The days leading up to the party were the usual blur of colour and noise, not the interesting kind like a festival or a carnival where you're swept up amongst the crowds, smells and sheer volume of sounds but the irritating kind that enjoys suffocating you: at least that's how John thought of it.
The party planner-used for all events, occasions and any good party, as she marketed herself- Yvonne was back in action. Her blowout hair commanding the room more than her 21st century attitude to employment.
She berated her staff members daily for the wrong shade of this and incorrect timings with her thousandth coffee ('It's a strict dietary schedule, darling' she'd tell John) but at least she'd have the common decency to use their name whilst she brought them to breaking point- or at least tears.
He'd pretty much grown up with Yvonne's whirlwind nature and intensity, yet that didn't make her planning process any easier to endure, especially with his father's grunted, non-committal answers to all of her questions that sent her even further into a tail spin.
John had to admit the small part of him that wasn't annoyed by the display was slightly amused by the way her hair would become frazzled by his father's inability to pick a colour scheme.
He'd been forced to attend at least twenty fittings for the ridiculous masquerade costume they had designed for him.
For one night and one night only he would be a badger. God was the outfit ridiculous.
He thought his suit resembled a penguin a little bit more than a badger but the mask, oh the mask, was a dead give away. He couldn't even use the excuse of doing this out of love because anyone who knew him would see right through that.
Nope, he was the moron who was about to be a badger for the night.
Other than being dragged out of his room for the umpteenth fitting, he resided in his room, barley relenting to take Sonic out because he just couldn't stand the drama going on downstairs.
If he had it his way, for all birthdays, he would be in a foreign country with their local beer listening to whatever music took his fancy at the time, his two best friends stood laughing with him and something pretty on his arm- he was definitely ignoring the little voice that said Clara when he thought about that.
He enjoyed a good party, he really did and it had been so long since he'd been to one due to the insufferable gnawing of grief weighing him down like an anchor wound around his ankles, dragging him further and further down.
However, this wasn't the kind of party his restless soul had been missing- no. This was his father's party in which, for at least a little bit, he had to have some semblance of grace and decorum.
The one bonus of this whole parade was that Amy and Rory were flying in for it, as lifelong friends of the family they were duty bound to. Silver linings and all that.
Plenty of his other friends would be making the trip, but that of course means plenty other people he didn't like would also be joining him for the night. Along with their irritating selves they would be bringing their intrusive questions and expectations he'd rather not adhere to.
As soon as possible him and the Ponds would be sneaking off to form their own mini party.
The days went surprisingly quick, a slur of being pricked by clothes pins and drowning out the sounds of an ice sculpture being dragged through the foyer with his amazing playlist.
He'd have 'too shy' in his head for the next four weeks.
He had barely seen Clara the whole time and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little disappointed. However that won't stop him saying that he wasn't. Not one bit.
She'd been here a whole week now and he hoped she'd settled in at least a little.
On a nighttime run for fish fingers and custard (a snack that had resulted in him being viciously teased for years especially by one Amy Pond) he had seen the burnt remains of a chocolate soufflé and had to stifle a giggle at her failed attempt. He also suppressed a grin that she had taken him up on his offer even if it didn't turn out just right.
—
By the time doomsday finally arrived, he was stood in front of the mirror inspecting the suit that, thankfully, allowed him to wear his signature bowtie and was almost distraught at the idea of covering his face with that bloody badger mask.
Now he loved badgers, the animal itself wasn't the issue however it didn't mean he'd like to spend the night as one. It was white and elongated to represent the badger's snout and of course we can't forget the two black stripes to really ram home the key theme of badger. One of these days, he'd kill his father. With no remorse.
He could hear the sound of distant voices drifting up the grand staircase and knew he'd have to grin and bear it. Descending the stairs he saw Yvonne had really outdone herself this time. The whole room was decked out like a Parisian palace, white cloth wrapped around the banister, the whole place echoing Versailles with crystal chandeliers lit up like supernovas and an influx of people in more and more elaborate costumes with each new guest.
Somehow they had managed to transform a traditionally English country house into something decidedly more French.
There was a stage currently occupied by an orchestra playing Beethovens fifth symphony but John knew by 9:00 tonight that would morph into terrible karaoke. For such a stoic man, his father could really belt out a tune after too much whiskey.
A full banquet stretched across the back of the ball room with every type of pastry and cake and champagne, though at this particular party the focus would definitely remain on the champagne.
Eating's cheating John thought to himself with a smirk.
