your hand in mine ii

viii

Roseanne gets up somewhere around eight. The sun is already shining, painting her living room with soft yellow hues. It's partially the reason she's holding onto this apartment, trampling on her pride and letting her mother pay for it. In the morning, it's breathtaking if the weather is right.

Also, the image of Lisa standing at the window, barefoot and soft and bathed in light is forever etched in here, and she doesn't want to forget.

She didn't think she'd get to see that again, but here they are. Lisa, barefoot and dressed in Roseanne's soft sweatpants and a white crewneck, standing before her in her morning. Except this time, she's wincing at the light and struggling to keep her eyes open as she's stumbling her way out of Roseanne's room. Where Roseanne did not spend the night.

Yeah, she definitely didn't think she'd get to see Lisa undressed in her apartment under these circumstances.

"Hey," she says cautiously, clutching her mug and leaning against the counter.

Lisa winces even more, and somehow Roseanne has a feeling it has nothing to do with her, undoubtedly, monster hangover. "... Hey." They stand there, Lisa in the middle of her living room and Roseanne in the kitchen, staring at each other. She watches her rub her temples before having a tired sigh and speaking again. "I -- well, since you clearly saw me last night, you won't find it all that surprising, but I don't remember how I got here." It proves to be too many words for her, and Roseanne watches as she winces again and swallows with some visible difficulty.

Her throat must be killing her. "I left you a glass of water, did you drink it?"

Lisa tries to nod. "Yes. Advil, too. Thank you."

"Here." Roseanne pushes herself off the counter and springs into action, fishing out another bottle from the fridge and pouring it in a glass. "You should drink more."

"Precisely what I've been telling myself last night," Lisa mutters, but takes the glass with a grateful nod, immediately downing it. "Do you have coffee?"

Roseanne shakes her head. "Coffee will make you feel worse. You should go lie down again. You, uh," she hesitates for only a second before continuing. "You can spend the day here. If you want. It'll be better for you. If you can't remember the last hour, you must've had a lot to drink, so resting will do you some good."

And here it is. She doesn't remember. She doesn't remember, and Roseanne is faced with yet another inner struggle as she tries to figure out what to do.

She doesn't remember telling Roseanne about the reason for being this wasted. Perhaps, it's for the best. Saves her the possible humiliation; although Roseanne's not sure if Lisa would be humiliated by her admission last night. Upset, definitely. And she doesn't want to make Lisa upset. But if there's anything Roseanne's learned, it's that honesty is the best policy, and hiding things from Lisa never led to anything good for her. For both of them.

It's not even a struggle, really. Lisa has a right to know.

Lisa's expression is unsure and apologetic. And, of course, still pained - a hangover like that doesn't go away in a matter of minutes. "I don't think I can accept that," she tells Roseanne. "And I... I'm sorry for barging in like that."

Roseanne's heart starts to pound in her chest. "So you do remember?"

"Oh, no," Lisa shakes her head and cringes at the pain it brings. "Ouch. No, I don't, but judging by my headache, I don't doubt for a second that I lost some of my motor skills. I wouldn't be surprised if you told me I crashed into your door and fell when you opened it."

That's kind of what happened. "That's not how it happened. Don't worry."

God, when will she stop lying?