the morning after [THORNE-PIPER]

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“Fuck me…” The blonde bombshell opened her blood-shot eyes, taking a moment to look around the trashed, crowded hotel room. Shoving the muscular arm off a half-naked male off of her, she finally managed to sit upright, smirking at the chaos that the festivities the night before had called. The clock on the wall informed her that it was already ten in the morning, but she couldn’t even remember crashing. The compelling feeling to vomit mixed with the desire to crawl into the crowded bed and sleep the rest of the day away. The last thing she could remember the night before was leaving the club and meeting up with one of the girl’s in her nightly clique’s drug dealer. Wasting thousands of daddy’s money on cocaine wasn’t exactly unexpected; in fact, she had done it countless times before. The promise of turning over a new leaf was put on pause for this weekend and Piper desired nothing more than to let loose. She made sure that she was sober enough to walk into the club and send a few smiles in the direction of whatever press-considered-scum was there – but everything after that was a complete blur.

Taking her time to struggle around the room in her hung-over state to find her phone, wallet and corset inspired top that she had been adorning the evening prior. Holding her heels in her hand, she then began to play an R-rated game of where’s Waldo around the destroyed hotel room for her friend Chris in hopes that he would be willing to give him a ride home. He was resting on one of the two beds, and Piper started toward him, forcefully shoving him in attempt to wake him up. “Hey, come on. You need to take me home.” She ordered plainly, noticing the small stream of what appeared to be vomit dripping from his mouth. Wrinkling her nose, she shoved him again, noticing how rigid his frame was. Piper’s dark circle encased eyes widened as much as the brightness of the room would allow. Chris was hard as a rock – and not in the preferred way. His statuesque form was only outmatched by his pale complexion. “Chris?” She began to panic, her voice cracking as she climbed on top of him, listening to his chest

There was nothing, not even the faintest indication of a heartbeat. His expression was peaceful, though not a single breath left his slender body. “Oh god, no.” Piper dramatically slapped the side of his face as if he might wake up. “Chris, please.” She started her voice hoarse as she struggled to hold back tears. Her hands began to shake even more so than they had been prior to the realization. Feeling even dizzier, she scrambled off his corpse, hyperventilating as she started toward the bathroom. Piper barely made it to the toilet before throwing up into the porcelain bowl, her body trembling as she tried to shake the site out of her mind. Once she was finished, the blonde racked her mind for what her next steps would be. Should she flush the rest of her cocaine down the toilet as well as any other pills she were to find in the room? Should she call the police? No- she didn’t want to go down for something like this. The last thing she needed was another arrest under her belt.

Splashing water in her face, she squeezed a bit of the complimentary tooth paste on her finger and used it as a make-shift tooth brush. She still looked as though she had been in a car wreck, with faint black rings and bags under her eyes. A small beep from her cellphone indicated that she still had it present and the blonde hastily reached toward it to call the one person who always seemed to know what to do – Daddy.

Pressing the speed dial connection, she could hardly hold onto the phone with her trembling hands as she waited anxiously as it rang. Finally, he answered. “D-daddy. P-please help me. I-I didn’t go to Chicago for that audition. I-I-I am still in Gotham” Tears began to stream down her face as she spoke. “N-no I am not fucking o-okay. I’m at the hotel on f-fouth, Chris is…” She swallowed, trying to speak through the ambush of emotions that hit her like a crashing wave. “H-he’s dead. H-he overdosed. I don’t know what to do, daddy. I don’t know what to do. P-please come get me. I’m so so sorry. I don’t know what to do. H-he isn’t breathing! P-p-please daddy. ” In a complete and total panic, Piper struggled to regulate her breathing, swearing that she could hear her heart pounding in her ear drums.

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There were only two persons on this good, green Earth who could turn Hamilton's ruddy cheeks ashen within five seconds of picking up a phone. The first had a pale complexion and an odious grin. The second was considerably more tan, but had a wicked smile all her own. What was-

"Piper?" Hill stammered. "Are you okay?"

Ah, yes, Piper. Thorne dabbed the corners of his mouth with coral linen, uninterested. The mayor and councilman shared breakfast every other week to discuss business, city and otherwise. Hill held little real power in Gotham, but allowing him to play host granted him some semblance of esteem, even if only in his own mind. This wasn't the first time the fruit of his loins had interrupted a meeting and it likely wouldn't be the last. He dropped the napkin on the table, giving the mayor a polite nod as stood to excuse himself.

"Dead..."

The councilman stopped mid-rise at the word, frozen, waiting.

"Piper... I..." The utterance was barely a whisper. Hill sat staring at the table, his mouth opening and closing like a fish choking on air. "Rupert, I don't..." He looked up and held out the phone, his eyes watery. "Please."

