*Right, so this is by far the longest prompt I've produced and one that I like a lot. This is set between Day of the Doctor and Transitions but it is in the Transitions universe (or not, if you'd prefer). Clara keeps hold of the vortex manipulator that she gains in Day of the Doctor. This was sent in anon on tumblr, but if you're reading, thanks for a great prompt! Also, two cool pieces of personal knowledge. Blue Lagoon is my favourite cocktail. And also, elements of this story are adapted from one drunken night where a friend of mine couldn't stand up and I dragged her home in the rain and we kept ending up on the muddy ground. Keep sending them in guys! TPD*
In amongst all the chaos, the Doctor had forgotten to ask about the vortex manipulator. It was a perfectly honest mistake, Clara supposed, particularly given the way that the day ended up going. It was only afterwards, when they eventually made it to the Moon for cocktails that he ended up bringing it up. They had had a very long day and Clara was most definitely in the mood for cocktails. Frankly, the fact that someone had had the audacity to open a cocktail bar on the Moon was beyond her. But she had really missed the Doctor and in amongst all the chaos of the day, they hadn't really had a chance to catch up. Not that there was much to catch up on.
"So," the Doctor said after their third pitcher of Blue Lagoon. "I meant to ask when you crashed into that prison cell but frankly, the fact that it wasn't locked was too astounding. Plus we were interrupted by Zygons and Daleks and saving Gallifrey, which I never thanked you for properly Clara. You saved Gallifrey. You saved me." His voice had broken. "You showed me who I am. Not the man who kills, but the man who saves. I am the Doctor but I wouldn't be. Not without you. My Clara. Thank you."
"My pleasure," Clara said with a smile, kissing his cheek gently. "So, you were going to ask?"
"Vortex manipulator," the Doctor laughed and Clara could tell he was slightly tipsy as they ordered their fourth pitcher. She was too if she was being honest with herself. "What did you do with it after you landed in 1562? It's not been on your wrist."
"I pocketed it, in case the Zygons got their hands on me," Clara admitted with a small smile. "I wanted to keep it, in case I needed an escape route. Not that I was ever planning on leaving without you Chin!" she added with a grin, nudging him gently and causing him to almost fall off his chair. She pulled out the manipulator and handed it to him. "I thought there was only probably enough power for one trip anyway?"
"Ha!" the Doctor laughed, pulling out his sonic and waving it over the manipulator. "Vortex manipulators are feeble things. I can repair them in a heartbeat. Just ask River!"
Clara felt the River reference sting. The Doctor flinched as soon as he had said it and he looked at her. They locked eyes and she smiled, trying not to let it affect her. The Doctor was swaying slightly and Clara giggled at that.
"I'm sorry," he said gently, touching her shoulder carefully and Clara shrugged.
"What for? It's only River Song," Clara replied breezily, unable to shake the fact that her feelings for the Doctor were going to betray her at any second. He pulled her into a tight hug and kissed the top of her head.
"As I was saying," he smiled. "Vortex manipulators are child's play compared to a TARDIS, I've mastered the art of them but they're sodding useless things unless channelled properly. I'll take it off your hands and store it in the TARDIS for safe keeping."
He went to take it off of her but at that point, Clara did something very stupid. She was feeling tipsy enough before this point and still angry about the River reference, so as the Doctor reached for her, she pulled back, pulling the vortex manipulator from his grasp and slapping it on her wrist. The Doctor frowned and Clara grabbed the pitcher, opening up her throat and letting the vast quantity of liquid wash down as the Doctor watched, both impressed and horrified. Clara stood triumphantly and winked at him, before tapping her fingers over the manipulator.
"Clara!" the Doctor staggered to his feet. "What are you doing?"
Clara felt very drunk now, as the alcohol hit her hard. "Catch you later, Time Boy!" she giggled hysterically and then she disappeared into a puff of smoke. The bartender turned to the Doctor.
"Some girlfriend you got there buddy!" he muttered.
The Doctor didn't bother to correct him. He didn't have the time to convince random Moon bartenders that Clara was just his platonic friend that he had a huge crush on and went drinking with apparently and showed the entirety of time and space. His Clara. The Doctor was on his feet, staggering away; the alcohol in his system choosing this moment to attack him. He held it off; it was too important that he found Clara. She had no idea what the hell she was doing and that vortex manipulator could take her anywhere, even assuming it worked properly. Oh of course it would work properly, this wasn't a time for false modesty.
The Doctor clicked his fingers and the TARDIS doors flew open, as he was in no mood or if he was honest state for working the key. He stumbled in; throwing shut the doors behind him and straightening his bow tie as he reached the console and proceeded to hammer levers and switches.
"Come on old girl," he muttered. "We need to trace that vortex manipulator. We need to find Clara. Now."
Clara vomited the second she touched down. She hadn't had that effect the last time that she had used the vortex manipulator, but then she hadn't been hammered the last time that she had used it. She groaned, barely able to see as she staggered. She had no idea where or when she was, but it was dark. Whether it was night or just dark she couldn't tell as she stumbled, looking for something to hold onto. She strained her ears, suddenly desperate to hear the TARDIS noise as the Doctor found her. And he would find her. Playing hide and seek had seemed very funny at the time but now that Clara was hiding, she wanted more than anything to be found. He was coming, the Doctor was coming. He would find her. Clara lost her footing and went down in the mud. She felt the sludge splash against her face and arms and she spat a foul tasting thing. She frantically put her hand to the vortex manipulator, there had to be a return setting of some sort. But she couldn't think, none of the digits on the device made sense. Clara tried to stand and ended up slopping back in the mud. She started to cry, the alcohol taking hold of her emotions and she called for help, managing to push herself up to her knees. She tried to wipe mud from her cheek but her hands were as filthy as her face and it only made things worse. Then she heard a noise. But it wasn't the TARDIS. It was a guttural howling and Clara had a sickening feeling hit her stomach that wasn't caused by alcohol. She wasn't alone.
