A/n: I'm almost caught up with everything in my life, so hooray for that! I'll be finishing up review replying tomorrow. Thanks once again and I hope you enjoy :)
young love, innocent crimes/dubious vows, and no way, jose! (cuervo)
When they passed the same crumbled, wooden fence for the third time, Clara pulled her feet from the dash and straightened, turning to look at the Doctor.
"We're lost." She said firmly.
He sputtered, looking at her like the mere idea of that was preposterous.
"Lost?" He scoffed. "We're not lost. We're…taking the scenic route. Isn't it beautiful?" He rolled down the window and leaned out, obviously intending to take a staged deep breath of clean air. Unfortunately for him, the road they were on was a dirt road. He breathed in dust and dirt and began coughing, almost swerving off the road in his haste to roll the window back up.
"We're so lost you don't even remember that we're lost. We've passed these same places so much that I bet you're starting to think they're right." She accused him.
He shot a quick, nervous glance her way, obviously thinking she was looking out the window. She raised an eyebrow at him when they locked eyes.
He reached forward and patted the GPS.
"Tardis will get us there." He reassured her.
The cursed GPS was one of the first to hit the market and Tara had purchased it for her directionally challenged foster son pretty quickly. The Doctor was rather attached to it, insisting that Tara's GPS was always right. His explosive fight with her six months prior hadn't lessened his trust in it. He'd even named it. Clara was starting to feel an animosity between herself and the gadget. This animosity had started during their first month on the road when it almost got them killed in a pub in Wales, and it was steadily growing. Especially considering the fact that it had them lost for the millionth time. In the United States. In the state of Texas to be specific, which was ridiculously huge and apparently full of roads not even programmed in the GPS maps.
"Before or after I hit menopause?" She asked.
He reached forward, smacking the side of the GPS when the signal began fizzing out again. He shot a distracted look at Clara.
"That depends. I'd have to check your estrogen levels." Another hard smack to the side of the GPS sent it flying into Clara's lap. She had a brief fantasy that consisted of her rolling down her window and throwing the sodding thing out into the dry grass. But instead she placed it back on the stand. After a few more moments of aimless driving, he stopped and did a U-turn.
"Let's try tracing back. That always works." He said.
"Doooooctooooor," she whined. "I'm on my last pair of clean knickers. I need a launderette. Or even a sink and a bar of soap, at this point I'm not picky."
He shot her a mischievous grin, reaching over and settling his hand on her thigh. He slid it up her leg, giving the edge of her underwear a tug.
"So go without." He told her with a cheeky grin. "What's the problem?"
Ordinarily she'd led his hand roam freely, but she was beginning to get cross with him. Two days on bottled water and peanuts could do that to a person. Not to mention the fact that she hadn't washed her hair in three days. She grabbed his hand and moved it back to his own thigh, earning her a confused look.
"The problem is that you refuse to admit we're lost and your stupid GPS has no idea where we are." She clarified. "And the only radio station that comes in out here is that old country western station that keeps playing that fire song by that bloke over and over again."
He shot her a horrified look. "That bloke?" He demanded. "Fire song? Clara, that bloke happens to be Johnny Cash. He's one of the most influential musicians of the 20th century. And that song is 'Ring of Fire', which was the most popular song of his career."
She shrugged and slid down further in the seat, returning her feet to the dash and shifting slightly to her left. She never before thought she'd sit for so long that her bottom actually went numb, but it was happening. Far too frequently. She looked out the windows and stared at the billows of dirt the tires of the borrowed car stirred up. Dirt roads sucked, but at least she didn't panic each time she woke up and realized they were driving on the wrong song of the road. One laners were good. One laners were safe.
She glanced back at the Doctor, who was still looking at her like she'd suddenly morphed into a completely different person.
"And it's terrible. Excuse me for not taking a liking to country western music as a child. Why do you know all that anyway?"
He turned his gaze back forward.
"My dad." He said simply. "When he still listened to music. And talked to me."
Casual admissions like that always made her stomach drop. She reached over and set her hand on his thigh this time, gently stroking the skin below the edge of his shorts. He shot her a smile, most likely to reassure her that he was okay.
"And it isn't terrible." He continued, probably eager to bury his last comment.
She pretended to gag. "It is, and if I hear it one more time, I'm going to rip the stereo out of the car with my bare hands."
He waggled his finger at her. "You'd better keep your voice down. Talking like that here will get you killed, and I don't know if I'll defend you."
