Her Dork In Tinfoil Armour *COMPLETE*

I woke the next morning with the mother of all hangovers; a thumping headache, scratchy throat and bloodshot eyes. An ice cold shower didn't even have much effect upon the cloudy white blotches which masked my vision.

So when I finally staggered into the staffroom, barely on time, Gareth could only smirk at me from where he was sitting, coffee in one hand, then shout as loud as he could "Have an alright sleep, David?" I scowled at him, swinging a kick at his shins as I passed on my way to the sink. He dodged it with a chuckle and a low murmur of "I take that as a fine yes."

Martha looked up from her paperwork, from where she sat at the desk, as I began to make myself my own dose of early morning caffeine shot. "What happened?"

"Casanova over there drank enough to floor a bull, vomited over his little female friend as they were making out, got punched by her boyfriend, decked him in retaliation and then got into a taxi, leaving me behind to deal with a few of his fairly pissed off mates."

She shook her head in disdain. "All whilst I was curled up on the sofa with a hot chocolate, watching Bridget Jones."

"You should come out with us sometime, Martha. Have a whale of a time."

"... Not if that's the kind of thing that happens."

"It's fun."

She shot me a look, with a starkly raised eyebrow. "And definitely not if that's what the punishment looks like the next morning."

I cleared my throat as they both turned to look at me. "I have come to the conclusion..." I paused for effect, as if about to deliver the most important scriptures from God. "That I am a sex addict, and must somehow stop these strange urges that I feel whenever I see a female in a low cut top."

They both cracked up laughing, chorusing in union "And it's taken you this long to figure that out?"

Miffed, I flounced over to a chair and sat down. "Okay, so maybe I was in denial."

Gareth stood up, grabbing a board marker from the pot and at the top of the whiteboard that we use for diagnoses, he wrote in large letters 'David's Sex Detox.' Then turned round to face us. "Any ideas?"

They took it in turns to write down points, creating a list of 'rules' for my so called rehabilitation.

"Burn stash of condoms. Less temptation then."

"No alcohol. More likely to make stupid mistakes if drunk."

"Let's get him some blinkers to he can concentrate on what he should be concentrating on... Wait no, one of those electrocuting dog collars so we can zap him if he looks as if he's having sexual thoughts."

Gareth wrote it up, shaking his head. "He'd probably get turned on by that."

I spoke up then. "Gareth cannot tempt him in any way, flaunt his own sex life about or get him drunk on purpose."

He grinned at me, the pen squeaking as he spoke out what he was writing. "Gareth's task: stop being such a provocative dick."

There was a quiet knock upon the door, and Martha immediately said "David, get the door."

"Gareth, get the door."

"Martha, get the door."

"You're closer." She countered, scowling. "I'm not getting it."

He rolled his eyes, mouthing at me "Women." Then, audibly "Okay, how about none of us? COME IN."

It slowly opened, revealing Amber who stood in the doorframe. She looked exhausted; heavy eyes, ruffled, unbrushed hair and crumpled clothes. Crumpled top. Low-cut crumpled top. Shit.

She tiredly scanned the room, her eyes coming to rest upon me. She spoke almost nervously, as if she were intruding upon something. "Doctor Grant...? Can I have a private word with you?"

Quickly glancing back, I caught Martha's eye for a moment before looking down at my lap, quietly murmuring "Doctor Dawson will talk to you."

"It's about Mike."

"Again, she will talk to you." I couldn't help but be abrupt.

"Oh... But I thought that you were-"

I cut her off, looking at her straight in the startled eye. "There's been a change. I'm no longer his primary doctor."

As Martha quickly pushed her things into a pile and stood up, Gareth shot me one of his I'm-about-to-fuck-you-over looks, before grabbing a pillow from a chair, chucking it into my lap, and writing one last thing up, speaking it out as loud as he could without seeming like too much if a prat. "No staring at attractive women's breasts then getting turned on by them."