This is why I do drugs over alcohol.

If I were on drugs I would have shot him before I fucked him but hey, aeroplane champagne.

I wake up with all the regrets in the world. Gingerly, I dart my hand across the mattress to find the space next to me cold and empty.

Good. He's not here. 

I don't hear the shower running, so I think it's safe to get up and stumble that way.

Very carefully and very painfully, I roll onto my back and kick the blankets off of my body. Shit, I'm naked. It really did happen.

Standing up is like an Earthquake happening in my brain. Every little turn makes some other part erupt in a series of throbs. The curtains are drawn but the gaps allow just enough light in for me to see my clothes folded neatly on the chair. Jeez.

I shut the bathroom door and lean back on it, timidly switching the lights on only to be blinded instantly. I wince at the harsh yellow as I scale the wall towards the gargantuan double shower.

The tiles beneath the far one are wet, indicating that Grayson had used that one not too long ago. As a wise choice I scurry back to the door and lock it just in case.

I wrench on the hot tap and just a dab of cold. I need this shower to be so searingly hot that it burns away the faint feel of his fingers on my skin and other places.

Last night's event was not supposed to happen so quickly. But as alcohol does, it convinced me that a very bad idea was in fact a very good one. One moment we were admiring the view and the next we were making out. 

I remember collapsing on the couch and going half way, before being (embarrassingly) carried to the bedroom to continue and finish, more than once I might add.

Oh fuck. 

"You're a fucking idiot," I groan into my hands, before turning my head up to the shower and gulping down multitudes of hot water. I doubt I'll throw up, but I am severely dehydrated.

I know this was supposed to happen, but in no way did I want it so fast and under such circumstances. As much as I might have enjoyed it at the time, all I'm thinking about now is the awkward glances and the cringe-worthy interactions.

Never again will I be able to look him in the eye with as much conviction as before. I remember the lights being off, so at least we didn't see each other's scars.

I remember feeling them on his skin though.

They were rough and bumpy. From my own personal experience it was easy to identify some of them. Hand gun, long blade, short blade, curved blade, burn.

Could he feel mine?

With an audible gasp I give a jump and nearly slip on my ass.

Did I have a nightmare? 

In my own hungover mind I failed to notice signs, if there were any. I hastily wash the suds from my body and turn the handles before I step out into the cold. I wipe the steam from the mirror and lean towards it, sticking my tongue out.

No bites. 

I look down at my palms.

No indents. 

Methodically, I look over the rest of my body for any indications of a struggle during a nightmare. I'm sure if I had one Nightwing would have woken me up.

Maybe, possibly, I didn't have one?

"Fuck," I whisper again, leaning on the basin with my head dropped. My hair hangs around me in wet ringlets.

I'm in way over my head. 

"Are you done yet?" A flash of bottle red hair swings the door open and I promptly roar an incoherent sound as Mai quickly pulls the door shut again.

Mai. 

Mai!? 

I reach out and aggressively rip out a towel, whipping it around my body and tying it before tearing the door open.

"What the actual shit are you doing here?" I holler as I stomp out of the bathroom.

Mai sits primly on the end of the bed in her usual Triad-wannabe getup. Her eyes flicker to me beneath that stupid curtain fringe of hers.

"You slept with him," she says in an accusatory tone.

"What's it to you?" I snap, "Why are you here?" She gets to her feet and walks out of the room silently, like a brat.

Without much care for what I put on, I get dressed with still-damp skin before racing out into the kitchen.

"Here's your medicine," she says calmly, tipping several different pills out of a weekly medication pack.

"I know that!" I shout at her. 

She gives me a scornful glare, "Keep your voice down."

"You gave me this-" I whip the weekly medication pack off of the table and stick it in her face, "-so I could do it on my own! Why are you here!?"

Maintaining her blank expression, she leans back in her chair, "Your father was concerned that you might, well, kill him."

I scoff, "And what? If I wanted to, you were going to stop me?"

