Heathers oneshots

Drunk and Sappy (Mcnamayer)

You probably know the drill, this is Mcnamawyer, so west end cast time :D (although it still works with off Broadway cast too)

Veronicas POV

My stomach sinks as I watch heather, Heather, and Heather embarrass Martha in front of the whole party. After watching her humiliate herself, I just want to go home.

After lounging on a couch off to the side for a while, Duke finally lets me know that it's time to go. Best news I've heard all day. Having been unfortunately selected as the designated driver for the night, she guides a very drunk Chandler and McNamara into the back seat of her Jeep.

Chandler spends the whole car ride being a general nuisance to all of us. She's just very annoying, tired, and crabby, complaining about everything. I don't know how Duke is able to put up with her.

Once we get back to McNamara's house, Duke takes initiative, taking the key out from under the mat, and making sure everyone gets inside.

"God, I'm tired," she groans walking up the stairs, Chandler following her, trying to shove past her in the stairwell.

"I'm tired too. And I want the good guest bed," Chandler slurs, "you get the... the other one."

"We're taking the guest beds, you're good sleeping on the floor, right?" She calls out before I can objects, "thanks!"

"Just make sure heather gets to bed, and doesn't throw up," she makes sure to remind me.

"Why do I have to? She can do it herself!"

"No she can't. You want to be a part of this clique, you've gotta deal with drunk Heather like the rest of us." she growls back, clearly exhausted, "if she rants on an on about how your her best friend, and how much she loves you, don't flatter yourself, she does it all the time."

"Thanks," I mumble sarcastically, turning back to the tiny girl laying on the couch.

"Come on, let's get you some water, and then you've gotta get to bed," I say guiding her upright, and leading her towards the kitchen.

"But I'm not tired," she slurs, "we just got here."

I slowly lead her by the wrist to the kitchen, and fill up a glass of water for her. I add ice on top of the nearly full glass, and it splashes all over my shirt. Maybe I'm not as sober as I thought.

"Come on Heather, you need to sober up," I say, handing her the water, which she promptly refuses.

"I like orange juice better," she complains, "and French toast. French toast sounds good right now. Veronica will you-"

"Just drink the water, and I'll make you some regular toast." I compromise with her,"You can have all the orange juice and French toast you want in the morning."

"Fine. But you need to make it. You're a good cook."

"Fine. Just drink some water, please."

She caves in, taking a hesitant sip, before drinking the rest of it, along with a plain piece of toast.

"Thank you," she mumbles hugging me tightly, "do you wanna... watch tv? I wanna lay with you."

"Heather, it's late, let's just get you to bed."

"Only if you carry me," she slurs and leans on my shoulder, close to my face, "yourr... you're probably really strong. An' you're pretty."

"Pleeeeease?" She holds both of my forearms and begs, "I'll let you be my best friend."

I put one hand behind her knees, and one behind her back, effortlessly picking her up. She's unsurprising light, with how small she is. I head towards the stairs. Her room is probably upstairs, right?