Amateur. He snatched the cell from the mayor's outstretched hand and rose to his feet. He cleared his throat, glowering down at Hamilton. "Piper Hill, this is Rupert Thorne." His tone was even, but firm. "I need you to take a breath, let it out slowly, and listen to me very carefully."

Thorne walked the expanse of the kitchen, stopping at a window that looked out onto the grounds. "We can't change what's happened; we need to respond." He set a hand against the cherry wood sill. "I need you to answer three questions: Where are you? Are you hurt? Who is dead?"

"Is she okay?" Hill pleaded from across the room.

Thorne held the phone to his breast and glanced over his shoulder. "One more word and I hang up."

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“Daddy! Please come get me! I’m s-so sorry.” She managed between sobs, sliding down the length of the bathroom wall and hugging her knees to her chest. Her body was shaking at an alarming rate, which could have been a result of a handful of things: the traces of cocaine in her body, the pure shock of waking up to find a friend dead or the fact that she had only recently emptied all of the contents of her stomach. There was only silence as a reply, making Piper fear for the worst – was he finally giving up on her?

Another voice, much confident that her father’s managed to ease her fears only momentarily It seemed like wherever her father was, Thorne wasn’t far behind, controlling Hamilton like a marionette. She was honestly relieved to hear his voice, hoping he might be able to sweep her most recent mistake underneath the rug. “T-Thorne? I fucked up. I really fucked up.” Piper cried, using her free hand to wipe the excessive amount of tears from her face. “O-Okay I’m listening, I am” she stuttered, hanging onto his every word.

She took another shaky breath, trying to compose herself so that she might try to comply for the sake of the situation. “I’m at that hotel, the one on 4th and Broadway….I-I’m fine. I just need to get out of here before the police show up. I-I can’t go to jail.” The tears began to cycle once more, running down the length of her pretty face as she sobbed into the phone, finding herself temporarily unable to answer the man’s question.

“I-It’s some guy I was partying with last night. His name is Chris Sorsen, h-he’s a dancer at the club that just opened up. P-please have daddy come get me.”

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4th and Broadway... Thorne listened intently as he withdrew his own phone. West side... Must be the Moench. He opened his contacts and scrolled through a long list of numbers, some with names, some without. Bruin is in Metropolis... Chick is in New York... Fisher is on her way to Dos Rios... Glazier hasn't checked in for four days... He stopped skimming as her voice broke into a whimper. Her sobs bore a faint, flat echo. She was indoors, either in a hall or bathroom.

"No one is going to jail," he stated with resounding certainty. Even from across the room the mayor's misery was palpable; Thorne could feel his gaping eyes boring into his back. He turned away from the window and bobbed his head, acknowledging Piper was unharmed. Hill breathed a shallow sigh.

Sorsen. Dancer. He frowned as he rolled the name about his mind, contemplating the dilemma. Low income... Drug habit... Priors likely... It would be easy enough to bury the poor fellow, both figuratively and literally, but her... Greer is with Chick... Nicolaus is in rehab... He couldn't trust a taxi to pick up the strung-out socialite, not after the last incident. His adjutants were gone. It would take time she didn't have to contact the crew and find a proper handler. Hamilton couldn't be trusted with so delicate a situation.

Shit.

The mayor must have seen the flash of acrimony cross his face and realized the verdict. He returned his stare to the table before him, fixing blankly at the folds of the councilman's discarded serviette, refusing to meet Thorne's stern gaze.

"Did you call the police, Piper?" While Gotham City's Finest are hardly known for their response benchmarks, the clock was likely ticking. "If you're still in the room, I need you to get your things and get out." Thorne grabbed his overcoat from a chair and made his way to the foyer. His brow glistened. "Don't worry about what you touch. Leave him. Leave them. Leave any party favors without your name on the label."

4th and Broadway... Kelley's Cafe was on 4th, but the cross street escaped him. Royal India was on 5th and Market, two blocks from the Moench. "There's an Indian restaurant two blocks south and one block east. Market and 5th. Yellow awning with Christmas lights." Thorne paused to enter her phone number into his own cell before placing it inside his sport coat. He grabbed a set of keys from a bowl in the entryway and, after checking the ring to see which of the mayor's cars he was commandeering, checked the time. "It's twenty-five minutes away; I'll be there in ten." He paused. "You'll be fine."

He hung up the mayor's phone, shoved it in the jacket pocket with his own, and gave a sarcastic snicker. "You're lucky- No. She's lucky it's a goddamn election year, Hamilton." With that Thorne exited, throwing the door shut behind him.

