He must have died and ended up in one of the lower circles of hell. Probably the circle of lust. That explained the pain knocking through his body and the fire stabbing into his eye lids. Possibly even the purring. But not that smell.

Something 'fooffed' under his nose, whiskers tickling his chin. He forced his eyes to crack open, wondering what unholy hell he'd be faced with.

Yellow eyes blinked at him from a misshapen feline face. It looked like the animal had run repeatedly into a brick wall, its features squashed but for the hideous underbite that resulted in an underbite fang extending from its maw like a glorious middle finger to the world.

'Fffffooofff."

What did he do with that? That wasn't the sound it was supposed to make was it?

Just then the breath hit him again, that humid wheeze invading his nostrils with an eye watering scent that made the hangover pounding inside his skull cringe into a corner. There were dead animals that smelled better, he was sure of it.

The cat-thing wheezed at him before rolling off his chest to a graceless heap on the floor as he took stock of his surroundings. This certainly wasn't where he expected to wake up, pillowed between the sultry Candace and Ivy in the penthouse suite. Instead he was prostrate on a lumpy couch, under a comfortable fluffy afghan, surrounded in shades of butter mellow yellow. The last thing he remembered was bumping into that soppy despondent mousy one. The one he'd dumped a shit ton of work on and pranced away like a right bastard. He actually felt kinda guilty about that one but it was part of the gig and --holy mother of god.

Trent sat bolt upright and immediately regretted it from the stabbing sensations in his skull. He groaned and curled into a ball, trying to untangle the memories from the night before. It was fuzzy in many parts but one part, one 'gripped him by the lower extremities' moment was that kiss, that damn kiss. Miss Mouse had been hiding something and it wasn't her hideous cat.

The creature chose that moment to make a choked caterwaul. He wondered if it was about to keel over when Miss Mouse herself entered the room. Were those froggy slippers on her feet? His eyes traveled upward, taking note of the matching froggy flannels, adorable, before he caught sight of the tousled bed head, in the warm sunlight of the room it looked like burnt gold. Honey brown eyes blinked at him as she self cleared her throat and set a glass of water and a couple of aspirin on the coffee table.

"Didn't know you were awake yet," she mumbled, scooping up the hideous cat to hide behind as Trent looked at her offering.

"Uh, thank you," he said, his brain struggling to detangle the previous night. In one of his brilliant idea moments, he'd let Candace measure out his drinks, which meant he hadn't controlled his alcohol intake in the slightest. It was just hitting him hard as the ladies tried to drag him up to the penthouse. Right when he bumped into Miss Mouse...what was her name. He knew this. He wasn't an asshole, despite the rather colorful office reputation he maintained. His mind helpfully blanked for a moment, coughing up another replay of that surprisingly lusty and delightful kiss that made him forget Ivy and Candace entirely. Had he and Miss Mouse gone further? How had he ended up on what had to be her couch? He remembered groping hands, he remembered falling...

She'd pushed him. He remembered now. She ran away. And in his inebriated state, it seemed like a good idea to go after her. Stumbling down several flights of stairs, the alcohol really hitting him by the time his drunk butt made it to the office lobby. He caught her outside and then....

"I'm so sorry," Trent blurted out, covering his face as the floodgates of his drunken memory flowed in excruciating detail. The puking, the semi-conscious cab ride to her apartment, the drunken tussle he'd thrown as she attempted to get him upstairs. How he'd thrown himself on her carpet and chased around her hideous cat before finally collapsing on her kitchen floor. After that he blacked out. How she managed to get him to the couch he had no idea.

"What do you even remember?" She snuggled that monster cat. Who owned a cat like that? She probably called it something ridiculous like Princess or Fluffy.

"Far too much," he groaned, except her name. He wracked his alcohol addled brain, begging it to cough up the info he desperately needed. He had no excuse. He'd worked with her for two years. She was his target of the month. Name, name, name, ah ha! "Thank you for the aspirin and water, Rebecca."

She offered him a small shy smile. He thanked heaven for small miracles because between the froggy pajamas, bed head, and that little quirk of her lips, she was truly cute. He had to get the hell out of here before he did something even more regretful. "I think after vomiting on my shoes, you can call me Becks."