Yvonne had rigged up an entire chess board in the middle of the ballroom and he'd heard rumours of a performance art piece demonstrating the art of chess mirroring our own lives- that should be entirely too painful. He could only hope the crowd (and himself) would be well and truly hammered by then.
He was effectively forced to his father's side to greet the tidal wave of guests, each dressed as ridiculously as him, in some sort of animal garb.
When a trio of his long-since passed grandmother's friends arrived as a lion, a tiger and a bear respectively, he desperately fought the urge to say 'Oh my', but good lord he didn't want to speak to those three.
To put it as nicely as possible they should have come dressed as cougars, it would have saved a lot of young men from finding a wandering, wrinkly hand.
One of the delightful women lingered at John's handshake and requested (in what he assumed was meant to be a sultry voice) that he come find her later.
This then triggered a massive guffawing laugh from his father that honestly scared John more than the prospect of a night with Minnie. John blushed and covered his own laugh whilst simultaneously wrangling his hand from Minnie's surprising, iron grip.
He was just about ready to resign himself to another half hour of greeting dull people that he couldn't bear to be around, when a loud, brash, Scottish accent reverberated through mini Versailles: "DOCTOR!"
Amy.
She dragged the 'r' waving her arms in the air before clasping them around John's neck in a hug no man could ever attempt to escape from.
Luckily, John didn't want to. He hugged her back spinning her round, howling with laughter at her mere presence. He was lost in his own little bubble that his father just had to pop.
"Amelia. Always lovely to see you." He said it so stiffly like he hadn't know her for her entire life. John supposed he hadn't in a way, he never cared enough to know any of his friends even such 'pure bred's' like Amy and Rory.
"As boisterous as usual." He gave her the same contempt he gave John- they were like siblings anyway.
His father gave Rory a stiff handshake barely acknowledging his presence.
John had heard for weeks about the 'wasted potential' of Rory who became a nurse rather than some sort of CEO, well John couldn't be prouder of his best friend, there was not an ounce of his potential wasted especially when he was doing more good in the world than his father could ever do.
He switched his hug over to Rory, smacking him on the back before stepping back to take them in.
The big ginge, distinctly proud of her colouring, had come as a fox.
She wore a tight, mini dress that was fiery orange and partly white with a fantastically, bushy tail attached to the back. The mask, that he assumed completed the look, had long since been discarded and was being held by Rory who had come as a hawk for some bizarre reason. His suit was adorned with feathers, as was his mask which sported a rather fetching beak.
To see them both stood in front of him like the old days nearly reduced him to tears but he opted instead for a beaming grin. His father gave a brief nod that released John from his duties and John wasted no time wrapping his arms around his two friends and guiding them to the fully stocked bar.
—
It was like they had never left.
The trio picked up from exactly where they left off, joking and teasing each other with no remorse, which is a fairly impressive feat considering the copious amounts of alcohol they were planning on consuming hadn't hit their systems yet.
Amy was loudly regaling the tail of John, a village in Bangladesh and a miscommunication that led to an engagement he's not quite sure if he's broken off yet.
She'd gathered quite the crowd of stiff-upper lips clutching champagne flutes and what he assumed were the eligible bachelors of society intent on meeting this entertaining young woman.
It seemed Rory had noticed too as he inched closer, a hand instinctively wrapping around her waist. John hid the small smile that came over him at his two best friends as in love as ever, it's a rare sight in the world he lives in.
As the crowd Amy had created burst into a fit of mild-mannered laughter, John noticed their attention wavering as they seemed to be drifting back over the stairs and found himself following in their footsteps.
It didn't take him long to see what caught their attention. Stood at the top of the stairs, the chandeliers illuminating her masked face was Clara. Or more specifically Clara dressed a beautiful, blue peacock.
The dress was a deep, blue almost mimicking the TARDIS parked outside, cutting off at a length that should really be illegal; behind her a fan of feathers that looked like they had been plucked from a real life peacock- considering this was Yvonne's design he wouldn't rule that possibility out- with a matching peacock tail trailing across the floor. Her heels clacked on the stairs as she descended to an admiring crowd, white teeth against a scarlet lip: clearly used to the admiring gazes.
John assumed his jaw must have dropped at some point; he wouldn't have noticed but Amy's hand was under his chin pushing it closed with a smirk.
"I'm guessing that's your lodger then."
"You would be correct," he breathed before breaking his gaze from Clara "As per usual Pond."
"Yeah, don't blame you mate." Rory was next to him placing a hand on his shoulder, looking just as stunned, earning him a swat across the arm from Amy launching Rory into a defence position.