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His words managed to sooth her distraught sobs as she struggled to catch her breath. The blonde’s chest heaved as her crying managed to die down. Reassured that she wasn’t going to go to jail, she withdrew what was left of the eightball of cocaine from her purse and looked at it with the utmost distain. “P-Please help me Mr. Thorne. I promise I will do whatever you need me too.” Thorne provided what her father lacked, a backbone and a brain. She knew completely that if anyone was going to get her out of this, it would be him.

“Fuck no I didn’t call the police. T-there are drugs everywhere. The media will h-have a god damn field day if they found me like this.” She panicked, the last of the tears streaming down her face. Practically jumping at his demand, she nodded, fully aware that he couldn’t see her. “O-okay. I’m going now” She got up from her spot on the bathroom floor, shoving the cocaine back in her purse, to terrified to leave it amongst the passed out group. The blonde knew that if anyone would know what to do with it, it would be Thorne. Quickly scanning the room for any items that might have belonged to her, she only prayed that she hadn’t used her father’s credit card to rent the room in her drunken, strung-out stupor last night.

Wiping the excess of stray tears from her face, she took a quick journey around the room to retrieve any of her items before entering the hallway, closing the door gently behind her. “Indian restaurant. O-okay. I-I’m going there now. Thank you so much. God, thank you. P-please stay on the phone with me.” However, he had hung up. Defeated, Piper shoved the phone into her purse as well and continued on her walk of shame. Shoving a pair of designer sun glasses to shield the upper half of her face before she had even entered the lobby, the blonde hoped to hide the deep black rings that encased her bloodshot eyes.

Walking at an impressive pace considering that she was in six-inch heels and beyond hungover, she hurried past the busy plaza. Considering it was late in the afternoon and this side of the city was sure to be bustling with people, the blonde pursed her lips and said a word to no one as she attempted to appear casual. Checking out her reflection in a passing window, she couldn’t help but marvel at her appearance despite the night she had put herself through. Her spiral-curled hair managed to hold and her clothes were mildly wrinkled but were so tight it didn’t even matter.

The chaos of the streets made her heard pound even more so, as she started to the direction of the café. Her mind reeling, it seemed like it was only a matter of moments before she approached her destination. The homely looking restaurant and it’s out-of-season Christmas lights was almost like a beacon of hope to the blonde as she quickened her pace a bit, her heels clicking madly against the Gotham city sidewalks.

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He glanced at the dash as he pulled to a stop in front of the Indian eatery. Twelve. The lights at Austin and Logan had cost him a minute.

From the pulsation against his chest - outside, not in - it seemed Piper had only called Hamilton's phone twice on the drive over. Assuming she had calmed, this was a good sign - unless her phone had simply died. Thorne shifted into park and spared a look in the rear-view mirror, running his hands over his ears, pressing down wayward silvery-brunette locks. He sniffed as he exited the car, scents of curry and cumin wafting on a late-winter breeze, and thumbed his nose.

Slowly, deliberately, he walked towards her. Piper stood, shivering, against the restaurant exterior. At least she dressed for the occasion... He had never understood the the need to flagrantly tout sex at the expense of one's own dignity or self-respect; appreciate it, perhaps, but not understand.

"Piper," he uttered. "It's been a rough morning, I know, but we're almost through this." Thorne sniffled again, silently cursing the brisk March air. "We need to get you warm, fed, and sober." He winced. "Cogitative, I mean. Whether it's here or somewhere else, we need to talk."

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When the bright screen of her phone was suddenly enveloped in black, an audible whimper fell from the blonde’s lips. Not only had she woken up to a corpse, but now as she stood on a crowded street hyperventilating she had no way of communication. She leaned against the restaurant wall, trying to calm herself. Her thin body shook from a mixture of fear and the beginning stages of withdraw.

She allowed herself to get lost in her thoughts, her worry consuming her to the point that she hadn’t even noticed Thorne approach her. The blond jumped at the sound of her own voice, turning to face her savoir as tears once again began to slide down her face almost instantly. She nodded fiercely as she attempted to blink back the large, crocodile tears and hugging her slender frame.

“O-okay. Just tell me w-what to do. I don’t know w-hat to do. I-I just want to go home. Please take me home.” She pleaded, another series of notable shivers raced across her body. She didn’t want to eat anything, she wanted to crawl into her large glass shower, curl up in a ball and just cry. Only afterwards would she take an excessive amount of sleeping pills and crawl into her massive canopy bed. That was what she wanted to do, though she knew it was unrealistic at this point. “W-what happens when the-the police find him! What if one of the others tells the police that I was there?” The blonde was hysterical, struggling to speak in low tones.

