The Doctor's First Hangover
Title: The Doctor's First Hangover
Characters/Pairing:Ten ll/Rose
Category: Fluff
Rating: All
Word Count: ~ 1100
Summary:Thrown into the world of domestics, Ten 11's experience of drinking
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Author’s Note:I want to say thanks to my lovely beta meremoon! Comments are love! x
First one here - http://kirsty-strachan.livejournal.com/1792.html but you don't need to read it to understand this story.
The Doctor's First Hangover
“Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” Rose repeated for the umpteenth time that night as she fastened her earring.
“Yes,” the Doctor insisted.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Rose queried.
“To listen to a bunch of women gossiping about pointless rubbish and bragging about their latest handbag. I’m sure!” the Doctor clarified. “Why don’t you stay home and keep me company?” He pulled Rose down on top of him.
“As much as I would love to,” Rose confessed, “I haven’t been out with the girls since you arrived and they keep pestering me about you.” Rose ruffled his hair. “But don’t get too big a head.”
She stood up, sorting her dress and checking her hair in the mirror.
“You look beautiful,” breathed the Doctor as he placed butterfly kisses on her neck. Rose sighed blissfully.
“I’ve got to go or I’ll be late,” she replied breathlessly before placing a chaste kiss on his lips. She picked up her handbag and jacket. “I’ll see you later,” she added. “And behave!” she ordered, pointing a finger at him.
“Yes ma’am,” the Doctor saluted.
Rose left the house and a few moments later the Doctor heard the car reverse out of the drive. He picked up the phone and dialled Pete’s number which Rose had made him memorise in case of an emergency.
“Pete, my man! Pete, the proud progenitor of my pulchritudinous partner, Pete, I think you and I are due for a round of this chinwag I'm always hearing about this from human blokes. How about it, big fella? My place, a bottle of spirits, and a whopping big dose of testosterone? What d'you say?...Fantastic! I'll see you soon!”
The Doctor hung up the phone before wandering over to the cupboard and extracting the bottle of vodka that had been placed there earlier that morning. Unscrewing the lid, he smelt it suspiciously before glancing at the label.
“Cheers,” the Doctor said to an empty room before taking a gulp of vodka.
“It burns,” he croaked before taking another mouthful.
Fifteen minutes later, Pete appeared at the door armed with a bottle of wine with a few “lad” magazines. The Doctor greeted Pete and invited him through to the living room.
“I'm in your debt,” Pete informed him as he sat down, glancing about the room nervously. “I really needed an excuse to put some distance between me and that woman.”
“It can’t be that bad,” the Doctor grinned.
“Have you seen Jackie when she is full-power organising dinner parties?” Pete questioned.
“Well… now that you mention it,” The Doctor scratched his ear. “I can just imagine... it’s something to... emm... avoid.”
“You can say that again,” Pete remarked.
“I never understood that woman!” The Doctor laughed. “Well, any woman actually.”
“Do you want to know a secret?” Pete offered.
“Positively,” smiled the Doctor, popping the 'p' as he spoke.
“I don't understand them either! I just leave them to their own devices because we men can’t do anything right.” Pete confided in the Doctor.
“I tried to make our bed the other day and then Rose came bounding in telling me I was doing it all wrong and to leave it to her. The next minute she’s telling me I don’t do enough round the house.” The Doctor admitted “Why do we bother?”
Pete’s phone began to vibrate. “That will be Jacks!” Pete sighed.
“Don’t pick it up you party pooper,” the Doctor pouted, his rebellious streak from Donna started to show.
“Have you met Jackie?” Pete declared. “She will murder me.”
“Well,” the Doctor hesitated. “I don’t want you dead quite yet.” Pete picked up the phone and mumbled a few word of reassurance to Jackie before hanging up.
“Listen, I have to go. Jackie wants me so I can start getting things ready for tomorrow,” Pete sighed. “What’s the point of having staff if Jacks wants me to do everything?”
“Go, go,” the Doctor smiled. “Or you’ll be a soon-to-be-dead man walking!”
An hour later and half the contents of the bottle finished, the Doctor's phone began to ring.
“Hey, how are you?” asked Rose. “Hope you haven’t managed to offend the entire population of table tennis players yet like last time.”
“Meee, go-od,” the Doctor slurred.
