answering smile might have been sheepish, but with his eyes closed it looked merely politely embarrassed. "I forget."

"You were drunk enough to forget? You seemed fine to me."

"Ah," King tut-tutted, "but you were really drunk. I'm sure the purple penguins singing the Hedgehog Song looked fine to you, too."

"What penguins?" Like much of what King said, none of that made any sense.

"Guess it was just me who saw 'em then."

"I guess," she stammered, unsure of whom he was mocking here; he was an equal opportunity insult comic, and he was frequently the butt of his own jokes. "Do you remember telling me about-" she struggled, grasping for an anecdote other than that one; she looked at his face and had it at once. "How you got that scar?" That had been a good story - a woman he'd approached in a bar hadn't taken his junior advances kindly and had slapped him with her engagement ring turned inwards. Impulsively, she slipped her hand from his and traced the scar on his cheek. It was a uniquely King story, but it lost something in the translation when she told it back to him.

King snorted. "That's not how that happened."

Confused, "But you said-"

"Abby, I finished off two six-packs and four shots last night. I'm sure I said a lot of things by that point."

"You seemed okay," she repeated dumbly. And he had; he'd taken care of Hedges, looked after her. Okay, so he'd been snoring like a champion not ten minutes ago, but he'd been there, he'd been on before. "You really don't remember anything?" Her memory had been a little hazy, sure, but with effort, she could recall most of what she'd been awake for: I never kissed a relative on the lips, I never drag-raced; I never smoked pot; I never, I never, I never. King, Hedges, Dex and Sommer, it was all, more or less there.

"It happens," King shrugged, her head moving with his shoulders. "I'm usually fine, a little bit buzzed, then bam! I'm walking around with a tea cosy on my dick and offering cuppas to old ladies."

She giggled helplessly at the image that conjured up. "Is that for real?"

"My grandma's bridge club was giving the funniest looks for weeks. I couldn't figure out what I'd done. Lucky for me, a few buddies of mine had pictures."

"So," she hiccupped, barely able to contain herself, "you black out?"

He sighed, the hand sandwiched between her and the couch coming to life, fingers wiggling against her pants. "Eventually. It takes a while, but it hits me like an ACME rocket. At the end of a long rubber band held by very patient Coyote." He smirked, "Meep-meep."

She buried her laughter into his shoulder, shuddering with it. Her imagination, unlike the rest of her, was working better that its usual. Wile E. King, being socked by jumbo fireworks ridden by drunken worms wearing sombreros. Arriba! Maybe she could be Slowpoke Rodriguez. It was how she felt at present.

"Abby."

"Hmm?"

"You repeat any of that, and I'll tell about you sticking your hand in my pants last night."

"I did not," she groused, biting her lower lip. But he wasn't far off, and he knew it. Hesitantly, sobered by his teasing, she asked, "Do you not remember anything we talked about?"

He was quiet a long while, and she'd given up hope of getting an answer when he murmured, almost inaudibly, "no." He kept his eyes closed, his expression unaffected; it was near impossible, despite the game attempts of her hyperactive imagination, to see the ugly and severe emotions that had decorated his features a few hours ago. "No," he said again, seeming at once contrite and bored, "I remember enough."

Okay, so he remembered some things, and she remembered some things. She listened to him breathing, regularly, so unlike the sounds that had woken her. The complaints of her body - the cramps, the lethargy, the queasiness - demanded her attention, distracted her from full comprehension for a moment, allowing the silence to stretch on between them until it was truly uncomfortable.

Lamely, she tried for neutral territory. "So, how did you get that scar?"

"Long story."

"I'm not going anywhere. You're lying on my arm."

"So I am," King nodded, uncrossing the leg lying atop hers and sitting up. "Better?"

"I'll let you know when I can feel it again." She flopped her arm about, ignoring the pricks and pulls as she watched King run his hands down his face, dragging the skin along and making his hang-dog expression even worse. "Are you as hungover as I feel?"

"Do you remember how you felt last night?"

"Yeah." Thankfully, she was better now. At least the world was staying still this morning - even if her brain felt like it was swimming and sloshing into the sides of her skull.

"Imagine last night multiplied by a lot."

"How much?"

"It's too early for mathematic acrobatics, Whistler. Just a lot." When he turned his head to look at her, she could see that his eyes were bloodshot.

"Painkillers?" She offered, sitting up, body protesting the whole way. King nodded and dropped his head onto one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose with the other. Shakily, Abby managed to get to her feet and wobble over to the bathroom. She willfully ignored the panties sticking out of the crumpled bath mat and jerked open the mirrored doors of the medicine cabinet one by one until she found a familiar looking blue-and-yellow-labeled white bottle.

