Prompt #1: DRUNK

Series: Doctor Who

Characters: Clara Oswin Oswald and The Doctor

Genre: Romance(?)

Disclaimer: This is a series of one-shots, nineteen to be exact. Why nineteen? Because in a few days I'll be out of school and will start being a Senior, so I want to honor my eighteen classmates, that with me, are nineteen. So each one-shot will be written specially for one person, I´ll follow the roll call order we have at school, so this one-shot is for my friend Ana Patricia, she is #1 in roll call order. So, if you are reading this, I was very glad I had you in my class. :´)

DRUNK:

v.

Past participle of drink.

adj.

1.

a. Intoxicated with alcoholic liquor to the point of impairment of physical and mental faculties.

b. Caused or influenced by intoxication.

2. Overcome by strong feeling or emotion: drunk with power.

They had landed in the ninth moon of Poosh, very famous for the cocktails they served in the recreational area of the planet. The sky there was blue-green and the habitants were a mix of humanoid forms with animal features. Of course, the Doctor had insisted of coming out there alone, for he had no wish to poison Clara with any of the new cocktails they served. They had a variety of over three hundred and twenty seven cocktails and he wasn´t sure if any of those were any good for beautiful, fragile and human Clara. The Doctor didn't want to lose her, not now, not ever. After all, she was the only one who knew the truth of his past. She saved him from himself again after meeting his Tenth self and his Other self, and he had no intention to lose her. Because if he ever lost her, he would be lost forever, he thought grimly, striding with long steps towards the entrance of the most famous pub in the Poosh System.

The pub was called The Snuggly Duckling, the name made the Doctor frown; the weird name had a weird aftertaste when he pronounced slowly. He was later assaulted by many drunkards, from many planets and solar systems around the Universe, and sat forcefully on the bar. The barman eyed him over his heavy spectacles, cleaning four gigantic jugs, at the same time, with his eight tentacles. The octopus barman leaned down and regarded him with mirth, his tentacles leaving the clean jugs in their rightful place. The Doctor looked up at the chalkboard menu, the different combinations and cocktails. The pub was filled with many crying, laughing beings. As well as many folks destroying tables and growling at everyone. People were making love to their tonic and gin, to their partners. People were snogging, snuggling and smothering others with kisses and light touches in the dim lights. Others were dancing, enraptured with an imaginary music in their heads. Singing, swearing, crying, touching, laughing and so many things happening in just one place, with no apparent reason. The only one who was calm enough was the Octopus Barman, looking at everyone indifferently through his circular spectacles.

"What would you like son?" asked the Octopus Barman with a rough Italian accent. The Doctor shrugged and looked up at the menu again.

"Do you serve in here some banana daiquiri?" he asked, feeling silly suddenly, with all the combinations this bar and all he wanted was a banana daiquiri.

"No, I think you don't understand, son. We ask you what you want, like relieve any memory, feel happy, sad, things like that, and then we serve it to you. Here we can make you feel powerful with only one cup of Plutonian Asphodel Rum, or serve a jug of Aconite Beer to make you feel the saddest person alive. We mix love and hatred and lust, in one Ashwinder Tequila. So let me ask you again, what would you like, son?"

Suddenly, the Doctor understood everyone seemed to be in the extreme side of an emotion. This place was famous not for the drinks it served, but for the after effects it caused. He sighed, the image of his current companion and the events from last week coming to haunt him. He was tired of remembering the sad times. He wanted to remember the good times. But with all of his companions, his travels were cut short by one or another tragic event. Rose in another dimension living happily with the Metacrisis version of him, probably happy and married and with children. His all yellow and pink Rose was probably happy with Tentoo, or David, as he insisted on being called, but not with him. Martha, with her broken heart by him, the Girl Who Walked The Earth, with Mickey The Idiot, married and happy. Donna. Oh, Donna Noble, the Most Important Woman in the Universe. She forgot him, and everything she became. Days on end lost for her. His best mate. Then, his Ponds. Amy and Rory Pond, trapped in an era where they weren't born. With no way out, no way in. Amy was like his little sister and Rory was the Nose, the Last Centurion. The most loyal man he had ever known. And then River. His River Song, his future, his wife, dead in another time. A side effect of being a time traveler. And the list of people grew on and on. But there was only one person who was not lost. One person he had with him, his Soufflé Girl, his Impossible Girl. The girl who died for him thousands of times. Someone who saved him for a change. She was there, in his TARDIS, waiting for him, perhaps baking a soufflé and burning it down again. Or reading or fighting with his ship. His two girls, the TARDIS and Clara. His Clara. His beautiful, perfect, fragile and human Clara. His impossibly immortal Clara, the girl who took a high amount of Artron Energy and still lived. So he made up his mind and asked for the strongest thing they had to make him fall more and more with someone, to make him brave. To make him drunk of her.