She made a show of looking around her at the barren landscape, completely devoid of buildings, much less people. "Oh, yeah, I've got to keep to my voice down so all these people don't hear me."
He reached over beside him and lifted the half-empty bag of peanuts. He held it out towards her.
"Hungry?"
She couldn't help it. Her patience snapped.
"I am hungry but I want actual, proper food! Like…like…" she stopped and turned to the Doctor quizzically. "What do people eat here?"
He looked at her seriously. "They only eat liver. Cow livers, chicken livers, lamb livers. Sometimes the occasional criminal's. The death penalty, you know."
She blinked at him. "Funny. You're cute."
He glanced at her again, his face completely sincere. "I'm not joking, Clara. I meant to tell you. They fry them whole."
She shifted uneasily in her seat, turning to peer critically out the window at the landscape, as if she'd see some signs if that were true. She looked back at him, the corners of her mouth turned down into a frown. "Nuh-uh. No way."
He nodded earnestly, his eyes wide. "Yes way. And do you know what they dip it in?"
She peered at him uncertainly, her stomach churning with disgust. "What?"
He leaned closer to her, leaving only his left hand on the steering wheel. He delivered his next words right into her ear.
"The blood of those who dislike country western music," he whispered.
She groaned. "Ugh!" She smacked his shoulder lightly, crossing her arms and glaring out the window. He was roaring with laughter.
"You believed me. You honestly believed me!" He boasted. "Livers. You believed that an entire state only ate livers. For every meal. Fried."
She looked at him testily. "I did not believe you. I was just seeing how far you'd take it."
He started laughing again. Clara glared and shifted towards the door, away from him.
"I should have just gone to Ireland." She muttered underneath her breath. "Alone."
He reached up and grabbed his heart, his face crumpling with exaggerated pain.
"Ouch. That hurts, Clara. That hurts me deeply. I mean, Ireland?" He laughed at his own words and then looked at Clara when she didn't laugh in return. He frowned. "Wait, are you actually angry?"
The GPS spoke at the wrong moment. The mechanic, female voice informed them to "take a U-turn when possible". For the fourth time. They'd been on this same stretch of dirt road all day long. Clara watched in disbelief as the Doctor listened, fully trusting the piece of shit, and then began turning the car.
She crossed her arms. She had to break the news to him sooner or later, and now was best. "Yes, I am angry. But not at you." She pointed accusingly at the GPS. "At this FUC—"
"Don't curse at Tardis!" He shrieked hurriedly.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Listen. Me and your GPS. We cannot cohabit. That means it's either her or me."
"What do you mean?" He asked, his voice injured.
She tried to take a calming breath, but it didn't work. She reached forward and snatched the GPS off the stand and began whacking it against the dash. "THIS—SODDING—PIECE—OF—ABSOLUTE—SHIT—"
The car swerved violently to the left as the Doctor tried to grab his GPS from her hands.
"Clara! Clara! Violence never solved anything!" He yelled desperately, his hand working to pry her fingers off his GPS.
"Turn around when possible. At the next available location, make a U-turn. Turn around when possible. At the next available location, make a U-turn." The GPS kept repeating. Clara wished it had a neck that she could wring.
The Doctor cradled the GPS to his chest once he got it free from Clara's hands. He stared at her in fear.
"I feel like you have some pent up aggression that we need to talk about." He said breathlessly.
She unbuckled her seatbelt in one quick motion and dove over the Doctor's lap, grabbing the bag of peanuts from the other side. She shook it at him.
"This is my pent up aggression!" She told him. "I think these peanuts are slowly killing me. My pee SMELLS LIKE PEANUTS!"
He looked at her in concern. "Really? Is it very concentrated? I'm not sure that's normal."
She stared blankly at him for a moment, her rage and frustration burning in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes went from the barren landscape to the bag of cursed peanuts to the Doctor's bare chest and the tiny beads of sweat pooling in the dip between his collarbones to his shorts and his hands and—
"Pull over." She ordered.
He looked at her skeptically. "You're not going to make me smell it, are you? I don't know if I love anyone that much."
Her skin was burning up. She lifted her hair up off her neck and gathered her dress up at her waist, hoping some of the air hitting her bare legs would counteract the hot sun and her frustration.
"Just pull over." She repeated through gritted teeth.
