(no subject)
There are worse things to do after dying than wake up covered in slime and feeling like you’ve just been digested.
Or he supposed, anyway. He couldn't think of any at the moment, aside from perhaps not waking up at all. Everything felt sort of confused, shaky and distant and not quite right. Calm, like he wasn’t think quite right yet.
He was fairly certain he should be dead. At least, he thought he could remember dying, but there hadn’t been a bright light, just Amy’s tearful face and then nothing.
So what was he doing here?
It only took a moment for panic to set in, panic that hadn’t been spawned by his current state of undress and the prolific and somewhat sticky nature of the alien slime.
Oh, god, the Doctor.
Amy!
Where were they? Where was he? Where were his pants?!
What have you gotten me into this time, Doctor?
Because really, there was no one else to blame. Every weird event in his life could be directly traced back to one mad man in one large blue box.
Just keep Amy safe, deal? Then we’re square. Just keep her safe, that’s all that matters.
He swallowed hard, looking at the slime on his arms, and the warm, moist cavern he was currently occupying. Being eaten was beginning to look more and more likely. How on earth did these things keep happening to him? He was a nurse for God’s sake; he was supposed to be dealing with toddler sticking crayons up their noses and people falling out of trees, not getting eaten by space aliens.
He scowled faintly at the slime, lifting his hand to brush it away and then deciding against it. If there were others around, then the only thing preserving his modesty was the alien snot. “Alright, you, where’s your mouth? I’m getting married tomorrow; I haven’t got time to be eaten.”
Or he supposed, anyway. He couldn't think of any at the moment, aside from perhaps not waking up at all. Everything felt sort of confused, shaky and distant and not quite right. Calm, like he wasn’t think quite right yet.
He was fairly certain he should be dead. At least, he thought he could remember dying, but there hadn’t been a bright light, just Amy’s tearful face and then nothing.
So what was he doing here?
It only took a moment for panic to set in, panic that hadn’t been spawned by his current state of undress and the prolific and somewhat sticky nature of the alien slime.
Oh, god, the Doctor.
Amy!
Where were they? Where was he? Where were his pants?!
What have you gotten me into this time, Doctor?
Because really, there was no one else to blame. Every weird event in his life could be directly traced back to one mad man in one large blue box.
Just keep Amy safe, deal? Then we’re square. Just keep her safe, that’s all that matters.
He swallowed hard, looking at the slime on his arms, and the warm, moist cavern he was currently occupying. Being eaten was beginning to look more and more likely. How on earth did these things keep happening to him? He was a nurse for God’s sake; he was supposed to be dealing with toddler sticking crayons up their noses and people falling out of trees, not getting eaten by space aliens.
He scowled faintly at the slime, lifting his hand to brush it away and then deciding against it. If there were others around, then the only thing preserving his modesty was the alien snot. “Alright, you, where’s your mouth? I’m getting married tomorrow; I haven’t got time to be eaten.”