AN: Ok, this is my first PROPER attempt at an eleven fic. It's not perfect, I'm not going to even try and fool myself that the chracterisations would be completely perfect, but you can't get perfect without a little trial and error. Here's to hoping it's almost perfect. Anyway, on with the story...

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Amy Pond stared around her surroundings and was suddenly reminded of home town on Earth. Maybe they looked the same everywhere, but she had expected something different. A little bit more alien. She looked at the brochure in the Doctor's hands and then back up again. The picture didn't quite match. Then again, why was she even surprised? She frowned, but followed the Doctor inside who shoved the piece of paper back into the pocket of his tweed jacket.

"You offer to show me all of Time and Space and you end up taking me to a pub."

The Doctor shrugged. "Yes, but a pub in the future; your future, not quite my future. Don't really have a future. Or a past. Or a present. Well, a present in the sense that we are in the present now in this moment but not a present like you have a present which is 2010 Leadworth. Anyway, you have never got to go to a pub in the future, now have you? Plus this is the 34th century and this is the best pub in..." He pulled the brochure out of his pocket again and opened it. The picture caught her eye. The interior of the pub was set in a perfectly taken picture. Reality didn't quite meet the same expectation in Amy's opinion. "Well, this is the best pub in the vicinity. Apparently." He frowned, "I think." He took another quick glance at it before throwing it over his shoulder, "Doesn't really matter."

Neither did the brochure apparently.

Amy took him in with a glance. Although she did trust him, well, mostly, she didn't quite trust him fully; being let down by your imaginary friend repeatedly tended to do that to you. You learned to grow up and being grown up meant not trusting everyone and everything, especially those who let you down. And he had certainly let her down.

Her eyes narrowed. "Why?" asked Amy.

Eyebrows lifting, he glanced at her. "Ok, maybe it does matter to you at least." He paused for a moment in thought, "Well, probably because there's a lot of alcohol and a welcoming feel and good wholesome friendly service. That brochure said so. You can read it if you like; I think it's over there somewhere. I can go get it again if you like."

"No, I mean why have you taken me to a pub?" She stepped closer. Her eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Of course not!"

"Then why did you bring me here?"

He let out a sigh, "I'm still cooking. Just a little bit. And I'm still getting these craving things a bit; not quite used to them yet. I keep craving whiskey. No idea why. Never really drank before, not much at least, but now!" He smiled, manically, "Now, I'm craving whiskey. I never considered myself a whiskey man."

The Doctor sauntered up to the bar, and grinned.

"Whiskey, good sir." The Doctor exclaimed, as he promptly sat in the nearest bar stool.

His fingers tapped quickly on the wooden surface, like an impatient child, as he waited. The barman returned with his drink, kept it in one hand, and held out his other in the universal 'give-me-my-money' gesture.

"Put it on my tab, good sir."

The barman fixed him a steady gaze, "Tabs are for regulars. You're not a regular."

"Ah. Right. Should have expected that."

The Doctor dug into the pocket of his tweed jacket. "I should have some money in here." He pulled out his sonic, new and improved, and dug deeper. Amy stared slightly suspicious as he managed to pull out a black wallet; a bundle of yarn, a rubix cube and an apple, its smiley face stared up at her like an old friend. Amy smiled then quickly hid it before the Doctor could notice it. Finally, he pulled out a bunch of coins, and a button, and dropped it into the barman's open palm.

"You've given me too much." The barman said.

"Make it my tab."

He nodded, and thrust the glass of whiskey into the Doctor's hands. Then he turned to Amy, "What do you want?" The barman asked gruffly. So much for friendly service.

Amy blinked, and said the first drink that popped into her head. "Vodka."

The barman shuffled off and away. She noticed the tail popping out from the end of his trousers. It was thin and blue. She gasped. She'd have to get used to things like that.

Turning back to the Doctor, "How did you fit all that in your pockets?"

"Oh, I fixed it up with the screwdriver. Bigger on the inside now." His eyes were fixed on the glass; anticipation was hidden in his orbs, "Right. Here we go. Down the hatch."

With that he swung up the glass and drained its contents in one go.

He coughed violently as the substance burned his lungs, "Whoa, that hits the spot and promptly sets it on fire." He hit his chest. Then coughed again, "And that did not help at all." He raised the glass, now mostly empty of whiskey, "Who drinks this stuff?" He exclaimed before throwing the remnants of it over his shoulder. "It's disgusting!"

"You're the one who wanted it!" Amy pointed out.

"Well, it's not what I want now and that's all that really matters."

"You know I wouldn't have come with you if you were just going to take me to a pub." Amy said, as she took a seat on the barstool beside him. She idly picked up the black wallet. Opening it she found herself looking at a man who looked nothing like the Doctor. Maybe he'd stolen it. Like his clothes. "Is this yours?" She asked, showing it to him.

"Oh! My library card!" His eyes lit up in delight, "I haven't seen that face for a long while!" He plucked it from her hand, and held it up against his face. "What do you think? I've come along way, right?"

"That's you?"

"Yes, that was my first me." He looked sad for a moment, "I miss that face. Miss them all I suppose, but that was my first. He was my beginning and beginnings are important but we've got to move on from beginnings eventually." His face lit up in a smile again, "Anyway, you've got to admit. I'm more handsome now."

Amy rolled her eyes and picked up her glass.

"What are you having?" He asked, eyeing her drink.

"Vodka, I hope."

He took her glass and sniffed. Then stuck the tip of his finger in and tasted. "That's vodka."