The mug she kept for rinsing out after brushing her teeth was not in its usual spot by the hot water tap. She spotted it lying on its side on the floor next to a used condom. Someone had aimed for the waste bin and missed by a mile but had managed to get it on the lip of her mug.

"Fuck me." Were they in their right minds, Sommer and Dex would probably not have chosen this means of revealing their relationship to Abby; but they'd been drunk, and had gotten careless or Abby would never have known at all. They were going to have to have quite a chat later. Still, Zoe was a perpetual early riser, and despite her anger with Sommer, she couldn't leave the evidence for the little girl to find. Zoe, thanks to Sommer's no-nonsense heart-to-hearts, knew exactly what that little lump of latex was for.

Abby fished out a washcloth, and, with it as a barrier, plucked up the condom and tossed it into the toilet. She flushed it, grabbed her mug off the floor, and carried it and the washcloth to the kitchen, dropping both in the sink. She snagged a bottle of water from the fridge and returned to King already dropping three turd-brown - God, what a mood she was in - ibuprofen tablets onto her palm.

"How many do you want?" King didn't look up, just held up his hand, open-palmed, and waited. She tipped five tablets onto his hand, popped hers into her mouth, swallowed them with some water, and handed the bottle over. He dry-swallowed the pills then chugged what was left of the half-liter bottle. She leaned against the empty gurney across from the couch.

"How do you feel?"

"I've been worse," he muttered, eyebrows low and slanted in an expression of pain. "This is nothing."

"Optimist," she said it like a curse. Last night multiplied by a lot was nothing? If she were still in the grips of last night's torture, she'd either be hurting everything and one in sight or curled up in a tight ball like she did when she had bad cramps. No way would she say it was 'nothing.'
"The nice thing about rock bottom, Abby," King looked up finally. "Is that it's all uphill from there." He stared blearily at her, blinked, and said, "How mad are you at Sommer?"

"Oh, you remember that. Fantastic." She told him about the bathroom, the underwear, the bath mat, her mug, and the condom.

"Nice. Classy, our Sommer."

"I cleaned it up. No need for Zoe to see it."

"Or me, really." King leaned back against the sofa, letting out a puff of dust-tinged air. "You didn't answer my question."

Abby stared at her feet. Her shoes were still on. For some reason, this bothered her. "I don't know," she said at last.

"You were pretty mad last night. You took a swing at me."

"I did hit you."

"Don't change the subject."

"Right," she took a deep breath, tilting her head up, spreading her arms out along the edge of the gurney and rolling her neck around to work the kinks out. "How mad am I?"

"I'd say 'very.'"

"No," she shook her head. Betrayal burned lowly, evaporating in the streaks on sunshine peeking in through the eastward windows. In such glorious light, hideous things like betrayal and hard feelings couldn't penetrate from the core to the surface, from the past to the present. "I'm not mad any more. I'm just a little hurt."

"And that was more than just a little understatement."

"I'm not lying. I'm really not mad any more." Mad was something she saved for vampires. She'd once returned from a hunt good and fuming because her mp3 player had been broken and a familiar had gotten away. She'd put three arrows through one another at one of the targets on a fluke, barely even looking as she aimed. When King asked her about it, she'd told him she was mad. I wouldn't like Abby when she's angry, got it, and he'd left her to it. That was 'angry.'

King blinked in her direction, his eyes unfocusing, staring past her. "If you say so. Seems like you ladies should have a talk. Right, doc?"

She jumped, whirling about to see Sommer on the stairs in a loosely tied silk bathrobe. The normally well-groomed doctor appeared worse for last night's activities than Abby felt. Sommer's hair was a mess, her fingers trembled on the railing, and her posture suggested her knees might give out at any moment.

"Don't mind me," King waved at both of them before she or Sommer could find their voices. He resettled himself on the couch, rolling away from both of them and drawing the afghan up to his neck. While she agonized over what to say to Sommer, King's snores - softer this time - filled the space.

"Could you help me, please? I left my cane upstairs." It was cheap trick, but she couldn't resist Sommer's request. Sommer had the layout of the base down cold - she used her cane out of habit more than necessity - but if she were feeling as out of sorts as she looked, she needed some extra help.

Abby crossed to her, climbing a couple of steps and putting her hand on Sommer's forearm. "Here, Sommer, this way." Together, they navigated the nominal living room space and headed for the kitchen. It was next to Sommer's workbench, and, once there, she walked on her own, drawing her fingers along the table.