But really, where else did he have to be this weekend? Trent stared up at the froggy covered 'Becks', marveling at her. There was something revealing about those ridiculous pajamas, something that had been missing from the Miss Mouse office persona he'd dealt with the past couple years. He stared at her longer than was polite or comfortable really, trying to fit this woman, cuddling her hideous monster cat, with the timid husk who spent all day fixing his 'mistakes'.

"You really spent all day on those mock ups?"

And just like that, her sweet little smile turned into a scowl. The cat wiggled free from her arms, probably sensing her anger like any sensible animal. Hands free, she planted her fists on her hips and glared at him.

"Yes, they were a total mess, and as much as I want to throttle you for pulling that shit, if you presented those mock ups, you'd be packing up your desk by Monday."

He planted a hand on his chest, offering her his best wounded look. "I am touched you care so for my employed status. Though I think they would have waited to can me until Tuesday since Monday is Christmas and all." Which made him feel like a bigger asshole as he realized Miss Mouse endured his drunken shenanigans two days til Christmas. His mother's words echoed in his ear. I should have smothered him in his sleep as a boy. She always said it with utter affection. Trent realized he'd stopped paying attention to the situation again when Becks gave an exasperated little sigh.

"You don't even care, do you, why should you?"

Uh oh. His mouth had landed him in another one of these situations. As he vowed to never drink again, or realistically, until the next holiday, he tried to think of how he could settle things with Miss Mouse. Granted, the mock up fiasco was intentional, and he wouldn't apologize for that, but taking care of him, bringing him to her house when she could have left his ass on the sidewalk, or even the office lobby? That took a certain kind of personality that interested him. The kind of woman who took in a mutant feline not even a mother could love.

"What's your cat's name?"

She gave him the glare that inane question deserved but after a tense moment she mumbled, "Monsterface."

It took all the willpower he possessed not to fall over giggling like an idiot. His lips twitched. Trent cleared his throat, steepling his fingers as looked at her. "Alright, Miss Mouse, I definitely owe you after last night, so how about this. One favor, you name it, and I shall perform it."

Her eyes got real big, the light brown almost honey colored in the sun. "Any favor?"

That kind of wording could get a man in trouble, but what was the worse she could throw at him? Honestly, even if she asked for a lunch date or something it wouldn't be the worst thing he'd done to settle a debt. Besides after that kiss, a date didn't seem like such a bad thing.

She swallowed a few times, hugging her waist. Becks was obviously struggling with something, since she didn't even call him out for the Miss Mouse comment. She nibbled her bottom lip in a way that made his pants tighten and had him reaching for that afghan. After a moment her eyes shifted to him.

"Come home with me for the weekend."

"Excuse me?"

She didn't quite meet his eye, twisting the hem of her night shirt until she finally burst out. "Through unfortunate circumstances beyond my control, my snoop of a mother has come to the misunderstanding you are my boyfriend and while I should clear up the confusion, I haven't been home in three years and she's terribly worried about how isolated I've become since--" Here her breathless sentence choked out.

Questions, he had them, so many of them, but he also got the feeling she just told him the absolute truth of the situation. Three years? She hadn't been home in three years? He'd been home several time to see his mother and half the time she wanted to strangle him. And because he was an inquisitive man by nature and Miss Mouse was becoming a greater mystery than he ever counted on, he said the only thing he could think of for this situation.

"Can we stop by my apartment for my toothbrush?"

***

How did this happen? Why did this happen? Of all the favors she could have asked for, she opened her mouth and that disaster in the making poured out of her?

Becks gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, worrying her lip the whole drive there, unable to face her passenger. But that was okay, because boy, did Trent fill a silence. She had no idea a person could talk for so long without refilling their bodily fluids. As it was he talked to her about inane things, not water cooler talk exactly but not all that personal either. At the same time, she was learning about him as he jawed on and on, and she prayed he could keep up the polite talking when they reached home.

Sitting in her mother's driveway, she finally turned to Trent Markham, realizing she couldn't let that man walk into the lion's den without some warning.

"A few things you should know before we go in. One," she held up her fingers for visual, "It's wig, so before you even ask, my mom wears a wig, she's a loud and proud cancer survivor. Two, she lives with my auntie Bernie and my sister Joanna. Bernie is crochet queen and she will have made something for you in anticipation of you coming. Will you wear it?"