In her dreams she probably kills me every night, but in real life I could break her neck with two fingers. Not that I would, but you know, popping up on my Honeymoon isn't exactly helping her case.

"Take the medicine," she demands, tossing me a water bottle. She reaches for my arm but I snatch my hand away. Begrudgingly she places the pills on the counter instead.

I scoop them up and shove them in my mouth.

Just as she is about to say something else smug, probably in reference to last night, the Penthouse door opens and Grayson's voice fills the room.

Instantly I kick Mai in the shin, causing her to fall to the ground. I straighten up and shove the water bottle in my mouth to avoid talking.

He walks in on his phone. I quickly turn my back and lean against the bench, giving Mai another harsh kick towards the open balcony.

She looks up at me like I'm crazy, because yes- I am trying to get her to jump off of the balcony. Does she have any idea how hard it would be trying to explain why she is there?

Who brings their bodyguard to their Honeymoon?

"Yeah, yeah that's what I thought," Grayson says to whoever is on the other side of the call. He's stopped at the entrance to the room, staring at his shoes. "I gotta go."

Mai looks hilarious sprawled out over the tiles. She does a fancy dodge roll towards the clusterfuck of sofas and lounges in the livingroom. It's hard not to start laughing.

"Hey."

I glance over my shoulder to see Grayson off the phone, leaning on the bench corner. He's wearing a red and black plaid shirt and jeans. He looks like a farmer.

"Morning," is the only word I can comprehend when the fear of my idiot doctor being discovered overcomes me. Out of the corner of my eye I can see her kneeling in front of a recliner.

"Have you, uh, eaten yet?" He asks awkwardly, wandering into the kitchen across the counter from me. He has the courage to look my way, before his eyes drop in front of me.

Mai left the pill bottles there.

I snatch them up, not wanting his pity or judgement.

"I'm not hungry."

I'm starving.

As he walks across the kitchen both Mai and I realise how easy she may be seen. Instinctively I step to the side to block her as she crawls around the seat.

"Are you sure? The room service book is by the phone," he says. 

Conveniently I start sipping from my bottle again so I don't have to speak. The silence is painful. I glance at Mai and she ducks her head out from behind the upholstery and gives me a disapproving look. 

I step towards her and she ducks before I can perform any sort of discreet kick.

Grayson seems unable to handle the atmosphere, so he takes a deep breath and starts blabbering.

"Look, about last night-"

"What about it?" I say instantly, turning around. Left without much choice I draw his attention away from where I am so Mai can escape. 

Keeping his eyes locked on mine, I start walking towards the window near him.

"It happened," I say, "Is it really worth dwelling on? Let's just move on. We were drunk." To be honest if Mai weren't here this may have gone much more bumpily. 

"Good," he breathes a sigh of relief. I bite my own tongue to fend off the prospect of being offended. I'm the best you've ever had, you slut.

I glance out the window, which automatically makes him do the same thing. The front door clicks and his head snaps around. 

I pretend not to hear it; good, she's out.

"I um," he begins, shaking his head like he's shaking away the thoughts of an intruder. I suppose in his line of work he gets pretty paranoid.

"What?" I ask, sensing whatever he has to say isn't good.

"I have to leave...tonight," he says. 

Fan-fucking-tastic.

◊

◊ 

"Please pick up," Dick whispers desperately to his phone. Tim's contact is on call, a selfie with his younger brother filling up the screen as he waits to be answered.

At first, it doesn't work. He knows that it is 5:00am in Sunset City, so it is likely the vigilante has only just come in.

When he does pick up the phone, he is shutting a door behind him in a very dark hallway and walking towards a light with very messy hair.

"What the hell, Dick?" Tim groans.

"Sorry," he says, "I didn't know who else to call."

Tim just sighs in response, dropping into a chair. Dick squints at the setting around him. It looks unfamiliar.

"Where are you?" He asks. 

Tim shakes his head, "Doesn't matter."

Dick decides not to press, but he can see the painting on the wall of elephants and realises Tim is at Cleo's apartment, likely with Hallow, who is also not supposed to be there.