The Doctor had a lock on Clara. At least he had a lock on her vortex manipulator, which he was praying was still firmly locked on Clara's wrist. He was saying her name out loud, under his breath, almost like an unconscious rhythm that he hadn't even realised that he had been making. He tried to stop himself but realised that it had been comforting. He loved Clara, truly loved her. He wouldn't let anything happen to her. He couldn't let anything happen to her. The TARDIS landed and the Doctor checked the scanner. They were in England, sometime before the Battle of Hastings. They were in the middle of nowhere and there were other things out there. Wolves, he reasoned. He was within a mile of Clara. He raced out of the TARDIS, setting his sonic to scan Clara's location. It beeped and the Doctor ran, leaving the beaten path, his boots splashing and splattering in the mud. He could feel himself losing balance but managed to right himself and ploughed on, the small beeping of the sonic his lifeline or more specifically Clara's. Then he heard them, somewhere in the distance. The howling of wolves. Three of them, if his ears were on form.
They were closer to Clara than he was, the Doctor realised and upped his pace. The subtle whispering of her name had elevated to a desperate yell and if he strained, he could hear her screaming his name back. His ears were better than hers; she wouldn't know he was coming. The Doctor's strength left him and he resigned himself to the fact that he might have left it too late. But he thundered on, every sinew in his body aching and pushing him on, one single all-encompassing thought guiding him through the murk and muck. Clara.
Then, he reached a clearing and there she was, a small, delicate figure lying in the mud, almost unrecognisable to him. But she was Clara, he'd know her anyway, even drunk as a skunk and covered in prehistoric mud. There were three wolves as he had predicted and they were circling her, ready to go in for the kill. The Doctor flicked his sonic skywards and changed the setting. The sonic screeched, emitting a sound so awful that the Doctor could barely put up with it himself. Clara threw her hands over her ears, letting out a pitiful, drunken sob. The wolves howled and scattered, their prey forgotten as they ran from the horrible noise. The Doctor sighed in relief and fell to his knees, almost crawling over to Clara. She looked up at him and he pulled her into his arms. The only part of her face that he could see behind the cake of mud was her eyes, so big and brown and swirling and he wanted to kiss her. Right then. That was when it finally occurred to the Doctor exactly how much that he loved her and how much he wanted to be with her. But she didn't feel that way about him.
"Doctor?" she groaned. "I don't feel very well."
"That would be the litres and litres of alcohol you drank," he laughed. "Let's get you out of here."
After a moment or so, he picked her up, struggling for a moment. Then, his legs gave way and he tumbled over into the mud, Clara landing on top of him. The Doctor groaned. His head was fuzzy and Clara was leaning on painful places.
"Can we sleep here?" she muttered and the Doctor was sorely tempted to agree, but the wolves could return at any moment.
"I'd love to Oswald," he replied softly. "But we need to get you onto the TARDIS."
"I don't like the TARDIS," Clara sulked. "She's stupid."
The Doctor dislodged his quiff from the soggy dirt and looked at Clara, mud trickling down his face and she pouted at him.
"Please?" the Doctor said in a voice so gentle, it was as if he'd slapped her. "For me?"
Clara opened her mouth to argue and then nodded slightly. The Doctor wrestled for control of his body and managed, by some miracle, to pull Clara to her feet. Getting her back to the TARDIS was a nightmare, they kept losing all balance and falling back into the mud. Every time they fell, the Doctor found some new part of his body that was getting a brown bath. He loathed every second of the next hour as he half-dragged an almost comatose Clara back through the countryside, but he didn't think for a second about abandoning her. When they eventually made it back to the TARDIS, he heard her whining and shouted a very bad word at his machine. He was not in the mood for her to throw a strop about mud on the console floor. He tried to shake Clara awake, but she wasn't budging. Desperate, the Doctor pushed her onto his shoulders and fell to his knees before he could even take one step. He collapsed, all of his energy sapped, Clara lying motionless beside him. His breathing was ragged and hers was barely audible. But it was there. The Doctor took a deep breath, summoning up everything he had. He took one step up, then another. Now he was on his feet, he pulled Clara into his feet. This time he would not fall. He fell three times on the way out of the console room and each time, it was harder to pick himself up. But he would not give up.
"Hang in there Clara!" he shouted, as much to himself as to her. The TARDIS had moved Clara's bedroom closer to the console room and he practically fell into it. He stumbled and staggered and dragged and then they were in the shower. The Doctor barely had time to turn on the hot water before he passed out…
Clara woke with the hot water spilling over her head. She had a titanic headache and there were still patches of mud clinging to her clothes, skin and hair. She could barely move, but when she shifted, she felt herself collide with an unconscious Doctor. She smiled despite herself as his eyes flickered open upon her touch.
"Clara," he said, his voice surprisingly normal. "Are you alright?"
"Not even slightly," Clara replied hoarsely, her voice cracked. "But I suspect I'd be worse off if it wasn't for you. What happened?"
The Doctor laughed but he was clearly in pain. He managed to push himself into a sitting position and now he was shoulder to shoulder with Clara.
"Cocktails," he replied. "On the Moon."
"Next time we're going to Ancient Mesopotamia."