"Blame me? Blame me for what?" He was a little afraid of the answer.
Amy and Rory turned in unison, probably something that developed over time in a marriage, giving him a look of what John can only describe as 'you idiot'.
He seemed to get that look a lot from the Ponds.
He gave an uncomfortable cough and sniffed to highlight his disdain before straightening his bow tie preparing to speak to Clara who had reached the bottom of the stairs and was currently being swarmed by his father's friends all interested in why this beautiful girl was staying in the Smith house.
Gossip was always this crowds favourite topic.
His nerve was finally building until he heard some key phrases from the assembled socialites: 'engagement', 'marriage' 'Smith'.
Not an ideal time to make his appearance.
It didn't matter though. The ultimate ginge had her goal in mind and had already parted the crowd like the red sea with a loud declaration of "coming through!", grasping Clara's hand in hers and pulling her towards the awe-struck John Smith.
"Thank you, I'm not really a fan of a hundred questions a minute," Clara gave Amy a sheepish smile then glanced at John out of the corner of her eye, just for a moment.
"Well, Clara, I wouldn't come dressed like that if I didn't want to be the centre of attention." Amy gave her a wink- she had no issue being the centre of attention- Clara responded with a giggle until "Wait I didn't tell you my name-".
Seeing where that sentence was going John cut her off with a loud cough so she couldn't question any further. She simply raised her eyebrow at him in that infuriating know-it all way.
"This is Amy," he gestured towards her as she gave a three fingered wave, her other hand occupied with a whiskey concoction of some description "and this is Rory,"
"Hello," Rory shook her hand a little dumbly earning him a raised eyebrow from both women.
"Wow the nose and the chin quite the pair you two make," Amy snorted into her glass and linked her arm through Clara's guiding her toward the bar clearly accepting this new friend with ease, leaving a stunned John and Rory in their colourful wake.
"I didn't think my nose was that big," said John rubbing it in dismay.
"No, No," Rory said plainly a hint of incredulity in his voice "You're the chin! How can you not know you're the chin?"
"Don't be ridiculous Rory." With another adjustment to his bow tie he sauntered off to greet the girls at the bar.
—
Amy and Clara were deep in conversation and Clara was rather glad of the new company. The woman in front of her was all legs and noise and it was refreshing, she reminded her almost of John; she presumed that was due to their influence on each other over the years.
"So how long have you known John then?" Clara asked hoping it came across as nonchalantly as planned.
"Oh we grew up together, went to boarding school together, then uni, the whole shebang, The Doctor, Amy and Rory that's the way it's always been," She sipped her drink and seemed to be sizing Clara up, not in a threatening way but a curious way like she was trying to understand her.
"The Doctor? Curious nickname."
"I can't really remember where it came from now, we were pretty drunk, in the backfields behind the school- it's all a bit of a blur. I think Rory may have cut himself on a bottle and he patched him up…or maybe I cut myself…either way it definitely stuck." Clara liked her Scottish accent it was fun and a lot more interesting than the usual posh accents these people had.
She felt a hand on her lower back and all her hair stood on end, it was John merely attempting to move past her for another scotch at the bar. An action so small that he didn't even think about it whilst she was completely set on edge. What on earth was wrong with her?
"Find something interesting to talk about or are you just grilling her Amelia?" He gave that stupid lopsided grin he clearly thought made girls heart flutter.
"Yes, you actually,"
"Definitely interesting then," there wasn't even a beat, they were so comfortable with each other, Clara ignored the feeling of wanting that.
"I wouldn't go that far." A voice came from behind them, new to the conversation and decidedly more sexual in tone.
"River!" John near as damn choked on his scotch, before quickly correcting himself "Professor Song, good to see you again." John ran a hand though his hair roughly a steady blush rising up his neck to his cheeks that only deepened when River said:
"Hello Sweetie."
She brushed past Clara, in a tight floor length gown that was intended to be a lion, swishing her hips to flick the tail that swung from behind. Everyone caught the gulp that came from John's throat.
Clara thought the mane of hair on her head perfectly offset the idea of her being a lioness but the more she thought about it she didn't think that was the reason she chose to come as the lion.
"Vodka martini- very dry." She crooned at the bar tender. Once she received her drink she turned back to the small group in front of her, taking a small sip allowing her eyes to pass along them one by one lingering slightly longer on John before turning and leaving as fast as she came.
John seemed to give an audible sigh of relief when she strutted away but his shoulders only tensed when Amy began impersonating her.
