The Hybrid - Doctor Who Fanfiction

3

After a long night out filled with drinks and laughter and dancing, the Doctor and Clara found themselves safely aboard the TARDIS, both of them still a little buzzed from liberal recreational drinking, adrenaline as well as alcohol pumping through their veins. Clara stumbled over to the console, a disapproving Idris still whispering in her ear. Clara giggled at a comment the TARDIS made, something about too many Tyrinian drinks being unwise that sent the young woman gasping for air as she laughed. The Doctor, who seemed to be holding his liquor much better than Clara, raised a brow in amusement.

"Are you two girls up to something?" He questions, his words clear and crisp though his eyes were blown with inebriation. "Something I should know about?"

Tsk, tsk, tsk, the TARDIS scolded the two of them. My, my, the two of you have downed enough of the stuff to make you very silly, indeed. Oh! Let's play a game! Yes, a game! Let's see how far you get without doing something you'll regret!

Feeling uneasy about Idris' light but snide remark, Clara blurted out "Shut up," to no one in particular, causing the Doctor to look up from the gears with a baffled frown. She flushed and snorted, covering her mouth immediately with embarrassment. "Sorry."

"You snorted." The old man observed quietly, eyeing her suspiciously. He began to fidget in a shy manner. "That's a first."

"I'm very, very drunk; be grateful it was nothing more." She reminds him simply, bending to remove her feet from the dangerously high platinum platforms that are threatening to send her tumbling to the floor with every wibbly wobble she makes. She looks up at the Doctor, tossing them off carefully, "I can't remember the last time I was this drunk," she confesses cheekily.

The Doctor tilts his head up from the console to see she's returned to her decidedly less than average height, causing him to tower over her once more. His head has the beginnings of a fuzziness that only comes with having one too many libations, and he knows that's not very safe. No, indeed. Especially not with her looking like she does, with those clothes he made her wear (why, in the name of Rassilon, did he make her wear those clothes?) that look like they've practically been painted on her--they're just a bit too, erm, tight. It's especially hazardous with the way his hearts are thrumming not-so-softly in his chest as she tiptoes toward him, a giggling, metallic silver mess of woman that still looks just as beautiful as the day he first met her.

And which day was that? There were so many 'first days' when it came to their story. He caught himself smiling perhaps a bit too hard and shook his head quickly with a scowl transforming his face once more, berating himself for behaving like a pudding brain and drowning his self-preservation in pink liquor.

"Doctor?"

Clara's voice broke through the Doctor's fretful inner monologue, a light tease in her tone as she regarded him curiously. He peered down at her with raised brows. "Hmm?"

A knowing smile on lightly painted lips. "Are you listening to me, space man?"

"Ah, no," he answered immediately, shaking his head and gesturing wildly much like his previous self would have. "Dozed off for a moment there. Start again, sorry."

"I asked where you disappeared to," she repeated, the smile starting to fade from her face as she continued. "At the party you were next to me one minute and then you were gone. I looked for you, asked around and no one had seen the tall, grey-haired stick insect. I couldn't find you."

A strangled cough made it's way out of the Doctor's throat as his eyes darted away from hers. "Mm. Yes, well. You know me--probably just got sidetracked, is all." The Doctor sighed, trying not to let on how unsettled he still was about the entire ordeal.