All Things Nice » Band of Brothers

51: Hangover

Posey woke up with a banging headache and almost no recollection of the night before. It was a Saturday, thank God, which meant she didn't need to be up at the crack of dawn ready for a day full of training manoeuvres, shooting practise, and PT drills - things, incidentally, which they were all much past and only had to do for the sake of the undertrained replacements anyway. Still, even without a fully-packed schedule, she woke up whilst it was still dark. A pounding head would do that to a person, it seemed.

Posey groaned, still clinging to sleep just enough that she forgot where she was for a moment, before burying her face into her pillow. Her hands came to press down on the back of her head, pushing her face further towards the mattress. The world seemed to swing around her even when she worked to lay completely still.

She listened to the small sounds in the barracks - men rolling over, sighing in their sleep, and sometimes snoring - and tried desperately to recall what had happened the previous night to land her in such a state this morning. She remembered going to the pub but not at what point she'd ended up getting absolutely slaughtered, as she knew she must have from the monster hangover she was suffering.

She didn't know how much time had passed before the others began waking, some of them nearly as hungover as she was herself.

"Fuck," was the first word out of Skinny's mouth. It figured that he was suffering too - however it had come about, the pair of them seemed to have developed a penchant for getting absolutely wasted together.

A few men groaned and complained of a hangover before sitting up, which told Posey all she needed to know about their conditions. She herself felt like she'd run head first into a brick wall and the absolute last thing on her current to-do list was sitting up. If she'd learned anything from spending so much time with men since joining the paratroopers, however, it was that they loved melodrama.

"How you feelin', Wells?" Roe asked. She heard him get to his feet and assumed he'd kneeled down by her bunk from how his breathing had become louder. "Doin' okay?"

"If I'd slammed a door on my head a billion times last night I think I'd be in less pain," was her mumbled reply, emerging muffled through her pillow. "Does that answer the question for you?"

Roe breathed a laugh. She could imagine him shaking his head at her antics. "Fresh air'll help," he said. When he got no reply, he laughed once more. "You gotta get up some time, Wells."

"I'll get up when I don't feel like I've been dragged feet-first through the pits of hell."

"Come on," he persisted. She could hear the smile in his voice. "The fresh air'll make you feel better."

Posey considered his words a moment before shifting just enough that she could peek one eye up at him. "Promise?" she asked quietly.

"Promise," he confirmed. He nodded once encouragingly before stepping back towards his bunk to give her the space to stand. When she did, she swayed in place for a moment.

"I'm never drinking again," she vowed, not speaking to anyone in particular.

"That's bullshit and you know it," Lieb retorted from the other side of the room. By the looks of him, he'd had a little bit too much to drink the previous night, too.

"Never again," Posey insisted, pressing the palm of her hand to her forehead. "It's not worth it."

She made quick work - or as quick work as she was able - of pulling her ODs on over the top of her PT gear, trying not to wonder about just how she'd managed to get changed out of her dress uniform last night without anyone realising. At this point, how her secret was still intact was as much a mystery to her as it likely was to everyone else who knew. When that was finished, she slipped her jump boots on, tucking in the laces instead of tying them, and huffed when she realised she'd have to make her bed. Weekend or otherwise, the army was the army and unmade beds just didn't do.