He complied with her request, pulling over to the side of the road and putting the car in park. Clara heard the GPS begin its incessant refrain (please make a U-turn whenever possible, take a U-turn in approximately point three miles) but she didn't care. She reached over and ripped it from his grasp, throwing it into the backseat. His protests were halted when she climbed over the middle console and slid into his lap with some trouble. She yanked her dress up over her head—sighing in relief at the rush of cold air hitting her bare back from the air vents, and then fumbled around beside the bottom of the driver's seat for the lever to make the seat slide back. She found it quickly and pushed them back, giving her more room, and then she caught his lips in an almost furious kiss. The more the GPS screamed at her the harder she kissed him, her hands pulling at the waistband of his only article of clothing as she kissed him deeper, trying her hardest not to cringe at the residual salt the peanuts had left on his tongue. He got the idea when her hands slid down underneath the waistband of his shorts, tugging them down his legs, and he reached around her and fumbled in the glove box for a condom. He dropped it into the tiny compartment in the door as he pulled her close to him, weaving his hands into her dirty hair, his fingernails pressing almost painfully into her scalp. Suddenly the pain felt good to her and she kissed him with renewed vigor. He kissed her back with a similar fervor which did nothing to quell the fire inside of her. She set her hands on his shoulders and lifted up slightly, giving him enough space to slide her underwear off, feeling like she was going to burn alive at any moment from the heat of the sun and his hands and his lips and it wasn't even like the air was on at all because she couldn't feel it. It was rash and spur of the moment, and they weren't really thinking, but she fell down onto him as soon as he threw her last pair of clean underwear into the backseat and rolled the condom on. She pressed her open mouth against his shoulder and tasted the sweat on his skin as she gasped at their contact, her nails digging into the slick leather of the seat, and she didn't let go of her rage and frustration until he was making love to her, and then she forgot all about her hatred for peanuts or anything at all.
They were sweatier than before and shaking when they fell apart from each other. Clara leaned back against the door and rested her head against his shoulder, catching her breath and trying to determine her odds of having a heat stroke while simultaneously trying to understand how and why she loved the man underneath her so much. She just knew her heart was swelling to the point of overwhelming her at the sight of him, with his head tipped back against the seat and his eyes still shut, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, an almost dazed look taking over his features. She reached up and brushed his hair back and then touched her chin, grimacing at the slight sting of pain. The beard had to go, and the GPS had to go, and the peanuts did too, but maybe they didn't have to. Maybe they could just stay like this forever.
"Christ, Clara," he finally said, opening his eyes and peering at her with an almost impressed look. "Love really is a burning thing."
She was beginning to cool down again. She pulled her hair off her neck and fanned herself, shifting towards her own seat. His arms latched around her waist before she moved far at all, bringing her down against his chest into a hug. She was still burning up and his body heat didn't help, but she also couldn't bring herself to move away. Being hugged by him felt too wonderful.
She regained her senses slowly as her mind and body began cooling down. She lifted her head and looked up at him.
"You just looked so sexy." She explained. She nodded at his beard, her content smile turning to a grimace. "Even with the beard, unfortunately."
He beamed at the compliment and ignored her insult towards his beard. "Oh how I love you, Clara Oswald. You make life such an unexpected pleasure, sometimes quite literally."
She kissed him softly and smiled against his lips, her heart fluttering in the way he always caused it to. He kissed her in turn and then pressed a kiss to each of her cheeks, his lips still turned up into a smile of his own, when they suddenly heard a siren. Clara pulled back from him and then leaned back over the console slightly, peeking out of the back windshield. She saw a red truck with police lights driving leisurely down the road. She looked at the Doctor in horror.
"Shit!" She said. She began glancing wildly around the car, searching for her dress. She saw it crumpled on the floor of the passenger side. She dove over and snatched it up, pulling it over her naked body. She tossed the Doctor his shorts after he disposed of the condom, his cheeks bright red, and then slid back over into her seat as he lifted his hips and quickly yanked the shorts up. She was combing her fingers through her hair and he was scooting his seat back up as they heard the truck door slam. Clara rose slightly and looked back, spotting an officer in a Stetson walking towards them. She lowered back down and pressed her palm over her mouth.
"Oh dear God," she whispered in horror. "He's wearing a Stetson."
They looked completely guilty of having just had sex, but as far as Clara knew, that wasn't against the law. She still made an effort to straighten her dress and saw the Doctor discreetly shove the plastic bag he'd thrown the evidence into underneath the seat. She got a sudden urge to laugh, but that laughter disappeared when the man appeared at the Doctor's window. Clara could see the slight smudge her sweaty back had left against the glass. It made him appear blurry in certain places.
The Doctor rolled down the window, trying his hardest to appear casual even though his face was red with embarrassment and overexcitement.