"What happened?" Tim asks.

It's Dick's turn to groan, "We got really drunk on the plane and when we got here we ended up..."

He trails off, but Tim needs no further information. His eyes widen and he squawks through the microphone, "Already!?"

"Hey! It took you like, two days with the sister."

The argument is futile, so they both fall into a neutral mode again.

"Look, I need you to get some information on a member of Cleo's squad. The second-in-command, Jack Lowry."

"Why?"

Dick runs a hand through his hair, "She started having a nightmare; punched me, woke me up. I managed to calm her down but she said Don't kill Jack in her sleep. Just...find out what you can."

"Right," Tim says. 

Dick feels the guilt of invading her privacy again. Afterall, he literally climbed the roof of the penthouse to avoid her hearing anything. So, he hangs up almost immediately. 

Tim rolls his eyes and places his phone down on the table, failing to notice as Hallow slips back down the hallway with new information on her mind.

◊

◊

"Like this?" I ask, regrettably. I hope I never have to do something so stupid ever again.

"That looks-" He cuts himself off with a cough, "Uh, great."

I feel dumb being in the pool, with a pink bikini on and a basic bitch Starbucks shaken sweat tea in my hand. He's sitting on the side with his phone in his hand.

"Better do the side without the tattoo," I say, "It frightens them."

He chuckles and I want to slap myself.

It's kind of...creepy, in a way. I'm half naked with a stupid drink in my hand posing for him, whilst he chills on the limestone fully dressed, snapping shots.

I remain still, side on with the drink in my hand and the water up to my hips. My hair is tied up with my ponytail over my shoulder and a pair of glasses on.

"Do it from further back," I tell him, "If it's too close they'll see...too much." He nods and backs up a little. "Don't forget the filter or it won't be Instagram enough." 

"Amaro," he says, not that I have any idea what that means.

"Great," I say sarcastically.

He snaps a few shots and shows them to me. They're fine, not too revealing or tacky. I climb out of the pool without really having to dry off.

"What should I caption it?"

"How about 'Luckiest man in the world', huh?" I snort.

"Do you want them to hate me?"

Yes.

"What do you suggest then?" I ask, walking back into the hotel. I head into the bedroom and grab a few items of clothing. Some beige top I'd never buy for myself. I slip that on, change my hair and lipstick, then walk back out.

"How about 'True beauty'?"

I stop in the kitchen, staring at him, "Lame."

"Good, then it'll work."

He starts tapping away and I head back out to the Alfresco. The balcony with Paris in the background should be good.

"Posted," he says as he heads over to me. I nearly punch him when he gets too close, so I hide it by turning around with my back to the city.

"Filter?"

"I don't care man," I say tiredly. We have to do five more of these, each. 

He holds the phone up and puts his arm around me. That again nearly tips me over the edge. Instead I press my hand to my mouth like it's cute, with my sleeve pulled up over my fist. I smile and lean into him.

The perfect couple selfie.

He takes it and I nearly vault away from him.

Quick, think of something. The faster, the better.

"Lay down there," I demand, pointing to the deck chairs. He doesn't argue and merely does what I say, sitting down on it before rotating onto his back. I begrudgingly lay down on the other one and hold up my own phone.

"Good idea," he says.

I'm internally screaming as I rest my head against his and snap my own.

"When do you want to post those?" He asks.

"Three days time."

"Got it," he nods.

I climb up off of the deck chair and remove the beige coat. 

"I have a really cliché one in mind," I say.

"Should we...change clothes?"

"No clothes involved," I respond, placing my hand on the table. He doesn't say anything and I realise the implication with agony, "as in they're not in it!"

He just nods silently when he notices my hand. At least he understands that. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wedding ring. It's embarrassing that I have both rings on already.

Stiffly, he places his hand over mine. It only takes a second for him to adjust and he finally wraps his fingers around my palm, all three rings (weddings, engagement) in view.

"That's nice," he comments.

I don't respond as I take the cliché basic bitch photo.

Such a romantic Honeymoon.