Much Ado About Britpop

20 May 1993 - Blakes Hotel, South Kensington, London

Tinsley woke up feeling as if she were going to faint and go back to sleep. It was one thing to drink and have a bit of ecstasy, but it was definitely another to end up in the bathroom of the Wag after those two choices and then take some PCP from two pretty girls who were very high and willing to kiss you and pour some in your mouth.

She didn't remember much other than Damon getting a boner on her after a bit of grinding...at least, she hoped it was a boner, because otherwise his flaccid state would be enough to disable someone. But...there was someone in her bed. A familiar long legged someone who was freaking spooning her.

Shit, did we have sex, she wondered. That'd be so embarrassing.

She gingerly moved away from him and rolled over. The good news was that he still had his jeans on and they were zipped. The bad news was his shirt was off, which meant when he did wake up, she might develop a staring problem again.

Although Tinsley knew the last incident from yesterday was definitely brought on by mild sunstroke, and today's would be caused by her wicked hangover, it's not like she could explain that to Damon. With his gigantic ego, he wouldn't believe her, or at least would choose not to.

Still, Tinsley decided, she had to wake up, to make sure she didn't do anything stupid the night before.

So she shook him awake as hard as she could, until he finally grabbed her arm. "Jesus, mum, what," he asked with a wry grin. "Am I late for school?"

"What happened last night and why were you spooning me," Tinsley asked.

"Nothing interesting," Damon said. "And I was spooning you because I thought you needed a hug. Perfectly innocent."

Tinsley narrowed her eyes. "Don't buy it," she said. "You're not that nice."

"You were crying," Damon said. "Crying about how you wanted to quit acting and move on a farm with Alex and make cheese, and how scared you were that letting Juniper punch him ruined your one shot at your dream. So I was comforting you."

"You are so close to getting slapped," Tinsley said, "so try again."

Damon let out an exaggerated huff and rolled his eyes. "Well, if we must stick to the boring, no-fun version, you weren't crying, but you kept complaining about being cold, which I chalk up to the fact that you stripped down to your underwear and didn't bother putting pajamas on."

"You enjoy the show," Tinsley asked.

"Eh," Damon said. "Apparently you weren't expecting much tonight, what with the cotton undies and the sports bra."

"This is a bralette, moron," Tinsley replied. "Jesus, did you never buy lingerie for Justine? No wonder you got dumped."

"You sound mad," Damon said. "Were you fishing for compliments? That ship sailed after I complimented your breasts when you were telling me about your time in the ED ward."

"What- I talked about that," Tinsley said. "You could have said so. I'm not embarrassed by that. The whole anorexia thing is...well, not over. It's like alcoholism. It's a vice I deal with every day in some way. Today, I'm dealing with it by ordering up eggs and bacon from room service and hoping they don't add baked beans."

"You're so American," Damon teased. "What's wrong with baked beans?"

"Are you staying for breakfast," Tinsley said. "Because nothing's wrong with them if they stay on your plate. I just never want to touch another bean again after the last two weeks. Or see one, so if I'm making direct eye contact or looking right past you, that's why."