"Vodka Dry," She said in an over done voice with a hand on her hip and another rubbing along John's arm, Rory gave a concealed smirk used to his wife's antics while Clara let her amusement be known and quickly joined in with her own "Hello sweetie"
John gave a huff downing the rest of his drink in one gulp. This was going to be a long night.
—
They all got progressively drunker.
As predicted the orchestra was disbanded and replaced with karaoke, the current performance being given by one of his father's colleagues, a Russian professor who worked on the initial space ventures.
He was giving a rather impressive rendition of 'Vienna' by Ultravox.
Clara and Amy were alternating between sampling every cocktail on the menu and doing shots of tequila while Rory and John had moved onto the beer portion of the night. The usually stuck up business men and women were out on the dance floor giving it their all in their drunken stupor and John could see his father across the room picking out his karaoke ballad.
Clara seemed to be fitting in nicely with Amy and Rory. She kept up with their humour and laughed at the outrageous stories of John going skydiving in nothing but his socks with a bottle of vodka strapped to his hand and the time he got his revenge by sticking their geography teacher's desk to the ceiling after getting a wrongful detention.
It was a nice sight, the three of them in front of him, it seemed to fit like a puzzle that's been bugging you for a while. They were laughing like old friends until she sidled up to the bar, a thin man with spiky hair hanging on her arm. John felt his throat go dry.
"John." She gave a sharp nod.
"Rose." Awkward levels steadily rising.
He'd thought he loved her when he was in uni but they wanted different things.
She was heiress to the Vitex fortune and planned on fulfilling her duty, he was the heir to Gallifrey industries and would rather run for the hills.
She'd since married another man known as 'ten' for some reason: John didn't really care enough to ask.
He'd often thought about reaching out and creating some kind of friendship because he really did miss her in a platonic way, but fear of rejection even in the purest of endeavours made him think twice.
Instead it was like a ghost haunting him until he did something about it.
Since all of these events were like incestuous circles with all of the same people he knew he was guaranteed to run into her at some point, he just didn't realise it would be so sobering.
His fist clenched and unclenched needing something- anything- to do, what he didn't expect was to feel a small, soft hand fit into his and squeeze reassuringly.
He turned to see Clara smiling up at him gently and knowingly as always.
She'd only known him for a short time so how did she always know what he needed?
He squeezed her hand back, gratefully and was rather impressed to see the small scowl that formed on Rose's face at what she assumed was his upgrade- no.
In no way his Clara his or an upgrade, shut up-
The man weirdly named Ten gave him a smile, looping his arm around his wife's waist and guiding her back to the dance floor. Watching them sway, John knew there was no way he and Rose were ever meant to be together, she and Ten were made for each other.
"Ex-girlfriend?" Clara cocked an eyebrow, already knowing the answer from the way he paled but wanting confirmation. She remembered a few of the news articles at the time about John and Rose Tyler but she wasn't quite sure if the woman dancing on the floor now was her.
"Yeah, yeah," He was a bit dazed still clutching the glass bottle in his hand, knuckles getting whiter with every passing second.
"Ah the great Rose Tyler," Amy mock swooned, a dramatic hand casting across her forehead, "I remember those days well, a haze of pining, restaurant reservations and sexual tension,"
"Always the drama queen Pond," John said with a clear of his throat slowly becoming more comfortable after his run in with, what he considered to be, the grim reaper.
"It's not my fault you were entirely whipped with no relief," John erupted into a massive guffaw in hopes of silencing Amy however when her 'wisdom' had been mixed with copious amounts of alcohol there was no stopping her.
"You see Clara, that girl had him wrapped around her little finger 'get me this, get me that, take me here'." she did a fairly good impression all things considered.
"But they just weren't right you know? I mean I haven't seen him get so worked up about a girl he'd like to keep since… well since yo-" she began her drunk pondering before John finally managed to cut her off, he really didn't need to know where that sentence was headed.
"-That's enough of the trip down memory lane Pond don't you think?"
Instead of looking to see the face Clara had formed at his plight he downed the contents of his bottle in one fell swoop, slamming it onto the bar before turning and walking away, barely mumbling an excuse about karaoke.
Clara remained pensive, slowly mulling over what she'd learnt, something that she had grown accustomed to: unlike John and presumably the Pond's, she wasn't able to be so spontaneous.
She preferred to think things over and assess.
She watched as John crossed the dance floor/chess board (that dance demonstration had been truly painful) in great strides, desperate to escape Amy's yards of wisdom on his past.
