Hangover Times SixMature

"Oh my freaking god." Ellen was blinking at the ceiling. "My head feels like it was hit by a sledgehammer. And why do I only have my underwear on? What? I don't think these are my boxers! These boxers have stripes on them! Whose boxers am I wearing!?" She was getting increasingly panicked, staring down at the men's underwear around her hips.

"Shut uuuppppp..." Derek groans from under the coffeetable, before trying to sit up and banging his head on the underside of said piece of furniture. "Why am I under a table?" he complains, staring incredulously at the glass tabletop above him.

Tammy stares at them all. "Fuzakeru na." she mutters at them, squinting and turning back to where she was playing solitaire on the same coffeetable Derek was curled up under. "Where the fuck is my eight of clubs?" she hums, deceptively calm.

The African-American man who's still curled up in the same position responds, "It's right here," voice sounding a little detached, like he's still processing his current location. "Shit," is Tammy's answer to his comment.

Eve had been passed out on the other couch, but she wakes with a start at the unfamiliar words. "Does anybody have any idea what she just said?" The Regent mumbles, staring up at the ceiling of the Think Tank with a bleary-eyed gaze.

"Nope," Ellen groans a response, before peering over to the corner of the room and letting out an "Awwwww..."

The rest of them turned their heads to look over at Aleksander sprawled over Alex, the Russian's head tucked into the other man's neck, and the German's arm around his waist.

The not-so-subtle sound of a camera click was loud in the suddenly quiet room. 

They all collect themselves and piece their facade together like they always do, some of them debating the wisdom of getting sh-tfaced because their leader wasn't here. Most of them just shrug and move on. Nobody wakes the sleeping pair on the couch, though. 

The End

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