"License and registration." The officer greeted.
The Doctor shot Clara a panicked look. She leaned forward and opened the glove compartment, rummaging around the papers. She pulled out the car rental agreement and passed that to the Doctor, who shoved it towards the officer, and then she dug their passports from her bag. She shoved her hand into the Doctor's pocket after that, ignoring his yelp of surprise, and removed his wallet. She pulled his license from it and passed it to the officer.
He glanced at the foreign license and passports, opening the latter up to peer briefly at their names and citizenship. He looked back down at them, his lips curving up into a smile. "United Kingdommmm." He drew out the last word thoughtfully, almost jeeringly. "What're y'all doing all the way out here? You're about thirty miles from the border and twenty from Catarina. Car trouble?"
The Doctor opened his mouth to respond but Clara leaned over his lap, cutting him off.
"Yes. The engine was overheated." She said quickly.
His lips turned up with humor after she spoke, most likely in response to her accent. She could have done the same for his, but she was suddenly terrified she'd end up getting locked in some strange Texas prison where they'd cut out her liver and fry it and serve it with a side of Johnny Cash-hater blood.
He took a step back and peered at the hood of the car.
"Hood's down and there's no steam." He informed them. He stepped back towards the car and lifted his eyebrow, still smirking at them.
Clara nodded, glancing briefly at the closed hood as she tried to think.
"That's because I fixed it." She replied, without really thinking it through.
He guffawed.
"You fixed it, little lady? Are you sure? There's a lotta stuff underneath that hood, you know."
He kept laughing. Clara sat back and lifted her eyebrows, her arms crossing over her chest. She heard the Doctor murmur something underneath his breath that sounded like he's in for it now.
"Yes, actually. I fixed it. And I know all about what's underneath that hood, thank you." She lied.
He wiped tears from his eyes, readjusting his hat to block the relentless sun. "Woo! You're a cutie. I'm sure you did. I just wanted to make sure y'all were all right, you know, stopped over on the side and all. Looked like you mighta been lost."
She was certain they were lost, but she didn't like the condescending tone of his voice, nor his leer towards her chest.
"We're not lost. We're just exploring." The Doctor said defensively. "That's not a crime, is it?"
The man turned his gaze to the Doctor. "No, it ain't. But public indecency is. That'll earn you a night behind bars."
Clara saw the Doctor flush guiltily. She stepped in again. She couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her voice, but she hoped he wouldn't pick up on it.
"Oh, thank you, we didn't know that. I'll make sure we aren't indecent in public anytime soon."
He laughed again and winked at her. "I'm sure you will, sweetheart. Nice dress, by the way."
She felt her lips curl up in a grimace. "Thank you." She ground out. But his gaze on her chest was too long to write off this time. "Anything else? Or did you want to stare at my tits for a little longer?"
He hooted and slapped his thighs, looking at her like she was absolutely precious. Clara had to dig her nails into her thigh and physically bite her tongue.
"Do I get a choice? Because of the two I pick the second."
The Doctor's jealousy flared. "Oi! That's my fiancée!"
Clara set a hand on his arm. "Ignore him."
But the man leaned forward, tipping his hat back as if see into the car better. Clara was growing increasingly uncomfortable underneath his crude stare. "Definitely the second."
He winked at her and licked his lips, earning him a cry of disgust from Clara.
"You're a pig!" She told him.
He lifted the tip of his nose and oinked. "Dirty like one too. If you want you could step out of the vehicle ma'am and I can prove it."
She took her hand off the Doctor's arm. His muscles were taunt with indignation.
"Okay." She told him, her glare on the officer. "Do what you want."
The Doctor, ever the pacifist, was trying his hardest to keep his anger in check. He looked around widely for a distraction and reached down to grab the bag of peanuts, still wedged between the side of his seat and the door, to offer the officer. But as he drew the bag up almost spastically he accidentally smacked the underside of the officer's chin hard enough to send his head right up into the top of the opened window. Clara gasped as the sharp crack was heard and the man let out a cry of pain, stumbling back from the car and falling down into the dusty dirt. His Stetson had cushioned most of the blow, but it was the smack to the underside of his chin that had him rolling around in agony.
"Shit!" The Doctor yelled. He turned to look at Clara in horror. "I didn't mean to do that! I just wanted to give him some peanuts! What do we do?! What do we do?! I don't want to go to jail in Texas!"
Clara looked between the writhing officer and her fiancé, her mind jumping between various options in her panic.