She also watched, as he neared the sign up table for karaoke, his hand being grasped by another long slender one and dragged off to an unknown location.
She watched as River Song claimed him as her own with only the crook of a finger.
—
"River, River Ri-" John was barely managing to get the words out from the kisses she was planting on his lips only breaking for the air he desperately craved, more than he currently craved the vivacious woman in front of him.
"Hush." She planted a a finger in his lips after she had allowed their mouths to part, "Stop talking my love," River breathed it into his ear and normally this would have sent him weak at the knees.
At one point this woman had him like putty in her hands, nothing made him happier than pissing off his father and shagging one of his colleagues was a decidedly enjoyable way of doing so especially when the colleague was Professor River Song.
She was all mouth and tongue and teeth wether that was just to taunt and flirt with him he shouldn't say.
River had dragged him off into one of the empty living rooms, rarely used and definitely not open on tonight of all nights. She used the secluded spot to her advantage and was currently straddled across his lap and inflicting her signature brand of torture across his neck.
His brain went slightly hazy, all he could feel were the marks being left on his neck, the popping of the buttons on his shirt as she delved deeper and the scrape of her manicured claws in his hair.
River always managed to do this.
He was going to tell her to stop he really was- he did try to earlier- but it was like animal magnetism everything about her seemed to call to him to just touch her and that's all he could do.
His hands found her hips somehow managing to pull her closer into his lap, the sinful feel of her against him was enough to make him groan. She just kept going unfazed, dragging her tongue across his bottom lip and pulling him tighter to her. She ground her hips onto his crotch causing him to buck against her, merely smiling in response: it's like she takes sadistic pleasure in torturing him further.
Somehow amongst all the touching and kissing and the scrape of her teeth along the nape of his neck, John managed to find some clarity, the will to stop her from going any further no matter how much his body protested.
"River stop it." He managed to gasp out the words, almost surprised that she actually heard him.
"What?" She looked at him as if he had just bought her a puppy for Christmas and then proceeded to kick it in the face.
"I can't do this."
"I've never heard you protest before," she attempted to return to her ministrations on his neck but he grasped her wrists in his hands and guided her off of his lap swiftly ending their previous engagement (something his body really wasn't going to thank him for).
He rose from the soft Parisian couch and strode over to the mirror to sort out his appearance so he could return to the party with at least a shred of dignity but also to avoid the harrowing gaze River was casting his way.
"Why?" It was barely a question more like a command, she may as well have said 'speak'.
He ran a hand through his hair attempting it to return to the floppy way the stylist had it situated before that was meant to be secretly styled so it appeared natural.
"I just, this sneaking around…it was fun, it is fun!" He was stumbling over his words unable to explain. "I just can't do it anymore River, we both deserve better than illicit rendezvous in your office or the back of a car or at my father's 60th birthday party. We deserve more, but we can't give each other more."
"And you want more?" She cocked an eyebrow at him before bowing her head, a low chuckle escaping her lips, "You know John, you must be the only man in the world who would turn down a quick shag when he's pissed."
"If it makes you feel any better I feel like this was a very sobering experience."
"It does a little sweetie," he kept his eyes trained on his reflection, weirdly missing that goddamn badger mask because at least it kept his face hidden.
"You understand why it can't be more don't you?" She tried to make eye contact with him again but he persisted in avoiding her.
"You know I do- the list goes on and on after all," she gave a small harrumph from behind, an almost laugh that never would be. "Lets see, there's the fact of you being my father's colleague,"
"Only when he lectures," she interjected pointlessly.
"You don't want marriage or kids or any semblance of a normal life and…if I'm being totally honest River, I don't want those things with you." She sucked in sharply and he quickly muttered a "sorry" before continuing on.
"There is a severe age gap, while I'm not going to lie the Mrs Robinson thing is a bit of a turn on-"
"Cheek!" She scolded him but amongst the pain of rejection in her eyes there was a hint of laughter: she always did have a good sense of humour.
"I'm just saying, it isn't right to carry on when I think I need more, something that will last…something real."
"Tell me…" she paused almost as if she were contemplating but John knows her well enough to know River knew everything she was going to say before the first word even passed her lips, this was just for show.
"Does this sudden urge for something 'real' have anything to do with a certain peacock waiting by the bar?" His eyes finally snapped up to meet hers, the mirror reducing the icy glare that was so predictably River.
"I don't know what you mean." He scoffed at her and the little voice inside of his head that said 'yes you do'.
