Convalescence

Wrapped Up (M)

Charlie Fisher is not a liar. He didn't lie when he said that she is his ex. She is. He's just a damn fool for thinking Emily Morgan was ever going to be just another ex-girlfriend. Emily had been his everything. She'd been forever wrapped up in one cute, blue-eyed, blonde-haired package, and Patrice had made no attempt to hide her disdain when their forever only lasted until New York.

They appear to have moved past that, however.

As it's been well over an hour since the telethon had dissolved into a celebration of their new co-hosting gig, and they hadn't been without each other since. It's becoming painfully obvious that they need an escape as everytime Patrice finds them, Charlie's taking more and more of Emily's weight while barely being able to hold his own. Between the heels and the champagne and the caffeine wearing off, Emily is dead on her feet, not that Charlie is much better, he just hides it behind that broad smile of his - Patrice swears that smile will win an award, someday.

"Y'know, this party's just about done and Veronika's one glass of champagne away from needing a chauffeur if you two wanna head out." Patrice nods toward the exit, where they could escape quietly, if they so desired. "I'm sure we can handle shutting this thing down." a silent nod toward Emily, head pressed against Charlie's ribs, eyes heavy with sleep. "I think this one's ready for a long winter's nap."

It's almost instinct for Charlie to tip his head and press kisses into Emily's hair. She barely moves, sighing with the utmost contentment as she snuggled into his side and let's her eyes close. "No, Em, you gotta wake up so we can go home."

"How about I call you two a cab?" Patrice makes the suggestion when it is painfully obvious Emily is not awake enough to do anything and she doesn't trust an exhausted - if, overly caffeinated - Charlie to not crash and wrap his car around a tree. "I really don't think you want to wrap your car around a tree, the day before you start a new co-hosting gig."

Charlie just shakes his head and reaches into his pocket for his own phone. "I got it. Thanks, Patrice."

The producer just leans up to kiss Charlie's cheek and bids him goodbye with a soft, "It's about time you two were happy, again. I'll see you later, Charlie. Say goodbye to Em for me, if she wakes up long enough."

"I will." Charlie watches the producer walk away before he turns his attention to the tiny blonde sleeping in his side. "Alright, Em, let's get you home."

He stumbles down a hallway, eyes scanning the engraved plaque on each of the doors. The coat closet should be...ah, just around the corner, where he remembered. Now, as for what coat was Emily's...was it blue...or, "It was black, Charlie."

Emily lifts her head from his side long enough to look up at him. His cheeks burn red and his shoulders shudder with silent laughter - he's never been one you could easily embarrass but, "You still surprise me, Em."

"And, your talent for undressing a woman still exceeds your ability to dress even yourself." Emily quips, but her heavy blue eyes and the exhausted rasp of her voice take the derisive edge off of her voice. She tugs gently at the tie around his neck. "Seriously, who picks these out for you? One of Santa's elves?"

"What's wrong with this? It's red! It's Christmas!" Charlie's protest elicits soft laughter from his girlfriend. But he laughs with her and tips his head in the direction they'd just come from, "You're not alone. Patrice, the makeup lady, Veronika, and several production assistants told me I should find the nearest industrial shredder and/or burn it in a fire."

Emily giggles and tugs on it, again, leaning up to meet him when he tilts his head down. The taste of stale coffee and champagne isn't pleasant but she kisses him, anyway, and murmurs against his mouth. "I'm buying your ties from now on."