Note: This story was inspired by Kathy P.'s story 'Dancing Queen'. Why should only Blair suffer?
Jim opened his eyes, only to slam them shut with a groan as the daylight glared much too bright for his comfort. Through the haze in his head he noticed that he was lying on a soft underground, his head cushioned on a pillow. Obviously he was in his own bed in his loft.
His head hurt, his mouth felt as if he'd chewed cotton, and his stomach rolled dangerously.
In other words, he had a hell of a hangover.
Jim moaned and buried his head beneath his pillow. He silently wished for someone to put him out of his misery. Right now the thought of getting a new head seemed rather attractive. He couldn't remember much about last night. The only thing he did remember was that they'd been to a party at Simon's.
Sudden noises cut through the air, increasing the pounding in his head. Someone was climbing the stairs to his bedroom.
"Morning Jim," a much too cheerful voice greeted. "How're you feeling today?"
Jim flinched at the volume of Blair's voice. He made an unintelligible sound and buried his head even deeper beneath his pillow.
Blair laughed. "Sorry, Jim. Didn't quite catch the last one."
Jim wondered who this alien was, which had replaced his gentle, caring, concerned friend. He decided that he would have to do something against it, once he could move without his head falling off.
His silent musings were disturbed as the pillow was forcefully removed from his grasp. "Come on, Jim. Open your eyes and drink this."
He forced his eyelids open a bit and focused blearily at the glass of water Blair was holding out to him. The young man's other hand held two pills.
"Here's some Aspirin. I think you could use it right now."
Maybe this was really his friend after all.
Jim slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. He took the offered items and downed the pills quickly with a few gulps of water. He handed the empty glass back. "Thanks."
Blair put it on the nightstand and studied Jim intensively. "Man, you look rough. I warned you about mixing beer and whiskey."
Jim massaged his temples. "What happened? Why can't I remember most of last night? I didn't drink that much."
"Jim, you know that you react differently to several sorts of chemicals. The alcohol mixed in your system and seriously messed you up." He grinned devilishly. "You sure caused some spectacular entertainment."
Jim groaned and sank back onto the mattress. "What did I do?"
Blair's grin widened. "You called Megan Hotlips and tried to dance with her. She really wasn't amused about the reference."
Obviously Blair had a ball filling Jim in on the events of last night. Jim wondered if he could hide the body well enough after he killed him.
"You realize that this is all your fault? If you hadn't insisted on watching that MASH marathon, this never would have happened."
"Hey man, I didn't tell you to drink different sorts of alcohol. Besides, that's not all. We didn't even hit the highlights."
Jim reconsidered his previous thought about killing Blair. Just killing him would be much too easy. He would have to use some techniques from his time in covert-ops to properly pay back his much too smug roommate.
"Chief, I don't think I want to know more about what happened last night."
"Come on, Jim. It was really funny when you tried to kiss Simon. And I think Brown didn't take it too well when you called him a little creamsicle."
Jim pulled the covers over his head and wondered how long it would take before he could enter the bullpen again without being totally embarrassed.
Maybe in ten years.
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