Chapter 5

She awoke to a pounding headache and the creepy sensation that she was decidedly not where she was supposed to be. For one thing, the bed was about twice the size of hers, and she was missing her bear. For another thing, the linens smelled faintly of aftershave and a woodsy sort of cologne, and the comforter was blue, rather than green.

It was with great effort that she opened her eyes fully and looked around, shrinking away from the sunlight coming through the window. The first thing she noticed was a glass of water and two aspirins on the nightstand, next to an alarm clock which read half-past noon, and in the space of thirty seconds, she'd made quick work of the water and the pills. Gaining some focus now that her mouth no longer tasted like carpet glue, she glanced warily around.

It was a guy's room, that was for sure. From the poster of the Steelers on the wall to the pile of old Sports Illustrated magazines in the wastebasket to the large, ratty bathrobe hanging on the door-- definitely a guy's room. Her eyes widened in alarm... surely she hadn't...?! She was NOT the type to do that sort of thing, regardless of alcohol consumption!

A quick check underneath the covers alleviated her fears somewhat. She was still dressed in the clothing she'd worn to the party, except for her shoes, and there was no indication that anyone else had slept in the bed aside from her last night. Now, the only thing left to do would be to figure out precisely whose bed she had crashed in.

Her eyes stopped on a small, worn object on one of the bookshelves, and she stood on shaky legs to take a closer look, eyes widening in recognition. It was an autographed football, one she recognized from ten years ago. That had been the year that one bratty neighbor boy had gotten his football autographed by the quarterback of his favourite team and showed it off to all and sundry until she'd been tempted to burn the artifact.

"Holy shit," her voice was soft and disbelieving, "I wind up in a guy's bed after a party like some sort of stupid teen movie and it just HAS to be the one guy in the world whose motives are beyond the comprehension of the world's greatest psychological minds. AND there was no sex at all. Figures."

Having come to this mortifying realization, Lita carefully stepped into her shoes and made her way towards the door, peering out cautiously. There was only one thing to do, really... she'd pray that he was still asleep and high-tail it out of there before she'd have to face him and a hundred awkward questions.

The apartment was silent as she made her way out of the bedroom, and she'd almost gotten to the foyer when the sight that greeted her at the living room made her pause.

Nick Steller was sprawled out on the couch, his hair all over the place. The blanket that had likely covered him earlier had been kicked down to his feet, revealing muscular limbs, a shirt that read "Your village just called: they're missing their idiot", and, of all things, Bugs Bunny boxers. Lita's eyes widened at the comical picture, and suddenly, she couldn't hold back a hysterical laugh.

Finally, it was a spluttering sound that caught her attention, and clapping a hand over her mouth, she watched as he blinked, spat out a mouthful of hair, and stared up at her with wide eyes. She sobered immediately, meeting his gaze with her own questioning stare, and he abruptly sat up, raking a hand through his already untidy hair.

"Umm, hi," he started, his voice astonishingly squeaky, "You were drunk, hope you slept all right, I'll kill that guy for you if you want, umm..."

He was so much more tolerable this morning, somehow, she reflected. Perhaps it was because he was flustered and wearing cartoon character underpants. Or perhaps because he had grown up to be a bit less of a jerk than she'd remembered. Or... most likely... because he'd been a gentleman last night, and he had been there for her when she needed him, not expecting anything in return.

She couldn't figure out a reason for his loyalty, and gazing down at him now, decided that she didn't care too much of WHY it was, any more. After a few moments, a rare, genuine smile broke out over her face.

"Nice underwear, Steller."

He blushed like no self-respecting football player should, and she laughed again. She could use another friend... let bygones be bygones. "Thanks for taking care of me last night," she said, a bit awkwardly but sincerely. He nodded, and simply smiled at her.

"Least I could do, F-- er, Lita."

She raised an eyebrow at the near-slip, and he coughed. "Habit. I'm not completely awake yet, so you'll have to put off killing me. Please?"

"I'll be merciful this once," she chuckled, feeling warm and benevolent and strangely at peace after the storm of last night's emotions. "Here... you get yourself into something that won't make me laugh seeing it, and I'll make breakfast."

He raised both eyebrows at that, and grinned at her, looking almost like a little boy again. "A girl that boxes AND cooks?" he drawled, striking his chest with a fist for dramatic effect, "I may have to ask you to marry me."

Her laughter rang out, real and bright and unhindered, and he found himself laughing along even as he went to find some clothing. And so it was, over cheese omelettes and a Bloody Mary for her, that Nick Steller and Lita Oakley found themselves redefined as friends.