"Uh…um…" she pulled at her hair in distress. And then before she knew what she was doing, she was crawling back across the Doctor's lap and opening the driver's door, kneeling down into the dirt to gather their papers and passports and the Doctor's license. She threw them in the car and dived back in, accidentally slamming her hip hard into the gearshift. The pain brought tears to her eyes but she fell back into her seat and reached over, putting the car into drive. It began to roll forward before the Doctor pressed his foot back to the brakes in surprise. They jerked forward roughly.
"Run!" She explained.
He looked at her with wide eyes. "Run?! What if he remembers our names or the car?! And where the hell are we going to run to?!"
Clara looked at the man, still crying out in pain on the dirt.
"Mexico?" She suggested weakly.
The Doctor looked back at the officer. "He's got like three guns on his belt! Imagine how many are back at the police station!"
She huffed impatiently. "You're right! Maybe if I shag him he won't charge you for assaulting an officer! Do you know how much trouble you could get into in Texas for assaulting an officer as a foreigner?!"
He looked tortured. "But I don't want you to shag him."
She threw her hands up. "I'm not going to shag him! We're leaving! Go! He said we're thirty miles from the border, head back the opposite way, and for the love of God, do NOT make a U-turn!"
The Doctor shot the car forward, peering back at the officer in his rearview mirror. Clara turned around and watched as the officer shakily sat up, peering at them unseeingly as he gripped his chin. He didn't seem to make a move to even stand, much less chase them, so that was good.
"Shit, shit, shit!" The Doctor moaned. "What if they don't let us into Mexico? What if he calls the border police and they shoot us?!"
Clara started laughing. She knew she shouldn't have, that this might actually be serious, but it was so hilarious suddenly. He'd just been trying to offer the officer some of their bloody peanuts and now they were fleeing to Mexico. Only the Doctor.
"I'm a criminal!" He lamented. "I'm going to get put on some sort of terrorist list!"
Clara peered out the back window again, checking to make sure he wasn't following them. She could still see the small shape of his unmoving vehicle in the distance.
"No you aren't. Just keep driving." She told him. "He hasn't even made it back to his car, I don't think."
That didn't seem to reassure the Doctor. "What if I killed him?!"
Clara laughed again and then leaned over, grasping his chin gently and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
"I bloody love you." She told him with deep affection. She stroked the worry lines on his forehead. "You didn't kill him, Doctor. You whacked his chin. He's just a big baby."
He let out a pathetic cry of distress. "I'm a big baby! A big baby that killed a man!"
She couldn't help but laugh even more at that. She curled up onto her side on her seat and laughed hysterically into her thighs.
"This isn't funny! They have separate jails for men and women! We'll be separated for the rest of our lives!" He cried in despair.
She straightened and slid over so she was sitting on the middle console. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders to provide him some comfort.
"Look on the bright side. You wanted me to appreciate country western music. We're living a country western song right now." She told him cheerfully.
He looked at her in horror. "Clara, have you ever heard a country song?! They almost always end in divorce, or death, or—or…" his eyes went wide with terror. "Prison!"
She stroked his hair back. "Not all of them. Not like, um, you know…the fire one." She soothed, thinking of the only song she actually knew of.
He looked at her briefly with irritation but then smiled slowly. "That's true. 'I Walk the Line' also isn't depressing."
She nodded, eager to calm his fears. "Yes. So just pretend those are the country songs we're living."
He glanced at her with a smile she didn't fully understand. She felt she was missing some inside joke. "We already have been."
He told Clara to keep "look out" as he drove, finally ending up back on a paved highway.
"We'll have to get new names, new appearances, new lives." He told her frantically. "I guess this is my chance to finally be who I've always wanted. I'm going to change my name to Nick."
Clara turned to him. "Nick?"
He nodded quickly. "Yes. Nick. I feel like a Nick. You feel like a Jenny."
She fell back into her seat, ignoring his pleas for her to keep looking out for the police.
"I'm not changing my name to Jenny." She told him firmly. "And I'm not sleeping with anyone named Nick, so you probably shouldn't change yours either." She mumbled the next sentence underneath her breath. "Bloody Father Christmas beard."
He nodded in response to whatever thoughts were going through his own brain.
"This isn't so bad. We can retire on the beach in Mexico. Finish our educations at the National Autonomous University of Mexico; I hear it's pretty good." He continued.
She sighed heavily and then took his right hand off the steering wheel, lifting it up and pressing a kiss to the back of it.
