Challenge Three: "The Doctor and Rose get very drunk and end up doing something stupid"
Author's Note: I'm oddly fond of it this. Oh, and the Doctor isn't (that) out of character in this one, it's just a Time Lord's version of a hangover (ie, he becomes more happy-go-lucky and the world is full of bright happy sunshine all the time and nothing is ever sad... etc... it's surprising he didn't get drunk after the Time War. For all I know, he did) Anyway ahem I bring you...! Tenth Doctor (and a rather hungover Rose)
III. Sin City
Rose had not awoken with a hangover in a very, very long time. The last time would have been Shareen's eighteenth, where the entire lot of them had got completely hammered and woken up with only vague memories of what was supposedly a very fun night, despite the fact that a good few of them were under the age limit.
Of course, that would have been some time ago and considering she hadn't really had a drink in about a year or so (at least), it was not surprising to wake up and find her head feeling as though some bastard was hitting it with a sledgehammer, while his mate drilled a hole in her brain from the inside out.
She reached a groggy hand to her frizzy, tangled mass of hair and winced – even movement sent pain shooting right the way through her temples. She felt sick, horribly so, and tired like she had just spent the last twenty hours in a room with very bright lights and taking nothing but sleeping pills. Her throat was raw, as if a good part of the time beforehand had been used to chuck up whatever it was she had been drinking.
It hurt to think. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to simply live.
It was all she good to just lie there and survive, curled up in the suffocating warmth of her bed. And, Rose realised after a moment or two, she needed the toilet. Well, it would have to wait, because there was no way she was risking moving a muscle until the aching throb of every organ in her body had stopped.
She couldn't even remember... well, anything. If she tried – which she wished she wouldn't, because her head screamed bloody murder at her for the effort – she could just about remember stumbling out of the TARDIS with the Doctor, heading to... to somewhere... with lots of lights and music and sounds and cat-calls and alcohol. Oh, yes. Lots and lots of alcohol.
Rose shut her eyes in an attempt to drown out everything that was alive in her room. Perhaps if she could just pretend she were dead, it might happen, and she would be spared the horrific feeling of a skewer being injected right the way down her body, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
She had just about managed to convince herself that her heart had stopped beating when her bedroom door banged open wildly and loudly, and an over ecstatic man with shrill, sing-song voice and ridiculous grin waltzed into the room. Rose felt like just about every single nerve in her body had shattered into millions of shards which were now tearing at every part of her they could reach.
"Wakey wakey, rise and shine!" called a rapturous voice, singing a song of merriment in its greeting.
Rose couldn't open her eyes, could barely even groan out his name in disdain.
The voice got closer until it was practically suffocating her, and then the light depth changed and she got the distinct impression he was standing over her. With impressive effort, she managed to open her eyes. A large face swam completely into view, two round eyes, a well accentuated nose and full lips that were pulled back into a devastating grin.
"Hello!" he said loudly, staring at her intensely.
She could have murdered him, given the strength. Of all the times to bound in and wake her with a loud voice and attitude that made her want to throw up, he had to choose the one morning where she felt ill enough to just drip out of bed.
"Doctor..." she complained with a whine.
He straightened and grinned, rapping his knuckles on the side of her head.
"You, sleepy head, have been asleep for hours," he grinned, seeming to completely miss her reluctance to want him in her bedroom. "Wasn't last night just fantastic? Honestly, I've never felt such a buzz like that before, Rose! That was one of the most incredible nights of my – "
"Just shut up," Rose snapped bitterly, bringing her hand to her head again in an attempt to try and stop the persistent headache he had just made worse – it felt a bit like world war three in there.
The Doctor looked wounded. "What's got in to you, then, moody pants? You seemed perfectly happy with my ramblings last night. Oh, don't give me that look Rose." He grinned when she shot daggers at him. "Don't tell me you didn't just love it too. Go on, I dare you; say you didn't! It was amazing!"
"Doctor!" Rose shouted through her sore throat, which only made it worse. "Either shut up or fetch me some paracetamol, yeah?"
His face instantly dropped.
"Paracetamol?" he asked worriedly, sitting down beside her on the bed with a bounce. Rose felt her stomach threaten her violently and she screwed her eyes shut. "What's wrong?" the Doctor asked.
Too busy fighting the rising tide in her gut, Rose couldn't answer.
The Doctor, frowning slightly, reached out a hand to her forehead.
"Good God," he muttered quietly, brushing his thumb over her forehead. He recoiled then grinned again, his voice hitting about thirty on the decibel scale. "You're absolutely boiling. Did you know that?"
"Yes!" she shot tersely through closed eyes, then instantly slapped a hand to her mouth.
"Dear me, Rose, you really are awful today, aren't you? What's the matter? 'Girly problems'? Oh, I bet it is, isn't it? It's your time of the month! You know, that's always fascinated me, that has. Maybe one of these days you could sit me down and expl– "
"Hang – Over!" she choked from behind her hand, too tired and disorientated to correct him further.
The Doctor's eyes widened with wonder. "Really?" he asked loudly with a large, boyish grin and an excited tint in his voice. "Fascinating. I don't think I've ever seen you with a hangover before, Rose. Isn't it wonderful? I love hangovers, really. One of my favourite parts about drinking – hangovers are fantastic! Wouldn't you say? Nothing beats an uplifting experience like that. Well, except maybe last night when – "
"If you don't shut up," Rose hiccuped, sliding her hand from her mouth, "I am gonna ram that tie down your throat. Got it?"
The Doctor blinked. "You're not really on top of your game today, are you? You may not have noticed, but I'm not wearing a tie."
Rose groaned and rolled over onto her side, her back facing the Doctor. She couldn't deal with him right now. She wanted to just lie here forever, drowning and possibly even dying, and hoping for the loud, horrible man to just sod off and go away.
She reached sleepily to her temple, where the man in her head had started drilling again. Something cool grazed her cheek and, confused, she opened an eye and blearily looked at her hand.
What she saw made her blood run cold and her sickness to fall away enough that she could sit up in bed with a startled jump. Everything still hurt, but suddenly, this was much more important. She began panting heavily, staring at her hand, her fingers spread wide as she gaped.
"Doctor," she gasped, eyes wide with fright. "Doctor, what the hell is that?"
The Doctor – who had seemingly gone off into a ramble for his own purposes – stopped mid sentence and looked at her.
He hummed laughingly and grinned, tilting his head affectionately and looking at Rose with an open-mouthed smile.
"Oh, that's nothing," he smiled happily, his lazy grin adding a lilt to his voice. "That's just your wedding ring."
Her mouth fell open in terrified surprise and she turned in her bed to look at him.
"Wed – Wedding ring?!" she practically shouted. "Why do I have a wedding ring, Doctor?"
The Doctor giggled. "Your voice has gone all high," he laughed hysterically. He then held up his hand, too, holding it next to hers in the air.
"I've got one too," he smiled stupidly, wiggling his fingers. "It's pretty. Don't you think it's pretty, Rose?"
She couldn't answer. She was transfixed with horror. Oh God. How did...? How?
"Rose?" the Doctor asked again with a grin.
The Doctor heaved an exaggerated sigh, then bounded up off the bed.
"Tell you what, though," he smirked, turning his hand over to stare at the golden band on his fourth finger, "I always wanted to get married in Vegas."
Author's Note: You're probably going to think I'm mad after that. I probably am. Nonetheless, I enjoyed writing them and, like I said, they are not to be taken seriously. It's all the name of good-humoured fic making. Want to challenge me? Feel free to head over my LJ and do just that.