"No one cleaned up," she said disapprovingly as she seated herself on one of the stools facing the kitchen counter.

"It was your turn." Abby called over her shoulder as she opened the fridge and picked out another bottle of water for Sommer and one for herself. She set Sommer's down loudly, so Sommer could locate it, and crossed her arms. "But you skipped out on us."

Sommer paused with the water halfway to her lips, frowned, drank, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and tapped her fingers on the counter top. "So, how mad at me are you?"

"I'm not," she stressed, pouting.

"Abby, it's me."

She snorted at this; right, it was Sommer, whom she knew so well, as recent events had proved. Still, she decided to be honest. "A bit." She let this sink in and added, "I'm just surprised you didn't say something."

"Abby, I haven't been keeping it a secret about Dex and I."

Frustration spiked, helped along by her cranky, creaky body. Now that she was face-to-face with Sommer, she was getting mad. "Oh? Haven't been keeping it a secret? How come I didn't know?"

"We've been discreet, Abby, not secretive. I have Zoe to worry about."

"Bullshit," she swore. "Zoe's a smart kid, Sommer. She wouldn't have any problem with you seeing someone else."

"But that's just it," Sommer shrugged holding out her hands, palms up, a gesture of resignation. "I'm not really seeingDex. Oh, that sounds silly." She laughed, wincing at the noise and sipping her water. It was gratifying to know that Sommer had a hangover, too.

"Then what you do call it?"

"Abby, you're not a child. Hell, Zoe's not a child. You know what I'm doing. I'm a healthy human being, and sex is something I need in my life to keep me sane."

"So it doesn't matter who you're with so long as you get fucked?" Abby spat, venomous, immediately regretting it when Sommer's eyebrows settled into a hard line on her forehead. "Sorry."

"You should be," Sommer sniffed, sounding congested and wounded. "I know we were having fun last night, Abby, but you're the last person I would have thought would be yelling at me for my appetites."

"Hey!" She hissed. "You watch it, Sommer."

"Why? Because you can't handle the fact that you were a bit dim about Dex and I? So what? You didn't notice, that's it. That's no reason to fly off the handle and call me a whore, Abby." Sommer took a shaky breath, nostrils flaring widely as she struggled to control herself. "I am fucking Dex, yes, but that is it. I'm still not ready to commit to anything. You, of all people, should understand why."

Yes, she could, and she felt like an idiot and a bitch for throwing this in Sommer's face. Sommer's husband of six years - a man she'd known and loved and trusted - had tried to feed her and her daughter to vampires. She'd been the one to hold Sommer together when she and an infant Zoe first arrived at the Nightstalker compound.

"It's just easier for me, for us, if we didn't make a big thing of it, okay?" Sommer's face fell, tremulous and distraught. "I assumed you all knew and were just pretending not to. It was easy that way because no one expected anything of us."

"Expected anything of you?"

"Yes," Sommer nodded, soberly. "If we were going out, there would be rules and procedures. Things are a lot less definite while we're just friends with benefits." Sommer rubbed her forehead. "Does any of this make sense?"

"Maybe, a little." Actually, it made a lot of sense, but she smarted too much to admit it. "But is that all you are?" Dex had been particularly solicitous of Sommer during their game, and the affection - on his side at least - had been real.

Sommer shrugged. "I don't know, Abby. I really don't. Maybe, maybe in the future there will be more, but I'm not ready now. I have Zoe to worry about and Daystar. Dex is a distraction I need to stay sane, but for right now, that's all he is: a pleasant distraction."

"Sommer, you can't turn your life off for this. You're allowed to be happy."

"Oh really?" Sommer tilted her head towards her. "Then what's your excuse for being so miserable?"

"I'm not miserable," she said, immediately defensive.

"Abby, you can't lecture me on not letting work interfere with my life. When was the last time you got laid?"

She guffawed incredulously at this, shaking her head. "That's how we define having a life?"

"It's a 'for instance.' Think about it. When's the last time you sought out a flesh-and-blood human being for reasons unrelated to hunting vampires? When did you last go out just to have fun?" Sommer clutched her robe tighter around her as no answer was forthcoming. "I think I've made my point."

"I like my life."

"And I like mine the way it is, too. This is how I deal with my neuroses, Abby. You have the right to deal with yours as you see fit, and so do I."

"And that means not telling your best friend something as big as you having a fuck-buddy?" Back on track again, her hurt returned full force. "You didn't trust me."

"I told you, I thought you knew."

"But you didn't think to check. To tell me."

