come on, babe (we're gonna brush the sky)

hold on, hon (we're gonna bunny hug)

More memories from the night before rushed back to Claire in earnest, and she cringed as she recalled her drunken attempts to seduce Jack. Christ, had she really pushed him against the wall? If so, it was a miracle Jack hadn't doubled over laughing at her ineptness.

And if he'd left this note on her nightstand, that meant...

Oh, yeah. She'd asked him to stay the night, hadn't she?

Before Claire could continue wracking her brain about every minute from last night, she placed Jack's note aside, grabbing the two aspirin he'd brought her and swallowing them both with a gulp of water. Although she knew the immediate effect was mere placebo, Claire exhaled in relief as the tightness across her forehead began to fade.

Pressing the cool glass against her cheeks helped, too.

Well, Claire thought, it was some kind of miracle that she hadn't ended up worshipping the porcelain throne the night before, though she supposed she had toned down her drinking after Jack first found them. Sure, the fact that the roof of her mouth still felt lined with cotton was more than unpleasant, but it was nonetheless better than the back of her throat burning with bile.

Claire took another slow, deep breath, forcing her body to further relax against the backboard of her bed and the propped-up pillows. A glance at her clock revealed it was just a few minutes past 6. She wasn't due at work until 9, and part of her wished she'd had the forethought to delay her alarm by an hour, maybe an hour and a half, but nothing could be done now. Hell, maybe the extra time awake and regaining her wits would be good for her. To say last night had been...

Well, 'wild' was an understatement.

But Claire wouldn't have it any other way.

Claire's memories became choppier, hazier with each drink, and trying to recall them was like looking at photos taken through a camera with an increasingly clouded lens. She'd asked Jack to stay the night, and—what? Had they done anything? Was he still here? He obviously wasn't in her bedroom now, but that didn't mean—

Claire's train of thought came to a grinding halt when the faint sound of sizzling met her ears. Sizzling, like... like food on the stove.

Claire took a final drink of the cool water before placing the glass aside and pushing down her bed covers. Huh—she noticed for the first time that her nightclothes were her Harvard shirt and the corresponding burgundy shorts. Not a common pajama set of her choice, but she supposed it was better than having slept in her maroon dress, which, Claire noted, was carefully hanging on one of her closet handles.

Claire swung her legs off the bed, biting her tongue to hold back a groan as the sudden motion sent a sharp jolt up her spine that proceeded to ricochet like a bullet around her brain. God, next time Claire would have to do a risk-reward analysis before she let herself even touch a single shot.

She definitely needed to call Margot later. Check on her, see if she was faring as poorly.

With unsteady steps and several pauses to wait out waves of dizziness, Claire gradually made her way out of her bedroom and down the hall to the front of her apartment, keeping one hand on the wall at all times as additional support. When she got to the threshold, she had to do a double take, because her couch was covered in a pile of blankets. A pair of jeans was also folded atop the small coffee table next to the right arm of the couch. What were those—

Oh, duh.

Claire sighed, massaging her temples at the delayed realization. Jack had obviously slept there, which meant they had probably not done the... horizontal tango last night.