"A Moonstone brew with rose thorns and daffodils cider for the gentleman, it is!" cried the Barman, his tentacles working at top speed preparing the peppermint infused concoction for The Doctor. The Doctor looked amazed at the octopus-like man, how his eight tentacles never stopped and worked with a practiced fluidity, pouring and blend the mystery substance. Finally, the Octopus Barman, named Alcalino according to his nametag, poured with a flourish the lilac drink in a tall glass. Murmuring a quick thanks to Alcalino, he downed the drink with wide eyes. The drink, even though it was lilac in colour, had a peppermint smell and tasted of chocolate. And as it went down his throat, he felt warmth all over his body, and all he could see was brown and chocolate. All he could see was Clara´s brown eyes, her brown hair strewn around her, her entire self being of chocolate. Of passion. His two hearts beat faster at the thought of her, and without much more, he asked for another glass of the Moonstone brew. And that's how he spent four hours, drinking the lilac concoction, over and over again.

Meanwhile, Clara spent her time alone exploring the vast rooms inside the TARDIS, the pool, the library, four wardrobes, three kitchens, many storage rooms and so on and so forth. At the end, she grew tired and decided to wait for her Doctor downstairs the main console room, sitting in his swing, her feet dangling, not even touching the floor below. It was so quiet, with only the low hum of the ship and the dimmed lights that she fell asleep in that swing of his. The last days with him replaying in her head, the three Doctors, the empty shack in the middle of some desert and how they saved Gallifrey from burning. Gallifrey burns, no more.

So it was quite the surprise when the doors slammed open and she heard a body falling to the ground in the entrance of the TARDIS. With her hear beating fast, she climbed the stairs, two at a time, and found the Doctor, lying on the cold, glass pane floor, muttering some gibberish that was probably in Gallifreyan. She went to his side, looking for any wound, but when she found none, she just sat there, looking puzzled at the languid form of the Doctor, strewn all over the floor, looking at the ceiling dazzled. When she got near to his face to poke him in the cheek, she smelled on him the cause of his fainting. At first she grew angry, because he looked like a drunk baby giraffe, but then stopped in her tracks, as he was staring not at the ceiling, but at her. With soft ancient, green eyes, and a small smile on his lips.

"Just, what the hell Doctor? Are you drunk?" she asked, brown eyes shining with intensity. The Doctor never stopped smiling at her the whole time he tried to sit up. Suddenly, he embraced her, burying his head in her shoulder, inhaling her perfume, which in fact smelt of molten chocolate.

"Clara, I never got to tell you how much I adore you. Or to thank you for saving me from myself. Oh, for Rassilon's sake, you smell like chocolate!" he exclaimed, confusing Clara even more.

"Where you were Doctor? You are worrying me." She whispered to him, hands flying to take his face into her small, delicate hands. He took her hands into his, and put his forehead to hers.

"I went to the most famous pub in this solar system. They had over three hundred types of cocktails! I couldn't stop drinking!"

"So you are drunk!" she exclaimed, frowning.

"Yes! But you don't understand, they didn't serve normal alcohol! They served emotions, memories! So I asked the most strong mix of Moonstone Brew! And you know what it made me feel!?" he asked, taking her face into his hands, looking at her with such intensity that made her heart beat faster than ever before, her entire face went red.

"What did it make you feel, Doctor?" she asked, her voice a soft murmur in his ears.

"It made me remember all the times I've been with you, when we danced, when we ran, everything. And it reminded me of you. And made me love you even more than I did. And then I realized I wasn't drunk on alcohol, but that I was drunk on you and you alone, Clara!", Clara looked at him with wide brown eyes, her mouth agape and she felt light headed. And all she could think of was 'oh my stars! He loves me! He loves me so!' "I was drowning in all of you! It made me brave to do this!" with that, the Doctor dove in and captured her lips with kiss, kissing her ever so gently, with all the love that his twin hearts could give.

Because being drunk doesn't always involve alcohol, you can be drunk on power, on love, on hatred or any emotion. But the best kind of drunkenness is to be drunk on the person you love the most. That way, you will never stop being drunk.