"We are not going to have to live in Mexico for the rest of our lives, Doctor. We're fine."
He turned and smiled at her unexpectedly.
"You're so beautiful." He told her almost wistfully, his eyes soft. "Danger suits you well."
She smiled back. "Thank you. Now stop looking at me like that before I climb over the console again."
He grinned. "Am I turning you on?"
She winked at him. "Almost always. And especially when we're on run from the law."
They came upon a small town that couldn't have had a population of more than three hundred, if even that. It was twilight and, after much encouragement from Clara, the Doctor stopped the car at a filling station. They cleaned all the trash from the car and then took turns pouring bottles of water over each other's heads, massaging shampoo into their respective scalps and then rinsing the soap out for each other. They stuffed underwear into their pockets, sneaking into the gas station bathroom to wash them in the sink.
"This can't be sanitary." The Doctor commented, staring at the dirty sink. Clara shrugged and squirted soap onto their underpants.
"According to you we might be in jail tomorrow, so let's make the most of our freedom to wash our underwear in a gas station sink."
They used the paper towels to clean themselves as well as they could without a shower and then wrapped the cleaned garments in a thick layer of paper towels and stuffed them back into their pockets, walking nonchalantly from the bathroom. They had twenty dollars and fourty-eight cents between the two of them. They stared at the cheap bags of peanuts in horror and then locked eyes.
"I saw a bar across the street." Clara said.
The Doctor's grin was slow as it spread out over his face. "If we spend this at the bar, we'll really be confined to peanuts. Or worse."
Clara grimaced. "What on earth could be worse than peanuts?"
He looked at her gravely. "Nothing. I mean that as in: nothing tastes worse than them but having nothing would be worse."
"Ah." She said. She turned and looked out the large, glass window, the dim lights of the bar calling to her. "We shouldn't."
He looked too.
"Probably not." He agreed.
They looked back up at each other slowly, their lips quivering with withheld laughter. And then they were sprinting back to the car, laughing as they spread their wet underwear out in the backseat to air dry. They left the car in the parking lot and grasped each other's hands, sprinting across the road to the tiny bar.
It was empty except for an elderly man, nursing what was probably his sixth beer of the night. The Doctor slid onto a barstool and Clara hopped up with some difficulty, thinking that everyone in this town must have been very tall. She caught the Doctor suppressing his laughter and gave him a stern look.
The Doctor ordered boldly.
"Jose Cuervo." He declared. The man prepared a shot in less than ten seconds, hardly even glancing at what he was doing. He looked to Clara.
"And for the lady?"
Clara shrugged. What the hell; when in Rome.
"Same for me."
He slid the shot in front of her, turning back to his dingy newspaper. The Doctor picked up the shot and downed it in one go, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. Clara, never anything but a vodka tonic girl, tipped it back a little hesitantly. It was strong but smooth, and she peered down at the amber liquid thoughtfully. She could feel the Doctor's eyes on her.
"Not bad." She decided. She finished it off then, earning her a pleased laugh from the Doctor.
She was hungry, but after her third shot, she wasn't so much anymore. She leaned against the Doctor's side sleepily, hanging halfway off her stool, and listened to him singing along to some song. Only he just kept singing ever since time nothing's ever been found that's stronger than love over and over again, even though there were other lyrics being sung. He was definitely tipsy, having had four shots himself, and she wasn't sure, but she thought she might be too. She hugged his arm to her body and kissed his bicep over and over again, her affection making her cuddlier than she'd ever been.
"I love you," she told him happily. She leaned her head up and kissed his shoulder. "You even make sweat attractive. You're the best."
He had three more shots and she had two, but then she was starting to feel sick and uneasy, so she stopped. He was swaying along to the song playing, but unfortunately for both of them, he lost his balance and fell right off the stool, pulling Clara with him. She landed on top of him, knocking the air from both of them, but once they recovered they began giggling hysterically.
"You're so short," the Doctor told her lovingly.
Clara laughed at that and tried to stand up, but her knees locked and the world tilted precariously to the right and she fell right back down onto him. She hugged him, feeling warm inside like…like…
"I feel like my heart's wearing socks. Warm socks." She told him. "I love you."
He was still laughing. "You're so pretty. Did you see how I fell? I'm so happy."
She laughed along with him, leaning down to sloppily kiss him.
"Shh," she told him. She missed his mouth and kissed his beard instead.