"As long as it's not crotchless chaps, I think I can deal," said Trent.

She blinked at him. "You are much odder than I thought, no matter how lovely your cheekbones."

There was that smirk again, as if he was trying not to laugh at her. She appreciated the effort. "You say the nicest things."

Becks took a breath. This was the moment of truth. She clambered up the icy steps, hearing Trent slip and slid up behind her. Aunt Bernie never did de-ice those steps properly. She held her breath as she raised her hand to knock.

"You knock at your own childhood home?"

She turned to glare at Trent when the door flew open, her mother squealing like a teenage fangirl as she snatched Becks in a smothering hug that erased three years between them in an instant. The smell that'd become uniquely her mother's invaded her nose, the scent of rosewater, baby powder, and a faint whiff of plastic, of chemicals she could never quite shake. She hugged her mother even tighter for it, chasing away the shadows from three years ago when she wasn't certain she would ever hug her mother again. After a long moment, her mother gently released her grip, holding her at arm's length to smooth her hair off her face. Becks finally got a good look at her newest hair piece and laughed at the tinsel confection.

"You look quite festive," she said.

Her mother fluffed her silver tinsel strewn hair. "Tis the reason for the season, sugar plum. And you brought your gentleman friend?" Her eyes brightened, darting to Trent who was openly gaping at her mother with a slack jaw.

The man shook himself, offering his hand. "Trent, Trent Markham ma'am."

Without missing a bet, her mother swept him up in her arms for a smothering hug before pulling back to smile up at him. "It is so very nice to meet you. Now come in, come in out of the cold."

They barely made it two steps inside when Aunt Bernie appeared, wrapping them both in a hug that would rival a boa constrictor. "Becksy! You brought your man friend after all! I hoped," she pulled back with a grin, thrusting a box from somewhere into both their hands. "I got a good eye young man," she winked at him. "Should fit you from your photo."

She shooed them into the living, Becks blushing violently as Trent turned to her. "Photo?" He mouthed, raising an eyebrow.

"Just put on your sweater and like it," she muttered, opening her box to a lovely beige turtleneck Aunt Bernie must have spent days on. The pattern was beautiful and her auntie had chosen wonderfully soft yarn. She rubbed her cheek against it, breathing in the scents of home.

"Uh Becks, you may owe me a favor back after this," said Trent, his voice unusually strained.

She turned, frowning, when she realized her uncertain notice of her gentlemen friend coming with her had left Aunt Bernie with few materials to work with. Or it could be a tiny bit of payback for avoiding her for three years. She looked up at Trent's face. "I'll buy you breakfast next week," she said, completely deadpan. He scowled at her, whipping the offending garment over his head.

"A diner breakfast, Miss Mouse, and there better be bacon, lots of bacon."

There he went again, calling her that odd nickname. What was that about?

"Becks!" Her sister Jo bounced into the room. "I can't believe you made- oh, ho, oh, my... uh nice sweater there."

Trent looked at her, a gorgeous little pout on his lips as he folded his arms over his chest in an effort to cover the hideous scrap sweater Aunt Bernie cobbled together for him. "I feel so used."

Jo snorted. It was the snort that did it. That unleashed the flood gate as her sister bolted from the room, dissolving into hysterics, leaving Becks unable to keep from laughing herself. And laugh she did, great belly laughs that left tears in her eyes. Listening to the sound of her mother and Aunt Bernie bicker about something in the kitchen, to her giggling sister down the hall, with Trent Markham, of all people, beside her, Becks felt something she hadn't in nearly three years.

She sobered up quick when Trent slid in front of her, arms still crossed protectively over his chest. "I'm sorry, I wasn't laughing at you, not really," she winced at that lame ass apology, her fingers reaching out to play with the fringe Aunt Bernie had given the sweater. "It really is hideous." She looked up, jumping when she saw how close Trent actually was.

He didn't stop there, leaning in to close the gap between them as he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was a sweet one but it still made her toes curl. He held it just long enough to leave her a little breathless as he pulled away, staring down at her with those baby blues.

"Then you will just have to make it up to me."

Oh yeah, this was going to be an interesting weekend.