"I'm sorry you had to leave your new friends," Clara said, nearly running to keep up with the Doctor's long strides as they headed back to her flat.
He waved his hand in her direction while continuing to walk, humming loudly and tunelessly. "Don't worry 'bout it," he called back to her.
"Doctor, stop for a minute, you need to put your coat on. It's freezing out here."
She held the overcoat out for him, eyes widening as he turned and his feet started skating on a slippery patch. His arms pinwheeled as he tried to regain his balance. Clara couldn't reach him before he went down hard on his knees, nearly bashing his face against the pavement. She sank down next to him, slush quickly soaking through her tights, making her shiver.
"Did you hurt yourself?" she asked breathlessly, using her hands to check him for injuries.
"Nope. Never felt better," he said. He rolled from his hands and knees to his back, a beatific smile wreathing his face as he stared at her. "It was fun tonight, wasn't it? Well, not the figgy pudding part and definitely not the candles and poison gas part, but the rest of it."
"Yeah, lots of fun, Doctor," she said. "You know what else is fun? Not catching pneumonia from lying in the street." She tugged at his arm but he lay as limp and unmovable as a sack of wet cement.
"Everyone else at the pub loved my singing voice," he said in an accusing manner. "Why don't you like my voice?"
"We'll talk about it later," Clara said, trying to leverage her weight against his shoulder to push him upright. "C'mon, help me out."
He sat up abruptly and Clara had to put out one hand to keep from toppling over.
"Everyone loved my stories, too," he said, clambering to his feet, swaying a little as he straightened. He held out a hand for Clara and she hauled herself up.
"I'll be honest, Doctor," she said, bending to brush grit and slush off her knees. " I could barely understand half of what you were saying."
"I couldnae understand me either," he admitted.
"I think maybe you get a little more Scottish when you've had a few."
"Aye, you're right, I do!" he agreed happily. At this, he opened both arms in a theatrical gesture, nearly falling over in the other direction, and threw his head back to yell toward the sky.
"Then catch the moments as they fly,
And use them as ye ought, man!
Believe me, happiness is shy,
And comes not aye when sought, man!"
Clara shook her head. "Stop it right there," she said, "Any more Robbie Burns from you and I'll chuck you into an alleyway and leave you." She helped him shrug into his coat and then threw one arm around his waist, doing her best to hold him up. She wasn't quite how she was going to get almost six feet of gangly drunken Time Lord back home in one piece.
They made slow and steady progress with the Doctor only stopping to talk to stray cats and lamp posts along their way.
"Carol!" he said, pulling at her sleeve as they neared her flat. "Let's not go back yet, Carol. Let's sing some…" His brow furrowed in thought as he tried to recall the word. "Let's sing some Claras! Spread a little Christmas cheer, just like you said."
Clara gave him a huge fake smile. "Yes, let's!" she said. "Great idea! But we'll wait until we get to my building, okay?" She hoped by the time they reached her place he'd have forgotten all about singing.
His feet began to drag as they climbed the stairs and by the time they reached her front door, he stood slumped against the wall as he wearily massaged his forehead. At least there would be no caroling.
"Inside." Clara gave him a gentle nudge and he stumbled into the flat without protest. She eased the coat from his shoulders, folding and smoothing it over one arm. "Now let's get you in bed," she said, guiding him toward her room. "You need to sleep it off."
He braced both arms against the doorframe and looked around, nodding his head in approval.
"Oh, I like the spinning effect in here, Carol. Very festive." The Doctor swayed slightly, his wide smile gradually fading to a preoccupied grimace. "You can turn it off now," he said. "Think I've seen enough."
Clara ducked under one arm to study his face closely. As she watched, he paled visibly and she grabbed him, leading him through to the toilet just in time. He dropped to the floor and hung his head over the bowl.
"Don't move," she told him, wetting a cloth at the tap and wringing it out. She kneeled behind him and pressed it to his clammy forehead as he gave a long, painful-sounding heave.
"There, there," she said. "Better now than in the morning, trust me." She wasn't sure how to comfort him exactly and settled for rubbing his back until he'd finished. She draped the cloth across the back of his neck where his hair was beginning to curl damply and helped him sit back against the wall.
He sat with knees nearly up around his ears, head hanging limply. "I don't think I like this Christmas tradition much," he croaked. Clara laughed. He seemed a bit more sober now.
"Well, you were showing off," she said, sitting down next to him. "Trying to keep up with that absolute tosser who was flirting with me all evening."
"He shouldn't have called me Gramps."
"You should have ignored him."
He snagged the cloth from around his neck and pressed it to his eyes. "In hindsight, yes."
Clara patted his knee while he moaned gently, in rhythm with his ragged breathing.
"Stomach settling down yet?"
"Not so you'd notice." He coughed once, holding the cloth to his mouth. Clara scooted herself discreetly out of his way. "What is that smell?" he asked in a strangled voice.
"You mean other than you?"
"No, it's more of an acrid, smoky kind of smell."
"Burnt figgy pudding, I think."
He gulped and lunged for the toilet again. Clara perched on the edge of the bath to wait it out.
"Maybe that last round of Squashed Frogs was a mistake, eh?" she said when he finally slumped over, resting his head against the seat.
"Shut up," he said, his voice rasping in his throat.
"You'll sleep it off." Clara stood and extended a hand toward him. "C'mon, I'll even let you have the bed tonight if you think you're finished being sick."
The Doctor braced himself and tried to stand but sank back to the floor. "Nope, everything's spinning again," he said.
"You Time Lords really can't hold your shooters, can you?"
"I used to be able to," he said. "Seem to have lost the knack this time around."
Clara stood with her arms folded, studying him as he shivered on the floor. She felt almost sorry for the big sodden lump even if he had brought it on himself.
"I'll bring you a pillow and a blanket," she said. "And a glass of water."
When she returned, she dropped the pillow on the floor and set the glass nearby. She picked up the hoodie he'd discarded and the boots he'd kicked off.
"Lie down," she said.
"If there's a stranger in your bath tomorrow, don't be alarmed," he said as he settled his head gingerly against the pillow. "That'll be me. After I regenerate."
"You're not going to regenerate, Doctor," she said, "You might wish you could, but you won't."
"I'll leave a light on in the corridor," she said, floating a light blanket over him and tucking it around his curled form. "Call if you need me."
A/N: It just wouldn't be one of my stories without an element of hurt/comfort. My thanks to everyone who has followed, favorited and reviewed. I'm having a lot of fun writing this.