The Glass Scientists micro-fanfictions

There's Worse Places To Wake Up

The bloody sun itself was mocking him. Or so was the first thought to flash through the addled mind of the slowly awakening individual, sunlight shining directly into his eyes from a crack in the curtain, because of course it was, why on earth should he be permitted another damned moment of much needed sleep? He had barely finished cursing the sun in all its pretentious glory before a significantly more pressing thought came to mind. Slowly, almost fearfully, he brought his hand up and ran his fingers through his hair – the familiar wiry, long mess answering his question even before he caught sight of his blond mess had – revealing the unruly hair of Edward Hyde. Brilliant. He had managed to regain control despite stumbling to bed in a drunken stupor. This thought led to another realization, despite the steady pounding in the back of his brain he could tell right away that he was entirely not in his bed – or more specifically Jekyll's bed – and he could not place where he was, and he could hear the steady breath of a person asleep beside him.

Hyde shuffled just a little, making it subtle enough for it to be completely possible that he was still asleep if the other person was awake, coming to the conclusion that yes, he was still wearing his clothes. This did not answer any of his questions whatsoever. Stretching out his leg very carefully he was able to ascertain that this was as state shared by his currently unknown companion.

It would, of course, be easiest for him to simply slip away now before whoever it was woke up, vanishing like a puff of smoke with the rising sun. Just because it should have been easy in theory, the moment he actively made to slip out of the bed, the other person shifted.

"D'you know if you were still snuggling me when I went to sleep?" a voice mused, slurred just that little but with sleep.

A familiar voice.

A very familiar voice.

Damn.

Damn damn damn!

Rachel Pidgley.

How the hell did he manage to wind up in Rachel's bed? Bloody hell, he must have drunk significantly more than he thought.

He had two options, pretend he was still asleep and hope she falls back to sleep, or to so eloquently explain the situation.

"I don't bloody snuggle!" Nailed it. Truly a verbose and expressive.

Despite his truly convincing argument, somehow Rachel didn't seem to buy this. "You wrapped your arms around me and you curled up like a little kitten. I'd call that snuggling."

The particularly short man did not like the sleepy amusement that was all too clear in her tone, and so with a huff and a particularly pointed movement, he sat up and made to get up. However, the sudden motion meant he was well and truly hit with the nausea of his hangover. Ah, the consequences of his actions, how little it was that he actually had to bother himself with something so largely irrelevant, and even more importantly, tedious as actually having to care about what happens next. Disgusting. Almost as disgusting as he currently felt.

"Oh no you don't," the cook scolded gently, "You need your sleep, so sleep."

For a moment he considered rejecting this, perhaps with a dramatic exclamation of something along the lines of 'How dare you tell me, the embodiment of sin and debauchery, what to do, vile wretch?!' or something of that ilk, but instead he sighed a second time.

"Don't disturb me."

With this said, he fell flat on his face onto the pillows in a cloud of gold, almost immediately falling back to a much-needed sleep. He could get up and sneak out later.

After all, there were worse places to get a couple minutes sleep.