“You don’t sound ok,” Rose replied worriedly.
“0, my love is like a red, red rose,
that's newly sprung in June.
0, my love is like a melody,
that's sweetly play'd in tune,” the Doctor sang.
“Ok, that’s enough,” laughed Rose.
“I-I love youuuu! You-you know that, right?” confessed an emotional Doctor.
“I’m coming home,” sighed Rose and she hung up.
“No, you stay! Party! Party!” the Doctor stuttered. “Rose! Rose! Why aren’t you talking to me?”
Ten minutes later, Rose appeared through the door to find the Doctor lying on the floor.
“Rose!” he shrieked. He tried to sit up before a sudden wave of nausea passed through him. “I don’t feel so good!”
“How much have you had to drink?” questioned Rose before seeing the half empty vodka bottle lying on the floor. “Explains a lot!” The Doctor lowered his head in shame. “You git!”
She heaved him onto the sofa, just before he passed out. She placed a blanket over him before making her own way to her bed.
Rose was in the kitchen the next morning. The sun flooded through the window as she worked cooking a fry-up. The radio reverberated in the background and few moments later a dishevelled Doctor appeared in the doorway.
“Can you turn that off?” the Doctor pleaded. “My head's killing me!”
“Do it yourself,” laughed Rose.
“What happened last night?” the Doctor grumbled. “Why was I asleep on the sofa?”
“You drank too much,” reminded Rose. “Vodka isn’t like beer. It’s got a higher percentage of alcohol. Did you read the label?”
“It said 4% on the label,” the Doctor replied.
“Well in this universe that is the same as 40%! You div!” Rose smirked.
“Can you get me some water please?” the Doctor asked.
“You’ve got two hands,” snapped Rose.
“But I’m ill!” the Doctor croaked.
“I have no sympathy for self-inflicted illnesses,” Rose smirked. “Your breakfast is in the pan.”
“Thanks,” the Doctor replied.
“There’s paracetanol in the cupboard,” Rose added.
“I’m never going to drink again,” the Doctor confessed before emptying the contents of his stomach into the sink before passing out.
Rose stifled a laugh, “how come you’ve always got to learn the hard way?”
Characters/Pairing:Ten ll/Rose
Category: Fluff
Rating: All
Word Count: ~ 1100
Summary:Thrown into the world of domestics, Ten 11's experience of drinking
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Author’s Note:I want to say thanks to my lovely beta meremoon! Comments are love! x
First one here - http://kirsty-strachan.livejournal.com/1792.html but you don't need to read it to understand this story.
The Doctor's First Hangover
“Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” Rose repeated for the umpteenth time that night as she fastened her earring.
“Yes,” the Doctor insisted.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Rose queried.
“To listen to a bunch of women gossiping about pointless rubbish and bragging about their latest handbag. I’m sure!” the Doctor clarified. “Why don’t you stay home and keep me company?” He pulled Rose down on top of him.
“As much as I would love to,” Rose confessed, “I haven’t been out with the girls since you arrived and they keep pestering me about you.” Rose ruffled his hair. “But don’t get too big a head.”
She stood up, sorting her dress and checking her hair in the mirror.
“You look beautiful,” breathed the Doctor as he placed butterfly kisses on her neck. Rose sighed blissfully.
“I’ve got to go or I’ll be late,” she replied breathlessly before placing a chaste kiss on his lips. She picked up her handbag and jacket. “I’ll see you later,” she added. “And behave!” she ordered, pointing a finger at him.
“Yes ma’am,” the Doctor saluted.
Rose left the house and a few moments later the Doctor heard the car reverse out of the drive. He picked up the phone and dialled Pete’s number which Rose had made him memorise in case of an emergency.
“Pete, my man! Pete, the proud progenitor of my pulchritudinous partner, Pete, I think you and I are due for a round of this chinwag I'm always hearing about this from human blokes. How about it, big fella? My place, a bottle of spirits, and a whopping big dose of testosterone? What d'you say?...Fantastic! I'll see you soon!”
The Doctor hung up the phone before wandering over to the cupboard and extracting the bottle of vodka that had been placed there earlier that morning. Unscrewing the lid, he smelt it suspiciously before glancing at the label.
“Cheers,” the Doctor said to an empty room before taking a gulp of vodka.