"What do you want from me, Abby?"

"I want you to talk to me, damn it!" She brought her fist down hard on the counter top, rattling a silver set of salt and pepper shakers. Across the room, King sat up on the couch, peering over at them.

"Whassat?" He slurred, clearly not entirely awake.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep." To her great surprise, he did just that, falling back down out of sight behind the couch. She waited for his snores to resume before turning back to Sommer. She cleared her throat and nodded. "Go on."

"Abby, I can't make this right with you if you're determined to stay mad at me."

"I want you to be able to tell me things, Sommer." And that was all she wanted. She didn't want to be out of the loop. All her life, it felt like people she loved kept secrets from her. Her mother kept her father's identity a secret. Her father had tried to keep his business from her. Sommer left her out of the loop on her life. Even fucking King did it - hinting at what she didn't know and telling her it was none of her business. It hurt, damn it all. What, did she have 'unable to cope' branded on her somewhere?

"Okay."

She blinked at Sommer, momentarily at a loss. "Okay?"

"Okay. I'll make you a deal."

"Deal?" Maybe it was the full weight of exhaustion and post-binge come down, but she couldn't process these seeming non sequiturs of Sommer's.

"Like the Army its 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' policy, only backwards. If you want to know, ask me. I promise I'll tell you anything you want to know. But," Sommer wagged a finger at her, "you have to do the same."

Despite herself, her hangover, and the serious subjects at hand, Abby laughed. "This sounds like the stupid game King made us play."

Sommer giggled, coughing and spluttering as water went down the wrong way. "Sort of, only this is between us."

"Okay," Abby nodded, still chuckling.

"Let's start now," Sommer said, rubbing her bottom lip with her thumb, covering a wicked smile. "How far did you two get on the couch just now? Do I need to have it shampooed?"

"Sommer!" Abby gaped, giddy and embarrassed. Her first instinct was to deny any knowledge, but Sommer's smile was too knowing. Sommer would know by sound or by touch that neither of them had made it up to the dormitory last night. Better to tell the truth, no matter how suspicious it seemed on its own - it would be better than trying to lie to Sommer. "It's not like that, not like you and Dex."

"I dunno," Sommer mused, grinning openly, "You two sounded pretty cozy."

Abby opened her mouth to speak and shut it in a hurry, considering this. "Hey."

"Hey what?"

"How long were you standing there anyway?"

"Long enough to know you're mad he doesn't remember something from last night." Sommer held up her hands, a placating gesture meant to forestall the apoplectic denial Abby was choking on. "It's okay, I get it. He's amusing enough, and definitely inventive. Never underestimate the skills of a flexible, experienced man."

Abby rolled her eyes, unable to stop herself even though Sommer couldn't see. "If you get bored with Dex, I'll let him know you'd be interested."

"Bitch," Sommer snapped, without any irritation or spite. They giggled together, finishing their waters. "Are you going to wake him up again, get him to go to bed? Take him with you?" Sommer whispered, conspiratorially.

"No, I'll let him sleep." As an afterthought, Abby left Sommer, walked back to the couch to pluck the ibuprofen from the small table next to the couch, returned to the kitchen, and handed it to Sommer. The disheveled doctor twisted off the child-proof cap with some difficulty, her normally nimble fingers sluggish and clumsy. She tapped the bottom until a couple of tablets fell into her palm.

"So."

Wearily, she repeated after Sommer, "So?"

"Did anything happen?"

"Sommer, Jesus," she snorted, pinching the bridge of her nose against her headache. "Nothing happened. We're not off to a great start if you won't believe me when I tell you the truth." Never mind she was lying by omission, it was still mostly the truth.

"Come on, Abby. Tell me you weren't the slightest bit interested."

"Maybe. I'm human."

"Mmm," Sommer licked her lower lip.

"Mmm? Penny for your thoughts?"

"Well, I was just thinking if you weren't using him, I might have to borrow our new friend."

She couldn't repress a chuckle at this. "Sommer, you've got Dex."

"I told you, it's not like that."

"Doesn't matter. Don't be selfish." She clapped her hand over her mouth; God, had she really just said that? Sommer sniggered. "Stop it!"

"You're in denial, Abby. It's a theme with you."

"Oh?" She drummed her fingers testily on her hip. "What am I in denial about now?"

"That you're the teeniest bit attracted to our latest member."

"Oh that," she laughed wheezily. "I admit that. He's good looking enough. He's filled out some, thanks to Dex and me."

"And that's all?"

