*Congrats to at least one reviewer who confidently predicted something that proves the case in this Chapter. I should be able to keep updating once a day, I'm miles ahead of where I thought I'd be with the story and I'll let you know when I've finally thought of an ending. This is in my top three personal favourite chapters, so I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do. Thanks again for reading, reviewing, following and favouriting. So this is Chapter 6, in which Clara thinks getting the Doctor drunk is a good idea...*
"So Clara," Madge sat down opposite her, a wry smile on her face. "How was your hot date last night?"
Clara blushed a furious shade of crimson. The Doctor had had an amazing evening planned but it had all gone out of the window the second that they were in the TARDIS. They'd had the best sex of Clara's life and after that, they just ended up relaxing in the TARDIS all night, time passing once again the long way round and by the time the morning had arrived, Clara had had to nip home to change, still wearing yesterday's clothes. As much as she had loved the night, the last thing she wanted was for the whole school to realise she hadn't gone home last night.
"It was…" Clara paused and Madge laughed.
"I get you," she grinned at the younger girl. "It was mind-blowing, I can tell by the look on your face. You've not been able to stop smiling all morning and you have that glow. That 'I've just had the best night of my life' glow. I used to get that twice a day back in the 80s."
"Madge," scolded her friend Claudia as Clara burst into a fit of giggles and went even redder. "Stop scarring poor Clara. Speaking of hot blokes," she leaned in conspiratorially, as if she was able to say some great secret. "The new physics teacher everyone's been talking about is a real hottie."
"Really?" Madge asked, and Clara chuckled. "What's he look like?"
"Purple jacket, bow tie, flippy hair. Skinny thing but not that skinny. Ah here he is now! Clara love, you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost!" Claudia looked at her with concern, but Clara was already wheeling round, horror evident on her face as she saw who was stood right behind her.
"Hello Clara," the Doctor greeted. "Bet you didn't expect this did you? I was walking past the other day and I just thought, what the hey I can be a teacher, teaching is cool after all. Ladies," the Doctor nodded to Claudia and Madge and they both giggled like small children.
"I think I'm going to be sick," Clara announced.
"Ah, have you eaten breakfast?" the Doctor asked. "I did tell you to get some toast when you got here but obviously you ignored my advice. Here, have some tea," he thrust a mug into her hands. "You'll feel a lot better."
"You two know each other?" Madge asked, her lips curling up into a wicked smile. Clara felt very faint all of a sudden. She must still be on the TARDIS, dreaming. The machine was playing with her mind. Yep, that was it. Because there was absolutely no way in hell that the Doctor, her Doctor, was here, making niceties with the other teachers and preparing to teach kids.
"Yes," Clara mumbled absent-mindedly. "This is the Doctor. He's…"
"Your hot date?" Madge finished. The Doctor shot Clara a look of shock.
"You told them I was hot?" he grinned. "Makes a change, most of you lot are so stubborn when it comes to that sort of thing. Amy spent a good few years never telling River I was…never mind. Clara, are you alright?"
"Yeah," Clara nodded. "I think so. Just…this is odd. And unexpected. And, you didn't think to warn me before you got a job at my school?" she hissed under her breath, dragging him away from the other teachers. "What did you do, go back in time a month or so and schmooze the school board? Oh my God that's exactly what you did isn't it?" she groaned. "Why? Why? What for? What was wrong with just sitting in the TARDIS or going off to save planets while I teach?"
"Well Clara," the Doctor replied. "I figured that I didn't want to overshoot, and I didn't fancy sitting around in the TARDIS all day, plus I love kids. So I just thought, what the hell, become a teacher, spend all day with Clara Oswald and then when we finish at 5…"
"The universe?" Clara finished with a smile.
"Geronimo," replied the Doctor.
It had only been a few weeks since she and the Doctor had first slept together and he'd shown up the next day to secure a job, but for Clara, it felt like a lifetime. They taught at school, spent breaks and lunches together, occasionally nipping off for a quick trip to Mars or wherever. Then, when the days were over, they'd hop into the TARDIS and travel the stars, save worlds, do what they did. Sometimes they'd just take one trip, sometimes they'd be gone for days. The other half of their nights, they spent in Clara's apartment, walking films, cuddling and more. It wasn't that they didn't sleep together on the TARDIS but Clara felt more intimate in her own bed, and as much as she'd never admit it, she didn't like the prospect of the TARDIS watching them do it. She knew the Doctor would tell her she was being silly, so she never voiced that particular thought aloud, however. The only downside was that poor Tom was acting like a kicked puppy whenever she was around and it was even worse when the Doctor sat with them at lunchtime. She felt bad, but she'd never led Tom on and she'd done her best to try and make it clear to them both that the Doctor was the only man for her.