“It burns,” he croaked before taking another mouthful.
Fifteen minutes later, Pete appeared at the door armed with a bottle of wine with a few “lad” magazines. The Doctor greeted Pete and invited him through to the living room.
“I'm in your debt,” Pete informed him as he sat down, glancing about the room nervously. “I really needed an excuse to put some distance between me and that woman.”
“It can’t be that bad,” the Doctor grinned.
“Have you seen Jackie when she is full-power organising dinner parties?” Pete questioned.
“Well… now that you mention it,” The Doctor scratched his ear. “I can just imagine... it’s something to... emm... avoid.”
“You can say that again,” Pete remarked.
“I never understood that woman!” The Doctor laughed. “Well, any woman actually.”
“Do you want to know a secret?” Pete offered.
“Positively,” smiled the Doctor, popping the 'p' as he spoke.
“I don't understand them either! I just leave them to their own devices because we men can’t do anything right.” Pete confided in the Doctor.
“I tried to make our bed the other day and then Rose came bounding in telling me I was doing it all wrong and to leave it to her. The next minute she’s telling me I don’t do enough round the house.” The Doctor admitted “Why do we bother?”
Pete’s phone began to vibrate. “That will be Jacks!” Pete sighed.
“Don’t pick it up you party pooper,” the Doctor pouted, his rebellious streak from Donna started to show.
“Have you met Jackie?” Pete declared. “She will murder me.”
“Well,” the Doctor hesitated. “I don’t want you dead quite yet.” Pete picked up the phone and mumbled a few word of reassurance to Jackie before hanging up.
“Listen, I have to go. Jackie wants me so I can start getting things ready for tomorrow,” Pete sighed. “What’s the point of having staff if Jacks wants me to do everything?”
“Go, go,” the Doctor smiled. “Or you’ll be a soon-to-be-dead man walking!”
An hour later and half the contents of the bottle finished, the Doctor's phone began to ring.
“Hey, how are you?” asked Rose. “Hope you haven’t managed to offend the entire population of table tennis players yet like last time.”
“Meee, go-od,” the Doctor slurred.
“You don’t sound ok,” Rose replied worriedly.
“0, my love is like a red, red rose,
that's newly sprung in June.
0, my love is like a melody,
that's sweetly play'd in tune,” the Doctor sang.
“Ok, that’s enough,” laughed Rose.
“I-I love youuuu! You-you know that, right?” confessed an emotional Doctor.
“I’m coming home,” sighed Rose and she hung up.
“No, you stay! Party! Party!” the Doctor stuttered. “Rose! Rose! Why aren’t you talking to me?”
Ten minutes later, Rose appeared through the door to find the Doctor lying on the floor.
“Rose!” he shrieked. He tried to sit up before a sudden wave of nausea passed through him. “I don’t feel so good!”
“How much have you had to drink?” questioned Rose before seeing the half empty vodka bottle lying on the floor. “Explains a lot!” The Doctor lowered his head in shame. “You git!”
She heaved him onto the sofa, just before he passed out. She placed a blanket over him before making her own way to her bed.
Rose was in the kitchen the next morning. The sun flooded through the window as she worked cooking a fry-up. The radio reverberated in the background and few moments later a dishevelled Doctor appeared in the doorway.
“Can you turn that off?” the Doctor pleaded. “My head's killing me!”
“Do it yourself,” laughed Rose.
“What happened last night?” the Doctor grumbled. “Why was I asleep on the sofa?”
“You drank too much,” reminded Rose. “Vodka isn’t like beer. It’s got a higher percentage of alcohol. Did you read the label?”
“It said 4% on the label,” the Doctor replied.
“Well in this universe that is the same as 40%! You div!” Rose smirked.
“Can you get me some water please?” the Doctor asked.
“You’ve got two hands,” snapped Rose.
“But I’m ill!” the Doctor croaked.
“I have no sympathy for self-inflicted illnesses,” Rose smirked. “Your breakfast is in the pan.”
“Thanks,” the Doctor replied.
“There’s paracetanol in the cupboard,” Rose added.
“I’m never going to drink again,” the Doctor confessed before emptying the contents of his stomach into the sink before passing out.
Rose stifled a laugh, “how come you’ve always got to learn the hard way?”