She came to stand by him then, crossing the room slowly and seductively even when she had no prey in sight. Her hand crossed the newly formed thousand mile distance between them resting on his cheek, a knowing, almost pitying look in her eye.
"The thing is my darling, I think you do although you are far too stubborn to do anything about it," she smiled softly, John thought it suited her, the calmness.
"You were never one to take on anything real, anything that extends beyond day trips, a fast paced lifestyle and a quickie, it's like you don't know how, my love- however," her hand left his face to take his hands in hers, "if you have found something that makes the pain of getting your heart broken worth it just for something real, then try it my love, be brave," she pressed a kiss to his cheek as her parting gift, "oh and spare me a thought know and then, I'd hate to be forgotten."
She stalked out of the room, her presence lingering a while longer until John finally felt the air he was storing in lungs release back into the atmosphere.
His hands gripped at the mantle and his own eyes stared back at him from the mirror, no longer shrouded with lust but just an aching desire for his bed and his mother's soothing singing voice.
He didn't appreciate the character analysis she gave him; a steely resolve seemed to seep into his bones to get so drunk he wouldn't remember the conversation he had just had.
A final brush of his hand through the mop of hair on his head and a final check his buttons were done up correctly and he was ready to return to the party but most importantly to the large quantities of drink calling his name.
—
"Whereeeeee did youuuuuu get toooooooo," Amy's words were slurring now even when she was purposefully dragging them out, clearly the drinking hadn't been put on hold in his absence.
"Oh you know me pond," he sniffed "here and there, did I miss my father's great performance?"
"Sadly, yes," Rory interjected wrapping an arm around Amy's waist who was beginning to wobble unceremoniously on her bar stool, "it was a beautiful rendition of 'I just called to say I love you' definitely one for the books, he had backup dancers this year," John smacked his head in mock disappointment.
"How will I ever live with myself?" He grinned at the group in front of him feeling sublimely happy despite the earlier turmoil.
He wasn't expecting Clara to pipe up.
"Well you have a chance to redeem your soul," she attempted to point at him however her aim was a little off, "your dad convinced your Aunt Sarah Jane to join him for a duet." Now that one sent John into a state of shock.
"Not aunt Sarah, Jesus she must be absolutely hammered," Amy leapt off her stool then, stumbling a little on the dismount but she caught herself on the lapels of his jacket, the stench of alcohol hit his nose like a tidal wave crashing against the shore.
"I heard they were doing "islands in the stream'." John was about to laugh at the absurdity of his beloved if rather formal aunt imitating Dolly Parton before Amy silenced him. "However that is not the most important act of the night."
"Oh and what would that be Pond?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"I'm rather glad you asked." She held out a slip toward him.
"We're doing 'bohemian rhapsody' babe."
—
By the time the charity shop Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton had delivered their final notes to the adoring crowd, who were so drunk the music translated to sounding good when in actual fact it was a cat's choir, John was drunk again.
It hadn't taken much coercion, especially when he knew what was coming.
Amy and Clara had been bouncing 'Galileos' back and forth between them whilst Rory was preparing for his big solo.
"Ameliaaaaaaa,"
"What," Amy whisper shouted something that commonly occurred when she thought she was in control of her volume.
"Did I ever tell you that I really don't like you," clearly joking the pair burst into a fit of outrageous giggles that probably wouldn't have occurred without the influence of beer.
"Now we are going to welcome to the stage- Karen and the Babes!" The DJ hired for the nighttime set, long after the orchestra packed up, called out to the crowd in that typical cheap DJ voice- even with all the money in the world, a school disco DJ was a school disco DJ.
"Ooh that's us," Amy made a sprint for the stage tugging Clara along behind her, only narrowly avoiding a lot of crystal glasses.
"Who's Karen?" Rory shrugged in response before following after his mad cap wife psyching himself up. "Great that answered that question," John said to himself in the absence of his mates.
Taking one last swig of his beer he made his way to the stage arms splayed and shouted, "Are you ready to rock?!" To the adoring crowd below: maybe he should have been a rockstar.
"MAMAAAAAAAA!" God he sounded just like Freddie mercury.
"Anyway the wind blows" maybe he was Karen? The others were certainly acting like the babes. They were singing backing vocals after all.
"I don't wanna die, I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all." He gripped the microphone in an attempt to be dramatic before making way for Amy and Clara's Gallileo's.
"OH MAMMA MIA MAMMA MIA" there goes Rory. They should really consider starting a proper band, he could totally change his name to Karen…
The rag tag group who were not as good as they thought they were, erupted into a mess of air guitars across the stage with Rory just about managing to hold it together for the rest of the lyrics. Before the song was up however, John composed himself and made a mad dash towards the microphone for the final ballad.