As for the Doctor, he was having the time of his life. He hadn't settled in a long time, so to spend some time with kids, knowing Clara was nearby, made him feel happy and warm and it meant he got to rant on about quantum mechanics to his heart's content, even if he to slow down every now and then so that the kids could catch up. He'd suggested to Clara a field trip to the TARDIS but she quickly quelled that idea. Clara. His Clara. They spent their nights roaming the universe. As much as the Doctor loved Clara, loved sleeping with Clara, loved Clara's apartment, his favourite thing in the world to do was show off to Clara. As much as their life together was entrenched in her world, he never felt free until they were in his, whooshing off to God knows where or when, defeating bad guys and saving planets. The Doctor always tried to make their trips as long as he could, but he was getting good at realising when Clara wanted to go home. Sometimes it would just be the way she smiled, weary of the world or the way she hugged him, clear she wanted to take him to bed or when she was scared because they'd been chased by a soul-eating alien spider. They'd overshot as often as not, but the Doctor was taking precautions. Clara was to leave her alarm clock set to the right date and time so they could check it when they landed. As long as that was the only thing they checked, they could rematerialize on the right day without corrupting the time lines.
The only problem was that on more than one occasion, they materialised in front of themselves having sex. The Doctor still found that an amusing quirk of time travel. Clara always found it mortifying. She hated looking at herself naked. At least she could have some fun with the Doctor, inviting them to join in as the Doctor spluttered and stumbled for words. Even though he knew it was going to happen, he still couldn't think of an adequate response. Clara giggled to herself (literally) as the Doctor would shove her back into the TARDIS. And then he'd wink at himself. He always thought Clara wouldn't see it, but she did. Every time.
It was the work half term party. The Doctor, not used to such events, had insisted that they didn't go. Clara, who loved such events, had insisted that they did. So naturally, they went. Clara baked a soufflé. Then the Doctor baked a soufflé, switched it with Clara's burnt one and pretended it was Clara's. Clara asked the Doctor what he was going to bring, and then he grumbled for a while, before disappearing into the TARDIS and plucking out a bottle of wine from 1841. Clara told him it was expensive. The Doctor informed her he'd picked it up for half a chicken. She'd then realised it was from 1841 BC and told him it was priceless. He grumbled a bit more and went back into the TARDIS, finally re-emerging with the other half of the chicken. She went round the corner shop and picked up a bottle.
Still grumbling, as Clara had made him change out of his normal clothes and into a black and white suit and bow tie and wouldn't let him take the TARDIS with them, the Doctor handed the valet his coat, having being warned by Clara not to leave anything in the pockets. The Doctor had spent an hour fishing around for a baby duckling he had stored somewhere. Clara had wanted to wring his neck and informed him she was going to buy him a normal sized jacket. He insisted it was normal, but the pockets weren't. She told him that was what she'd meant. Nevertheless, he'd slipped his sonic into his jacket pocket. He hated the idea of defying Clara but he hated the idea of being shorn from his screwdriver, even for the night more. What if he needed it? Clara wouldn't object if it saved her from a humiliating dress failure or the like.
It was a wonderful evening, Clara thoroughly enjoyed it and she suspected the Doctor did too, as much as he grumbled. People commented on how lovely a couple they were, the food was delicious, Clara got more than a little drunk and they danced. It was nearly eleven by the time that the Doctor pulled Clara away from the dance floor and they sat down on a table, watching the antics of the evening unfold. Clara grabbed another glass of wine and the Doctor smirked despite himself.
"What're you smirking at Chin-Boy?" she asked, slurring her words slightly. "Don't you ever get drunk?"
"Clara, I'm over a thousand years old," he pointed out. "I have developed a tolerance for alcohol way above that of the human race. We Time Lords are notorious drinkers."
The Doctor woke up with a stinking hangover, so torrential he thought his head had split.
"Clara!" he yelled, wincing at the sound of his own voice. "I think I was spiked by a Raboston brain-fuddling drug. It's the only possible explanation for the pain in my skull!"
"No you idiot," she groaned from the toilet where she was lurched over the bowl. "You just had too much to drink." She stopped speaking to wretch, the Doctor looking away as she vomited into the toilet. "You claimed your Time Lord stomach could handle anything, so I filled you up with wine and tequila. In your defence, you did better than Tom. Poor sod passed out after two shots."