"Yes," she nodded emphatically even if Sommer couldn't see; it strengthened the firmness and resolve of her words, which Sommer would notice. "I'm not...I'm not blind, Sommer-" Sommer smirked "but I'm not a hormonal wreck."

"God, if I went as long as you have without getting laid, I would be."

"Lucky for you it's not a problem."

"Ah, there's the Abby I know and love." Sommer pushed away from the counter, leaving her empty bottle behind. "And with that, I am going to get some more sleep."

"Morning, Sommer." Abby picked up both plastic water bottles and tossed them in the recycling; when she turned around, Sommer had yet to depart. "Something else? Did you miss needling me about something?"

Sommer frowned. "We are cool, right?"

"I'll get over it, Sommer. We'll work it out. Now is not the time." Truthfully, she wasn't cool with this yet. It would take time, time to test out the boundaries of their new pact, their willingness to share with each other, the details in question to be shared. Sommer understood this in the silence and without saying another word, she left, occasionally placing a hand out to touch an obstruction here or there, preternaturally knowing every possible roadblock, much recovered already from her earlier disorientation. Once she was sure Sommer had made it up the stairs all right, Abby walked back over to the couch.

King lay on his back, neck on the arm rest, chin pointed up at the ceiling, mouth partially open. She played with the very ends of his hair, which were loose now that a day's wearing had exhausted the holding power of his hair gel. Though it looked good spiked up, his hair was softer and silkier to the touch without product. It wasn't fair - his hair was thick and gorgeous and sleek without effort, and hers was limp and thin and neither straight nor curly without a lot of work. This thought made her suddenly self-conscious; her hair was probably a fright right about now.

The afghan was at King's waist because he'd sat up and laid back down without fixing it, so she moved to draw it up again. But once the edge of the blanket was in her hands, she couldn't move, only stare and burn inside from Sommer's teasing. So he was cute, especially asleep. So what? Of course, he was cuter asleep - he couldn't talk if he wasn't awake. Recovering, she drew the afghan up again, stepping away until the backs of her knees found the edge of the low table, and she sat down hard.

There were three choices for the rest of her morning. One, she could stay awake and get over the achier, lingering aspects of her hangover and mock Hedges and Sommer for still being sickly. Two, she could go upstairs and get some sleep herself, recover from her binge that way and take the edge off her exhaustion. However, alcohol had robbed her of deep sleep, and Hedges' tendency to snore had kept her up many a night when they were both sober; she shuddered to think of what it would be like now, especially if King, normally silent, was snoring - though he seemed to have stopped now.

Three...well, the third option might let her sleep at the cost of her pride. She could climb back on the couch and take a few sly jokes on the chin later in the day. It grated, just thinking of what Hedges would have to say, or of how Dex would have a smirk stuck on his face for a day, or, worse yet, of Zoe possibly walking in on them on her way to early morning cartoons. On the other hand, before his snores had woken her, she had slept soundly next to King, lulled into sleep by the steady rhythm of his body. It was very tempting. It was a horrid abuse of their friendship, perhaps, but it was so tempting.

Fuck it. If King had a complaint, she'd certainly hear about it enough times to compensate for this minor infraction. She paused, fiddling with the edge of her shirt before deciding to remove her shoes and, as a favor, his as well. Ever-so-cautiously so as not to wake him, she squeezed into the space between him and the cushions. Lifting the afghan, Abby slid under it, facing away from him.

He stirred behind her, the arm under her pulling away as he lifted his head. She could picture him squinting at the back of her head. "Abby? Why'd you come back here? Go to bed."

"I'm not putting up with Hedges." His chuckles tickled the back of her neck. "So continue to behave, and let's just get through the morning, okay?"

He sputtered tiredly, "Behave? I'm not the one who..."

"Whatever," she cut him off. They could get into his grievances another time; she'd had quite enough drama for one morning, and if he refused to get into some things, he could just as easily content himself with not discussing anything. "Just shut up and let me sleep."

"You're the boss." He readjusted, lying on his side to give her a little more space, which she appreciated, and draping his arm over her waist, which she did not. They weren't drunk any more, so that wasn't going to fly.

"Move that arm or I'll throw you over the couch with it."

"Whistler, compromise or I'm throwing you off my couch and making you sleep with the jackhammer upstairs." She relented, saying nothing more. "Good morning." And he was out like a light.

"Morning," she growled back, jealous of the ease with which he slid into unconsciousness. Even without actively trying to be a jackass, he could still piss her off. Never have I ever wanted to kill a man for sleeping, she thought, her brain inanely playing all by itself with nothing to drink.

Damn infectious fucking game.