"Anywhere the wind blowsssssssss" the group held the notes, like a really bad college A cappella group, ending a little after the symbol signal.
The crowd erupted into a generous applause, that had they been sober never would have occurred, and the babes gave their bows in ridiculous fashion. John pulled them in close and planted a kiss on Amy's head before doing the same on Clara's.
He was too drunk to notice or care that he lingered a little longer on one of those heads.
—
"Hands down the best party your dad has EVER thrown!" Amy had stripped herself of her towering heels and was now balancing along the swimming pool wall, walking up and down it swigging champagne from the bottle as she went.
"Why thank you very much Pond, us Smiths appreciate it ever so much." John was following along behind her with his own bottle of champagne to match.
"I've never attended one of your sad's," Clara hiccuped in the middle of her sentence which John chose to catalogue away as something cute, "I mean your dad's parties however if I had been!" She shouted and pointed up to him from where she was sat, her feet dangling in the water.
"I would have to agree this was indeed the best party he ever threw." She nodded her head to mark the end of the sentiment and John started giggling at her serious tone despite her inability to say long words.
That was a mistake.
The laughing fit resulted in him toppling into the pool, taking Amy with him and drenching Clara and Rory for good measure.
There was a brief cry from a Scottish voice of "Save the booze," however they had more pressing concerns.
John floundered in the pool, his suit clinging to him and his hair dripping. He was ready to get out and call it a night- these parties had gotten out of hand before best not to tempt fate- when the big ginge pounced on him from behind dunking him under in vengeance for the destruction of her dress.
An all out war erupted between the two friends that Rory cared not to mediate, instead he leant in to Clara and said "tenner he wins,"
"Oh I like those odds, he just soaked her designer dress, he's definitely getting mauled. You are on." They shook hands and returned to watch the underwater wrestling match unfold but when they turned the pool was empty, the only evidence of someone being there was the gentle wave that was clearly man made as the water resettled.
"Where did they g-AHHHH!" Clara felt strong arms wrap around her waist and almost felt secure until she was lifted and flung into the water like a ragdoll.
Rory on the other hand was shoved in with all the strength Amy could muster and mostly slid in naturally. He lifted his arms and she sank back into the pool, happy to float about in her husbands arms.
Clara, however, was ready to attack.
She unclipped the faux peacock train from her dress, not to protect it, rather because it was weighing her down and she was planning on being agile.
Descending into the water, in a jaws like fashion she travelled the length of the pool in search of John, containing a nefarious giggle when she saw his legs kicking out.
She sprung out of the water and latched herself onto his shoulders with an exaggerated growl meant to imitate a fearsome tiger but mostly sounded like a drunken wail.
She dunked his head under, using his body as her own personal float despite already being completely drenched anyway and was about to declare herself victorious until he flipped her from underneath. The power was back in his hands as he held her in the water, gripping her hips to keep his leverage and desperately ignoring the water droplets settling on her lip or travelling down her neck.
"Put me down, I need to get back to dunking you." She attempted to sound commanding or at least assertive and she thought she had succeeded for one brief moment until she saw the evil glint in his eye.
"Ok you're the boss," she was ready to retort with "Am I?" But the breath was quite literally taken out of her as he 'put her down' which in his world clearly meant being flung across the pool.
She eventually resurfaced spluttering slightly, due to the fact that her mouth had been open when he threw her, and glided back across the pool to him where he seemed to be waiting for her with open arms.
"Want to go again?" He flashed her that dumb grin which to her almost seemed like a dare.
"No I do not." She paused for a moment, lulling him into a false sense of security before splashing him with a tsunami of her own creation. He immediately started splashing her back and within seconds they were hurtling around the pool like they were six years old trying to get the best splash.
Amy and Rory, who had taken to sitting on the ceramic tiled steps in the shallow end, watched on still very buzzed. Amy leant her back into Rory, no longer caring about her once beautiful dress, and smiled rather smugly as the water lapped around them.
"Look dear, they're flirting."
"I can see that."
"How long do you think it will take them to see that?"
"Those two? Stubborn as mules even if you slapped it smack dab in front of them they still wouldn't see it." Rory ran a hand through her wet hair, it wasn't as soothing as when the ginger locks were dry but it had become habit now.
"We'll have to see what we can do about that." She twisted round to look up at him, smirking as her brain plotted, Rory was more focused on planting a kiss on her lips than becoming a matchmaker.