"We gotta get up. Let's get up." He told her. He set his hands on the floor and pushed himself up into a sitting position. Clara grabbed into the stool and focused on pulling herself up slowly, ignoring the tilting dizziness that was beginning to make her nauseated. She glanced down at the Doctor once she was up, surprised to find him making snow angels on the bar floor.
"Haha, bar angels." He told her, and then he snorted he was laughing so hard.
Clara reached up and touched her forehead, suddenly stumbling to her left. She felt like the floor had been picked up and tiled right underneath her feet. She grabbed onto the counter.
"Doctor, I think I drank too much." She told him. Her voice sounded far away. She had to force herself not to close her eyes as she got dizzy again, because she knew from experience that closing her eyes almost always made her vomit. She stared at the empty shot glasses and forced her eyes to focus. And then she saw a familiar hat. She peered at the people in the doorway intently.
"Doctor." She called. She couldn't think straight or remember where she'd seen the man before. But then it hit her. "Oh! You're the officer!"
The man walked over to her, leaving his group of friends at the door. He appeared to be sliding all around the place, but Clara realized that was probably her, or just her intoxicated mind making her think it was. Either way. He stopped in front of her and laughed.
"Look who it is! The British runaways!"
Clara grabbed her sixth shot, still full as she'd stopped drinking after she ordered it. She held it out to him.
"Sorry 'bout your head. Here you go. Sorry, really."
He curled his lip up at her, reaching for his belt angrily (probably to shoot them, Clara thought), but then he took the shot and tipped it back.
The Doctor was vertical again.
"Heeeeeeey!" He called. He slung his arm around the officer's shoulders. "It's my officer friend with the cool hat! I'm sorry about your head. Really. So sorry. I just wanted—peanuts. I wanted you to have some peanuts." The Doctor turned distractedly to the bartender. "A shot for the man of the law!"
The officer looked like he was going to protest, but six shots later and he was sitting side-by-side with the Doctor, singing along to some song about a dog named Ol' Red who caught prisoners, their arms around each other's shoulders and the officer's Stetson on the Doctor's head. Clara was in an existential conversation with the elderly man at the bar. Or at least, she thought she was. Sometimes when she turned her head quickly to the right he blurred like he wasn't even really there, but he had very firm opinions about reincarnation and karma. He informed her that her mum's good karma had transferred to her after her death. Clara wasn't sure if that was true, and she started sobbing at the thought of her mother, but then the Doctor picked her up bridal style and began spinning them around and around to some other song. The officer was laughing with his buddies and Clara was trying to tell the Doctor that she was already dizzy and then her nausea peaked and she leaned over, puking onto the floor. The bile burned terribly coming up, but soon she was so dizzy she couldn't even remember the pain of it.
She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and looked up at the Doctor.
"I'm drunk maybe." She told him. She gripped her stomach and then tried to smack his shoulder, but she missed and swatted at the air. "Arg! My stomach hurts."
He was staring at her vomit like he couldn't figure out what was going on. He looked back at her.
"Blimey. Are you okay?"
She tapped his nose, almost missing and poking him right in the eye. "I'm drunk. I told you."
His eyes widened with realization. "Oh! Yeah. Yes. You said. I remember."
She laughed and laughed until suddenly it wasn't funny anymore. "Are you okay?"
He beamed. "I'm perfect! I've got my Clara and—and my mate Bubba and this brilliant place! Life's so great!"
He started twirling her again.
"Nooo!" Clara screeched. He stopped quickly but lost his balance again, sending them falling to the dirty floor.
"I love this woman!" The Doctor yelled to everyone. "I'm going to marry her and have her babies!"
Clara groaned as her vision began spinning again. She was feeling sicker and sicker as each moment passed.
"No you aren't." She told him. "You've got the other parts. I've got those parts."
He nodded, his eyebrows furrowing. "Yes, that's right. That's right."
"Love is…great!" Bubba cried, earning him shouts of agreement from his friends and the Doctor. "Love is—great! We should all just follow our hearts! Let's—let's marry them!"
Clara rolled over so she was halfway on top of the Doctor. He was staring up at the ceiling with a dopey grin on his face. She touched his lips and tapped his temples, giggling as she did.
"I feel terrible." She said as she laughed. "But you're so beautiful."
Bubba came out of seemingly nowhere.
"Do you want to live with her forever and ever and ever and ever?" He asked the Doctor.
The Doctor looked up at his new "friend", his vision quite shifty. He hugged Clara a little too tightly, crushing her to his chest.
"Oh yes," he said. "Forever. I want to take baths with her and buy furniture together."