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Damn. This was precisely what he had hoped to avoid. "No." Thorne placed a hand on her shoulder, exerting mild pressure against her clavicle. “No waterworks.” He could already feel her body shuddering. “Look at me,” he pronounced, perhaps more forcefully than he’d intended, pressing her against the brick.

Gotham had begun to bustle about them, the lull of late morning slowly giving way to early afternoon and lunchtime gridlock. Traffic had increased tenfold. The street's diffused serenade of tires humming, horns blowing, and hollers throughout rose from a throbbing bumble to dynamic cacophony - but all Thorne heard was the pendulum's thunderous pulse.

There was no sense in sugar-coating at this point. “There are a number of certainties here, Ms. Hamilton.” Perhaps cold, stark reality would instill in her some degree of gravity, lucidity, or fear; whatever it took. “The police will find him. They will take statements. You will be named.” He released her. “What's uncertain is whether or not you - or your father for that matter - will come out intact." His voice became dangerous, dropping an octave. "I can't counter, what you don't confess. I need you to give me five minutes - just five more minutes. If you can't do that, I’ll drop you at Gotham Central's front step myself.”

Thorne took a step back and placed his hands on his hips, looking at nothing in particular, whispering his thoughts aloud. "The police aren't a problem. Cameras are a concern, but manageable. The hotel..." He trailed off and turned back toward Piper. "Who paid for the room?"

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Piper tried to suck it up, but with the major mix of emotions and feelings it was really hard to pull herself together. She gasped between her sobs as she attempted to slow them at his command. Her body practically convulsing due to her shaking, she tilted her chin upward to look at him as he pressed her again the brick wall of the building. The young blonde knew he was serious, but she has struggling with reality at the moment. “O-ookay.” She attempted to nod

She knew that there was no way that Thorne was going to take the same soothing approach as her father. They both knew that she had messed up and he was going to let her know that throughout the process though he was also going to resolve her issue. She knew there was a reason that her father had sent Thorne rather than taking matters into his own hands, the man had a way of making things disappear.

The tears were only falling sparingly from her bright blue eyes as he informed her of everything she knew but was more than willing to deny. With the last of his lament, her eyes grew wide. “No- please don’t do that. I’ll do whatever I have to. I can pull it together, I promise. Take as much time as you need.” She insisted suddenly, fully aware that he would do such a thing. Thorne was completely ruthless, but he released her and she tried to shake off her hysterical state. “I-I can’t remember. I blacked out after the last bar. If you have your phone I can use it to check my bank statement. But I am pretty sure it was me…but I am not sure!” She allowed her voice to trail. After all, she was the one with the outrageous credit card bills and a rich, spoiling daddy.

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Wonderful. Throne withdrew Hamilton's cell from his jacket and shoved it into Piper's quaking hands, his neck twitching all the while. "Do it."

By time and age full many things are taught. He could neither fault nor excuse the young woman's callow shortcomings in terms of sense and responsibility; he too had grown up with an autocratic father and no motherly, nurturing influence - but there comes a time in life, regardless of sex or status, that one must cross the impasse of youthful belligerence and take responsibility for decision and indecision, action and inaction, fortune and misfortune. Wisdom comes through suffering, but she'll never learn.

Thorne checked his wrist. "We should get going... but I can't take you home, not yet, anyways." If she were named - as in all likelihood she would be - it stood to reason that she would need to be elsewhere - need to be seen elsewhere. "We have to get you somewhere... public." She needed an alibi.

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Piper fumbled to grasp the sleek surface of the phone for a moment, “Okay.” She answered obediently, her shaking fingertips struggling to accurately click on the Gotham Banking application on her father’s phone. After a great matter of minutes that seemed to stretch on forever, she finally managed to get her information typed into the phone and pull up her statements. She scrolled through the night’s transaction, witnessing the thousands of dollars she has spent within a matter of hours. “I paid for the booth at the club. I made a withdraw around midnight – but that wasn’t for the hotel.” She replied guilty. That had been contributed for the laced batch of cocaine.

An audible whine fell from her glossed lips as he informed her she wasn’t able to go home just yet. “What? Are you kidding me? I haven’t showered, I am hung-over to hell and I am still wearing the same thing I fucking wore last night! I can’t go out in public!” She panicked, gesturing to the tight- revealing outfit she had used to go clubbing in the night prior. “Please, Mr. Thorne. Do you know what the tabloids will say about me if they catch me wearing the same outfit two days in a row? Poor people don’t even do that! This is just fucking-ugh! I can't do this!” She complained, rubbing her throbbing temples with her shaky hands.

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