Main Pairing: (hints of) Tseng/Reno. Sort of... shades of pre-relationship
Minor Pairings: N/A
Setting: It's in-universe... I don't spot any deviations.
POV: Tseng, actually, since it's his first hangover .
Summary:Being hungover is not an acceptable reason to not show up for work.
Additional ANs: I've written a previous piece entitled "Hungover" that featured this couple as the main pairing and a hangover. This time around, however, I'm changing it up a little: Tseng is the one with the hangover, so that should certainly make things interesting! Also, let me know if you think the slight mentions of alcohol mean I need to kick up the rating, alright? The hangover treatment that Dr. Reno prescribes is actually one I've used in the past, and it works quite well, I'm proud to say.
Word Count:1013 words about a first hangover and a
What in the hell had I been thinking?! Well, I mused to myself, I obviously hadn’t been or I would not have ingested near as much alcohol. Reno frequently remarked that I had no sympathy for hangovers, but he was wrong: I simply had no empathy for them. Until this morning, I’d never had one before, and I was getting more empathetic by the moment –or was that more pathetic? Bright light made my eyes ache and my head screech in agony. Moving led to a dizzying swirl of nausea, and Gaia save me from loud noises! Honestly, I wasn’t quite sure if I was truly hung over or still intoxicated. It felt a lot like a migraine, only with what felt like fire burning inside my stomach. If I thought hard enough, I got a notion of cheap whiskey, but I wasn't sure if it was a vague memory or a desire to see if the hair of the dog would kick this. My phone cord had been yanked from the wall at some point during the morning, as had my alarm clock’s cord. At some point, the battery had been removed from my PHS, as well. I couldn’t function in this condition at all, as the still-drawn shades would attest. A loud pounding sounded at my door and my hands instantly came up to clutch my now-throbbing head. It repeated a few times before I heard a series of loud sharp oaths and it ceased. Please, Mother Gaia, let them have gone away, I pled silently. But I knew they hadn’t when I heard the door swing open with as soft squeak a few moments later. Grimacing, I prepared myself to face my uninvited guest and reached for the gun under my pillow. I wasn’t sure I could actually shoot it in my condition, let alone handle the noise of the blast, but it was still the best option at hand. Yet to my surprise, my bedroom door opened to reveal an astoundingly fresh faced Reno. “Hey ya,” he greeted, his voice soft to my surprise. I lowered the gun, noting absently I hadn’t even flicked the safety off. Pretty sure he didn’t mean to maim me, I slid the gun back under my pillow. “Hello.” “You look mighty hung over this morning,” he commented wryly, careful not to raise his voice much above a whisper. Slowly, I nodded. “That, or I’m still drunk,” I told him, my tongue thick in my mouth. He shook his head. “You gotta learn how to take care of one of those, yo.” He walked out of my room, only to return a few minutes late with a tall glass of water and two pain-relievers. “Step one, medicate the pain. Step two, rehydrate. Your head and your liver will thank you,” he informed me softly, handing me each item as he instructed. “Do I need to take notes?” "Only if you intend to get that drunk again,” he retorted. I sighed at the thought. “What time is it?” “Twelve-hundred hours. I called you in sick, so Rude is managing the paperwork.” He shrugged, as though it were nothing. But it most certainly wasn’t nothing. How many times had I told Reno “Being hung over is not an acceptable reason to not show up for work”? How many times had I purposely raised my voice when I knew he was hung over? So why was it, then, when he should have been dishing out what would be just desserts, he was kind? I had time to ponder it as he left my bedroom in favor of my kitchen. As I finished the glass of water, I had to wonder what his motive was in all this. That he took the time to take care of me made little sense. After all, when Reno had gotten his first hang over, I doubted someone had taken care of him! Still, I looked up when he walked back into my room. He was carrying a tray burdened with a teapot with steam pouring from the spout and a steaming bowl of what appeared to be instant ramen. “Step three is caffeinate,” he told me calmly, setting the tray on my bedside table and seeming to materialize my favorite tea cup in his hand. “I know you normally favor your Wutaian green tea, but the black tea had more caffeine and you need it.” As he spoke, he filled the cup with an elegance I hadn’t known him to possess. After pressing the full tea cup into my hand, he continued. “Step four is good carbs. Breads and pastas help absorb the alcohol. I apologize for the ramen, but it needed to be something light I could make quickly.” Shrugging, he swapped the empty water glass for a full one. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Why are you taking care of me, Red?” I asked, my voice coming out surprisingly hoarse. There was that shrug again. “This is your first hangover, isn’t it? You need to know how to take care of one.” That he knew it was my first hangover didn’t really surprise me; I simply believed there had to be more to it than that. The thought wouldn’t leave me be even after I downed the next three cups of tea and dug into the surprisingly delicious ramen than he’d prepared. Yet there didn’t seem to be any real motive to it. He stayed with me, he took care of me, he made me laugh, with no ulterior motive or mocking. As I began to drift off to sleep, much more comfortable and eased, I felt a tender touch to my forehead. “Ah, you’re gonna be fine,” I heard him say. I wanted to ask if he would be here when I woke, but I couldn’t push the words out or figure out why I wanted him here so much. While I had certainly deserved his worst, I was glad he’d taken care of me instead. The thought was dull and echoing as sleep took me completely under.