He held it out to her for her to take. She held up her hand, "You can keep it. I'll order another one."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." She nodded, "Definitely."

He took a sip and promptly spat it out. The barman eyed him with a glare. "No spitting." The Doctor nodded, as he attempted to wipe his tongue with his sleeve.

"Vodka is evil.

Amy pursed her lips together and breathed out a sigh, "It's not evil."

"It is." The Doctor insisted, as the barman put another glass of vodka down beside Amy. "Vodka is evil!"

"Then drink something else."

"Fine, I will."

"Good." Amy replied, and took a drink of her vodka with a smile just to prove it wasn't evil. She smacked her lips together, "Mmm...Tasty."

"Evil."

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The Doctor threw his arm around Amy's shoulders. She would've shoved him off if it weren't for the fact that she was probably the only thing keeping him standing.

"You know I love this!" He lifted his glass, and Amy shielded her face away from the smell emanating from it. It stank. Reminded her of Brussels sprouts her aunt has tried to make her eat at Christmas. "This is a drink. Not like yours."He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "Your drink was evil."

"You're drunk."

"Am not!"

"Are too."

With a frustrated sigh, she replied, "I'm not arguing with you."

"I'd win anyway."

Her face scrunched up, angry, "Would not."

"Would too."

"I'm not arguing with you so forget it."

He grinned, triumphant and childlike, "That means I win."

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The Doctor looked around at his surroundings as they walked, mainly staggered on his part, if her were honest. He was leaning heavily against Amy, who was glaring at him. Ooh, he'd made her angry again.

"Sorry." He said, stopping in his tracks.

Her face softened, puzzled by his sudden halt, "For what?"

"For making you wait; didn't mean to make you wait." He pouted, "Engines were fazing; still are in a way. Timing doesn't quite work as well when your engines are fazing. Was meant to be five minutes-"

"Well, you took twelve years!"

"I know."

"And then you left again. Didn't even say goodbye; didn't even think you'd come back."

"Sorry about that too."

"I know." He stared into her eyes for a moment. She thought back two year, to when his hands was on her wrist and a smiling red apple was clutched in her hands. He had asked her to believe him, for twenty minutes. She had, but then he'd left again. She'd only got to have twenty minutes, and a part of her wanted more. A big part of her had wanted more. And now she was getting it. Finally! After so many years waiting for him. It still seemed far too long a wait. "That doesn't mean I forgive you though."

"Not asking you to."

"Good."

"Good." He agreed, then looked around again at his surroundings, "Where are you taking me?"

"Back to the blue box."

"It's called a TARDIS."

"Well, it looks like a blue box."

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"Doctor." She shook his shoulders. He didn't move. Amy tried again. "Doctor."

She slapped him lightly in the face repeatedly.

He groaned.

She stopped slapping.

"Ow!" The Doctor's face scrunched up as he popped a single eye opened, "Did you just slap me?"

"You were unconscious."

"Slapping though, really?" He looked up at her, and then groaned as the light from a nearby lamp met his poor sensitive eyes. He quickly ducked his head back into the shadows. "My head's killing me! Did you hit me in the head with a cricket bat again?"

"No! I did not!" Amy stated, standing up and away from him. As if he had the nerve to say she had caused his headache. He was the one who hadn't stopped drinking last night; never the same thing twice. "You were drunk."

The Doctor scoffed then laughed. "I wasn't drunk. I can't have been drunk. Was I?"

He frowned to himself, more than Amy, who was now leaning against the wall of the bedroom, arms folded across her chest. She wasn't quite sure if it was his bedroom, but it had been the first one she had been able to find when she'd finally managed to drag him back him to the TARDIS. She wasn't going to drag him any further. This bedroom was going to do, whether it was his or not.

"You were drunk." She insisted. It made him frown even more.

No, he thought to himself, he couldn't have gotten drunk. The idea was preposterous. Time Lords didn't get drunk. Not often at least. And it took a hell of a lot more than a few drinks to get one drunk. He hadn't been drunk since-

"Oh."

His voice seemed to match the dawning realisation he had just had. Amy looked up, curious. Maybe he'd finally realised he'd gotten drunk. Or maybe he'd found an excuse to convince himself otherwise. Probably the latter.

"What?" She asked.

"New body, new tastes, new tolerance for alcohol apparently." He looked over to Amy, "How much did I drink? I really can't remember."

"A lot."

"Now, that doesn't quite give me a good idea of how much, now does it?" The Doctor replied, as he gingerly sat up, still avoiding direct contact with the light.

"Well, you'd drink me under the table and probably the whole of Scotland and England as well."

"Oh, that bad." His eyes widened, "Why didn't you stop me?"

"It wasn't my fault you got drunk! You were the one who took me to a pub! You got yourself drunk!"

"Well, it's not my fault. Early days and all, metabolism a bit off but you-" He pointed at her, "You should've been looking out for me."

Amy scoffed, "You can look after yourself."

"Yes, I can, but so can you! You're Scottish. You know how to look after yourself. That means you can look after me too!"

"Maybe I don't want to look after you!" She raised her eyebrows, "Ever thought of that?"

"No." He admitted after a moment of silence. She smiled, successful in her argument, and turned to leave the room, "Any chance of you turning off the light?" He called after her.

Amy turned and grinned, "No!"

And with that she walked out, slamming the door behind her very loudly. He winced.

He was never drinking again, the Doctor decided, cravings or not.

The End

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AN: Reviews are like smiley face apples. Give plentifully. :D