"I am the Oncoming Storm!" the Doctor informed her, stumbling to his feet and straightening his bow tie.
The Oncoming Storm promptly vomited on Clara's carpet. Groaning, the Doctor crawled into the bathroom and joined Clara at the toilet bowl. She shook her head, pointing upwards to the sink. She looked as bad as he felt, bits of sick in her hair and down her face and clothes. She was still wearing the dress from last night, but it was stained with mud and sick. Her hair was all over the place and what remained of her makeup was streaked like something out of a horror movie.
"You look lovely dear," the Doctor informed her, before unleashing the contents of his stomach into Clara's sink. She shot him a tired version of her usual death stare but he didn't notice, as he tried to focus on stopping his head spinning. "I'm sure I have something for this in the TARDIS…"
"I have something for this in the kitchen," Clara informed him. "A shot of brandy, a dark black coffee and a bacon sandwich. It's your turn."
The Doctor groaned as he staggered to the kitchen. As he opened the fridge, he nodded to the group of five Adipose sat on Clara's sofa. He then did a double-take. Adipose? On Clara's sofa? The Doctor's eyes widened. Well how did they get there? He ran over to them and found they were jumping on top of a small DVD in a black case. The Doctor put the DVD into the player and flicked on the TV.
"Oh God," he muttered. It was Clara, dancing. Topless. She was surrounded by about five different alien species. A few Malmooth, a couple of Zocci and Vinvocci floating around, what looked like a Graske, some Catpeople and a Judoon. Then, sure enough, the Doctor staggered onto screen, grabbing Clara and dragging her into the kitchen, out of view of the camera. When they returned, they were both ruffled and the Doctor was grinning. It was obvious what they had been doing.
"Alright you lot," he shouted. "Back off home, come on! Not you Adipose, you can stay, you're only little after all. Come on, everyone back to the TARDIS! Even you, you sneaky little Zocci…"
The video ended and the Doctor took a deep breath. He went back into the kitchen and did as Clara ordered, taking a shot of brandy and saving one for her (she was going to need it) and making two cups of strong coffee and two bacon sandwiches. He demolished his bacon quickly and took Clara's upstairs for her on a tray, with a plate of little chocolates as well. He also decided to utilise Mrs Alberry's rose bush, as he reckoned he was going to need the backup. He smiled warmly at her, feeling a lot better already but simultaneously wanting to be anywhere other than where he was. Clara was going to kill him. Why on earth it was his fault was beyond him but inevitably he'd get the blame. It was his spaceship after all. Maybe he could blame the TARDIS…
"Hmm, Doctor this is delicious," Clara was brightening up already. "And the flowers are lovely. Thank you so much! Wait a minute…" she froze. "What did you do?"
"Me?" the Doctor cried exasperatedly. "Why are you assuming I did something?"
"Because you're being extra nice, so you feel guilty about something. What? What happened?"
"Now Clara," the Doctor started. "Before you get all angry and shouty and do that face you do, yes that exact face there!" he pointed at her face but realised his mistake and gulped. "I want you to bear in mind that no harm was done, your house is fine, we're fine and we were both very, very drunk. Therefore, I feel any responsibility should be shared evenly between us, even though it's your fault I was drunk…" Her eyes were narrowed to slits at this point. "It's a possibility that we may have taken the TARDIS out for a spin. Now I know that drink-driving is illegal where you come from, but fortunately there's no such law against TARDISing and driving. And if there was, there'd be nobody to enforce it. Except me. And let's face it; I can hardly stop myself from TARDISing and driving right?"
"We went off in the TARDIS?" she quizzed. "While hammered?"
"Yes. And then we had a party. Here. And we invited some neighbours. And by neighbours, I mean neighbouring species. From other planets. That really aren't near Earth at all. Or even from the same time period some of them. So really, when you think about it, they weren't neighbours at all."
Clara's eyes bulged and her head slumped. She groaned and threw her head into her hands.
"I can't believe this," she sighed. "What on earth was I thinking getting you drunk? Nothing's broken yeah? None of the neighbours saw?"
"Well," the Doctor pointed out. "If they did see, they'd have just assumed that we were throwing a party with some costumed friends, not real aliens. That would be far too implausible. And if it makes you feel better, from the video it looked like you enjoyed yourself…Oh and kudos on the new tattoo! I love it. The likeness is uncanny!"
"I got a tattoo?" Clara's eyes looked like they were going to pop out of her head. "What of, where? Wait, did you just say there was a video?"
