Stay, sober me up

He pulls up in their driveway and kills the engine, looking over at his slumbering wife he groans slightly before getting out of the car and going to unlock his door so he doesn't have to do it with his wife in his arms. Once the front door is open, Oscar walks to the passenger side of the car, opens the door, unclips the seat belt and scoops his wife in his arms. Betty stirs slightly but doesn't wake up. "Come on, babe, let's get you on the couch." He says to his wife as he carries her inside the house, kicking the door closed with his foot. He carries Betty to their couch and lays her down, covering her with the throw blanket they draped on the back when she first moved in. He covers her with it before going to the kitchen and letting the dog out and making himself a cup of coffee.

With his cup of coffee made, the dog playing tug-o-war by himself with a chew toy, Oscar sits on the armchair and waits for his wife to wake up so they can talk. 

Medical Examiner Betty Rogers knows she's not at work on her office couch. She also knows she's not at Serpents bar where she got drunk after drinking a few glasses of wine and a few shots of Vodka. She vaguely remembers her husband being at the bar with her but nothing after she gave him a kiss. She hears a little bark and knows where she is instantly: home, on her couch. 

She opens her eyes with a groan. "Ugh." She groans as she puts a hand on her forehead to stop the headache building. She sits up and lets out another groan as her stomach rolls with nausea. "Betts?" She hears her husband's concerned voice from the armchair. She whips her head to face him. Oscar holds a cup of coffee in his hand and wears a frown on his face as he looks at her. She throws the blanket off her. "Why are you home?" She asks, looking at the clock hanging on the living room wall. 2:30. Oscar sighs as he puts his cup on the coffee table. "A bartender at Serpents called me, said you were drunk, asked if I could pick you up, I did and brought you home. For the last two and half hours, I've been wracking my brain for anything that'd make you cut work early and go day drinking without telling anyone but for the life of me I can't figure it out! So why don't you tell me what the fuck made you get drunk in the middle of a huge case!" Her husband's voice is raised, he's angry but he won't hurt her, he's never been one to strike at her. 

She sighs as the image of the five year old girl flashes through her mind: the little girl is an exact replica of herself when she was five years old, but unlike herself, the little girl was strangled to death, dark bruises decorating her little neck, her green eyes full of pain even in death. Not a lot of their cases rattle the M.E but abused little girls can make her crumple with one look at them. She could've;'e been that little girl on the metal autopsy slab if her mother had the strength to crawl off the couch and wrap her hands around five year old Betty's throat and squeezed hard enough but her 'mother' rarely laid a hand on her, at least not while she was flat out drunk which was 99% of the time. She only raised a hand to her 'daughter' a few times and every time, Betty felt as if though she deserved it. She buries her head in her hands as tears fill her eyes. Her husband knows her 'mother' was verbally abusive but doesn't know about the time she was struck, if one being knocked unconscious and kicked causing two broken ribs struck.

She hears her husband getting up from the chair he's sitting on and picking up the dog and placing him in his bed with a bone before sitting on the coffee table in front of her, his hands on her uncovered knees. She lifts her head from her hands and stares into the eyes of her loving husband.

"I could've been that five year old girl on that table today, Oscar." Before she's finished speaking, her husband is shaking his head. "No." He says firmly. Betty sighs. "When I was 5, she was drunk and angry at me. I don't remember what I'd done, but I suddenly found being pressed up against the wall with her hands wrapped around my throat. Had she been able to get any more strength in her, I'd be cold and buried six feet underneath right now, nothing more than remains." She says with a sob. Oscar sighs as he gets off the table and crouches down in front of her, taking her face in his hands. "Betts," Her husband begins with a sigh. "she didn't kill you, you're alive with me in our house, the dog in his bed. You're home and I love you." Oscar finishes speaking to her, Betty sighs as she wraps her arms around his neck and hugs him. Her husband always has a way of shooting everything her mother did or said to her hell and she loves him for that. 

Betty pulls away from the hug, keeping her arms locked around his neck. "Ugh, I think I'm still drunk." She says as the pounding in her head intensifies. Oscar chuckles as he scoops her up in his arms and sits down on the couch with her in his lap. The ME can feel her eyes drooping as fingers tangle themselves in her red hair. "Sleep, Betts, we'll have an at home date night when you're sober." She giggles drunkenly as the last drops of alcohol flow throughout her body, sleep quickly filling her. She falls asleep in her husband's lap with the distant sounds of their dog gnawing on the bone he'd been given wash over her.

A\N: I hope you enjoy this one, Angels, happy new year.