Clara giggled at that, but it was hard seeing as though he was crushing her lungs. She smacked him. "You're crushin' my lungs!"
He loosened his grip. "Sorry."
Bubba tapped Clara's head. She got irritated and jerked her head away from him, turning an accusatory glance his way.
"Do you want to live with him forever and ever and ever?" He asked her.
Clara looked down at the Doctor, at his handsome face and his adorable smile and beautiful eyes. She felt all her anger disappearing.
"Absolutely!"
Bubba and his friends cheered.
"Then you are now husband and wife! George, put the man's favorite on!"
'Ring of Fire' started, and this time, instead of getting angry, Clara sighed happily.
"Such a great song." She said dreamily. "He fell right into that ring."
The Doctor clapped once the song began playing.
"Cheers!" He yelled to the guys. He tried to get up after that but didn't make it very far. Clara clambered back onto her feet and helped the Doctor back up onto his, sinking into his embrace immediately once they were upright.
"I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you," she told him.
Bubba shoved two shots their way.
"Drinks for the newlyweds!"
Clara cringed away from the alcohol. "No! Noooo more. No way. No way Jose Cuervo."
The Doctor turned it down too, declaring that if his "lady" wasn't having one he wasn't either. He practically dragged them back over to the stool and sat on it. Clara stood between his parted legs and leaned against his chest, her arms tight around his neck.
"Where are we?" She asked him. She watched the flickering yellow lights above her head as they spun around and around. It was like being on a carousel.
He slid his hand underneath her dress only to gasp, scandalized.
"Clara! You've got no—oh yeah." He giggled.
She suddenly wanted very much to see the stars. She leaned back, overestimating her balance and almost toppling backwards. The Doctor caught her quickly.
"Let's go to the car. Let's go see the stars. I want to see the big dipper." She told him.
He closed his eyes tightly, like he was trying to remember what the big dipper was. Or maybe stars. Or the car.
"Okay. Let's go." He told her. He hopped off the barstool and began stumbling towards the bathrooms. Clara caught his hand and tugged him towards the door. He shared many overdramatic goodbyes with his new buddies as Clara pulled him through the doorway, stumbling a lot herself. They made it halfway across the street and then threw up into the gutter at almost the same time. They looked up at each other and laughed.
"Sick buddies," the Doctor slurred. Clara thought it was hilarious and laughed so hard she almost peed.
They pushed their still-damp underwear onto the floor of the backseat and the Doctor lied down on his back, pulling Clara's body down on top of his. He spent a good two minutes trying to pull the quilt up over them, his coordination long gone, and Clara passed out before he even had them covered.
She was desperately sick when she woke. Her head ached with a dull, relentless pain that didn't ease no matter how she shifted her neck. She was dizzy even with her eyes shut. She felt around her, relieved to feel the Doctor's body still underneath hers.
"Big mistake." She moaned.
"Biggest." He agreed. She opened her eyes slowly. The Doctor was gripping his head in his hands and groaning.
They went back into the gas station and used the last of their money to buy a gallon of water. They sat in the backseat and passed it back and forth, drinking it slowly. When they were halfway through, something occurred to Clara.
"Doctor. How did we buy so much alcohol last night? We only had twenty dollars." She said.
He had drunk more than her and vomited less, so he was much worse off this morning. He had his head in his hands.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I think…" he lifted his head, his eyes wide. "Oh God."
Clara looked at him warily. "What?"
He covered his mouth with his hand. "I think we opened a tab."
Clara stared at him for a moment and then found herself laughing gradually.
"Big mistake on their part. We aren't even American, much less Texans." She said.
He laughed but then winced, lowering his head back down. Clara drank more of the water and tried to piece together last night. She remembered deep feelings of love, the sting of her vomit, the officer singing with the Doctor, falling down onto the floor—
She stopped. She tugged on the Doctor's sleeve.
"Doctor." She said.
He looked up at her blearily.
"Did we…get married last night?" She asked uncertainly. She couldn't remember much between staring at the spinning ceiling and hearing the officer make a toast to the newlyweds.
He peered at her intently, thinking hard. "Surely not. You have to have paperwork for that. Or something. Right? I remember Bubba said—but he couldn't be certified for that. Right?"
She nodded firmly, even though she wasn't so sure. "Right."
The Doctor fell over onto his side, resting his head in her lap. She ran her fingers through his hair as she tried to sort through her dazed memories. She gave up after a while.
"So." She started. She grinned and leaned over, kissing the Doctor gently. She lifted her head back up and peered down at him. "Where to next?"