This was the most humiliating moment of Clara's life. She watched as she was groped by a Vinvocci, slugged him out for it and then had the Doctor drag her away kicking and screaming. She and the Doctor had had sex on her kitchen floor, there had been balls of fat in her living room and to top it all off, she even had the bastard's face tattooed on her back. Why on earth anyone would want the Doctor's face tattooed on them was a mystery to Clara. The Doctor had disappeared. He insisted it was to clean up their mess and check the TARDIS records but she suspected he was desperate to avoid her wrath. Not that it was his fault. Well more his fault than hers at any rate. While he was gone, she scrubbed the house from top to bottom, deleted the video and searched for any signs of further indiscretion. She apologised to the neighbours, most of who weren't that bothered and had a long hot bath, irritated to no end to realise that the Doctor's face was still stubbornly stuck to her back. The Doctor had scanned it and confirmed it was in fact, a real tattoo but as he put it: "Only a flimsy human one."
The sound of the TARDIS materialising woke Clara from sleep. She'd taken a quick nap after cleaning and it was almost 3 in the afternoon. Thank God they didn't have school, or she'd never have made it. That said, over half the teachers would also have had to call in sick. Most of them had barely been able to stand…
"Right, Clara!" the Doctor burst in with a grin. "I've checked the TARDIS logs and made sure everyone's back where they should be. We started off by going to a world famous tattoo parlour in the US; luckily I was too squeamish to get the needle according to the lovely man who owned the place. Then, we went to an intergalactic bar where we invited everyone to a Time Lord party, which they couldn't resist. Then, when we dropped them all back at the bar, except the Adipose, we headed to Vegas, back in the 90s. I asked around, turns out we went to a really cool chapel and met a brilliant Elvis impersonator. Look, he gave me this fake marriage license, how cool is that? Clara, you look a little pale…"
"Doctor," Clara was trembling. "You do realise, that we actually got married? In Vegas? Really, actually, properly married? We're married. It even says on it: Doctor John Oswald and Mrs Clara Oswald. We've been married for 17 years!"
"Oh," the Doctor grinned. "So we have. Listen, I stopped off at a future supply store, rubbing this cream over your tattoo will dissolve it in 12 hours. You may have a slight rash, but that's clear up in no time. Side-effects include: nausea, heart-attack, hair falling out…"
"Doctor, shut up!" Clara snapped, grabbing the cream off him. "We're married. What're you going to do about it?"
"Oh," he looked surprised. "Do we have to do something about it? I kind of like the idea of being married. You can be Mrs Doctor. Mrs Doctor Oswald. Clara Doctor-Oswald. Aren't names fun Clara?"
"If that TARDIS isn't dematerialising in ten seconds," she said through gritted teeth. "I am going to go in there and set fire to every single bow tie, fez and stetson I can find. And if you think I'm going to so much as think about doing that thing we did the other night, ever again, then you are sadly mistaken. So get in that TARDIS and unless the first words I hear when you get back are: 'We aren't married anymore!', then I am going to your one remaining bow tie, the one currently around your neck and choke you with it. Are we clear?"
"Yes Mrs Doctor," the Doctor replied, acting like a naughty child caught stealing sweets. She threw a pillow at him and he ran, haring out the house as Clara chased him, throwing random bits of bric-a-brac playfully and laughing despite herself. As the TARDIS dematerialised, Clara couldn't help but smile. She was married. Married to the Doctor. Her Doctor. It wasn't even an odd notion, not to her. But if they were going to get married, she wanted to do it properly. She wanted her Dad, Angie, Artie, and all of her friends there beside her. She giggled to herself at the thought of it and settled down on the sofa. She grabbed the cream that the Doctor had given her, checking the instructions. Thankfully, he had been kidding about the side-effects, although she would have to put up with a rash for a few days. She'd make him apply it when he got back, she decided. Grinning smugly, she lounged and flicked on the TV, grabbing the brandy bottle and taking a swig to hold back the rapidly recovering hangover. She heard a knock at the door and rolled her eyes. He'd taken his time.
"I hope you're about to tell me we're not married anymore!" she said, crossing her arms as she flung open the door. She faltered in shock as a man who wasn't the Doctor stood on her doorstep. He was tall, dark and very handsome. He wore an old, blue army jacket and grinned cheekily. When he spoke, he had an American twang to his voice.
"Don't worry love, you're not the first girl to answer the door to me that way and you won't be the last either," he winked and she felt her stomach lurch. She wasn't sure if that was his charm or the bacon. "Captain Jack Harkness. And you must be Clara Oswald."