"I suppose we will…" He murmured into her ear as they returned their attention back to the Doctor and Clara who had taken to wrestling each other across the pool. "I suppose we will."
—
Their feet squelched into the carpet as they tried to get back to their rooms without waking anyone.
So far it wasn't going well.
Clara knew the headache tomorrow would be horrific and she was already anticipating her day in bed but each second of pain tomorrow was worth the bliss she felt now. She almost felt like she was floating on air and each terrible decision of the night was simply the best thing ever.
When they left the pool Clara didn't even know existed until this very night, Amy had immediately clambered onto Rory's back, heels in hand and Clara had the slightest suspicion by the time they were in the main hallway she had fallen asleep in the crook of his neck.
Clara was more than happy to walk on her own, giggling away as she went at nothing in particular but after she nearly crashed into a ming vase that probably cost as much as one of the cars outside, John had looped an arm around her waist and was guiding her back to her room as safely as possible.
Somehow he was much steadier on his feet. Clara assumed this was due to the tolerance he had built to alcohol over the years, plenty of practise she didn't have. Getting this drunk had never been a habit of hers and she was much newer to it than the rest of her company. Somehow, she found herself rather enjoying it.
He was warm against her side despite the cooling effect of the soaking clothes and the smell of his cologne clung to him despite the chlorine overpowering it.
"You smell nice." She mused, unaware of her own brain at this point. "Chlorine cologne." He chuckled at her babbling and pulled her round the corner his hand tightening on her slim waist as he did so.
"You should smell like that all the time." She thrust a finger into the centre of his chest as best she could considering she was pinned to his side.
"I'll do my very best Clara," he stopped rather abruptly for Clara's tastes. She was enjoying strolling around with him, "however right now you need to go in there and go to sleep." They'd reached her large white door and suddenly she wasn't desperate for what was on the other side.
"I don't wanna." She pouted at him whilst he turned the handle. "I don't want this night to end," she twirled around the corridor and he had to grab her hips to prevent her breaking anything.
"Everything ends Clara." He smiled softy and his eyes were old again.
"Not everything. Not love." She placed a hand on his cheek and she hoped she wasn't imagining the feel of him leaning into it.
"That's very poetic Clara especially for," he looked down at his Rolex and sucked in a sharp breath of air "four-thirty in the morning when your drunk."
"I try," she didn't mean for her eyes to shut, but they did, betraying her exhaustion. Bastards.
He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and she's sure she heard him call her impossible.
"Goodnight Doctor," she mumbled falling through the door "night Rory."
If either of them said goodnight back, she didn't stick around to hear it.
She stumbled into her bathroom and attempted to peel off the once stunning, blue dress from her skin. Once it finally released her from its grip, she forced her arms to run a towel through her hair and across her body so she didn't have to go to sleep completely drenched.
She'd didn't bother removing whatever remained of her makeup, something she'd probably regret in the morning. She didn't bother running a brush through her hair and she only just found the strength to put on a pair of soft, cotton pjs that felt like a hug in the dark.
The onset of a headache was coming, the slow rhythmic pumping entering her brain and she tried to cast it away and focus on the night and the sublime fun she never thought she'd be able to have with a crowd like this.
Her mind twisted to John, the man she had almost condemned for nights like this and she wondered if those judgments were incorrect or applied to herself now.
She allowed the thoughts to drain from her mind and sunk into her pillow, twisting round until the room faded to black.
—-
"Walk with me a bit further." Rory whispered to him in the dark, the only light coming from the moonbeams casting through the arching windows.
John nodded stiffly even though they had already reached the Pond's room. His mind was still racing over every word and movement that came from drunk Clara.
Rory swiftly deposited Amy in an armchair in the corner of the room, waiting before he got her ready for bed to speak with John.
"Everything alright mate?" John said to him in a hushed tone.
"Uh yeah I was just gonna ask about earlier, with River." Rory was the only one John had ever told about his fling with River Song, normally he'd tell Amy too but he hadn't planned for anyone to know in the first place, he had only accidentally ended up spilling his guts to Rory when Amy was away on business before they moved to New York.
"I called it off." Rory's mouth went slightly agape and his eyes bugged. He let out a low whistle.
"Didn't see that coming, I thought you loved sleeping with River, never thought you'd stop to be honest…why the change of mind?"
John dropped his gaze from Rory's and shuffled on the spot with an almost silent sigh.
"More a change of heart."
He slapped Rory's shoulder and parted with a quick "night mate." Desperate for the bed waiting for him a few doors down.
