Fic: Poor Little Greenie
Poor Little Greenie
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Jo Grant, Third Doctor, the UNIT chaps and ladies
Rating: PG
Word Count: 594
Warnings: The kinds of shenanigans you'd expect from a UNIT Christmas party
Author's Note: A Christmas fic present for tumblr user fabledquill. Enjoy!
UNIT’s Christmas parties were... an experience, to say the least, and this year was no exception. The fact that Jo Grant, assistant to the Doctor and all-round ray of sunshine, was on her fourth - or it might have been her sixth, come to think of it - glass of punch, it was safe to say that the party was winding down.
Following an impromptu musical interlude, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart (Jo would never have guessed he even knew who David Bowie was, let alone that he knew all the words to Jean Genie) seemed to have found himself engaged in a conversation with Captain Yates that was so engrossing, they must have decided to wander off to continue their discussions in private. Sergeant Benton was sobbing to Corporal Bell about just how much he loved absolutely everyone, and as for Jo, she was discovering just how comfortable the floor was to lie on, if only it would stop moving. She had not seen where the Doctor had gone.
Jo liked the Doctor very much. He was warm and clever and sweet; a bit peculiar, to be sure, but where was the fun in a life without peculiarity? Besides, something about all that velvet he wore was almost a bit sexy... why, she thought, if he had been there just then, she might well have just - but the floor had lured her to sleep before she could finish the thought.
The next thing she knew, she seemed to be floating through the air. It was a long moment before she realized that she was being supported by a pair of strong arms, and that her head resting against a warm shoulder that smelled softly of sandalwood, honey, and what Jo assumed must have been an especially fine scotch. Suddenly, she found herself being gently settled onto a soft surface, and she snuggled in with a sigh. She could hear the Doctor’s soothing voice, as she felt herself being covered with what felt like a warm blanket.
“There we are, that’s much more comfortable. Good night, Jo,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss against her cheek and smoothing down her hair. She could have chosen to wake then, get up and say something, but she was much, much too tired to go anywhere, and besides, it still felt as though the room around her was turning much faster than the earth ought to have been. UNIT would investigate it in the morning, she thought.
It was morning - or it might well have been afternoon - by the time Jo awoke. She let out a loud groan as she stretched her beleaguered muscles and attempted to sit upright. Her head was swimming, and it felt vaguely as though her brain had swollen to a size slightly too large to fit comfortably inside her skull. Her memories of the previous night were beginning to blur together at the edges. Her blanket, it turned out, was the Doctor’s cape; she shrugged it around her shoulders, still cold from sudden wakefulness.
“Ah, there you are, Jo,” grinned the Doctor, leaning against the doorway, shaking her out of her hazy ruminations. “You’re up just in time for the traditional UNIT Christmas after-party breakfast fry-up. Come on.”
“Thanks, Doctor,” Jo smiled, taking the Doctor by the elbow and stepping gingerly down the corridor to the front entrance, where their friends waited to walk with them to the pub. “All I want in the world right now is scrambled eggs, hot buttered toast, and lots of strong coffee.”
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Jo Grant, Third Doctor, the UNIT chaps and ladies
Rating: PG
Word Count: 594
Warnings: The kinds of shenanigans you'd expect from a UNIT Christmas party
Author's Note: A Christmas fic present for tumblr user fabledquill. Enjoy!
UNIT’s Christmas parties were... an experience, to say the least, and this year was no exception. The fact that Jo Grant, assistant to the Doctor and all-round ray of sunshine, was on her fourth - or it might have been her sixth, come to think of it - glass of punch, it was safe to say that the party was winding down.
Following an impromptu musical interlude, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart (Jo would never have guessed he even knew who David Bowie was, let alone that he knew all the words to Jean Genie) seemed to have found himself engaged in a conversation with Captain Yates that was so engrossing, they must have decided to wander off to continue their discussions in private. Sergeant Benton was sobbing to Corporal Bell about just how much he loved absolutely everyone, and as for Jo, she was discovering just how comfortable the floor was to lie on, if only it would stop moving. She had not seen where the Doctor had gone.
Jo liked the Doctor very much. He was warm and clever and sweet; a bit peculiar, to be sure, but where was the fun in a life without peculiarity? Besides, something about all that velvet he wore was almost a bit sexy... why, she thought, if he had been there just then, she might well have just - but the floor had lured her to sleep before she could finish the thought.
The next thing she knew, she seemed to be floating through the air. It was a long moment before she realized that she was being supported by a pair of strong arms, and that her head resting against a warm shoulder that smelled softly of sandalwood, honey, and what Jo assumed must have been an especially fine scotch. Suddenly, she found herself being gently settled onto a soft surface, and she snuggled in with a sigh. She could hear the Doctor’s soothing voice, as she felt herself being covered with what felt like a warm blanket.
“There we are, that’s much more comfortable. Good night, Jo,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss against her cheek and smoothing down her hair. She could have chosen to wake then, get up and say something, but she was much, much too tired to go anywhere, and besides, it still felt as though the room around her was turning much faster than the earth ought to have been. UNIT would investigate it in the morning, she thought.
It was morning - or it might well have been afternoon - by the time Jo awoke. She let out a loud groan as she stretched her beleaguered muscles and attempted to sit upright. Her head was swimming, and it felt vaguely as though her brain had swollen to a size slightly too large to fit comfortably inside her skull. Her memories of the previous night were beginning to blur together at the edges. Her blanket, it turned out, was the Doctor’s cape; she shrugged it around her shoulders, still cold from sudden wakefulness.
“Ah, there you are, Jo,” grinned the Doctor, leaning against the doorway, shaking her out of her hazy ruminations. “You’re up just in time for the traditional UNIT Christmas after-party breakfast fry-up. Come on.”
“Thanks, Doctor,” Jo smiled, taking the Doctor by the elbow and stepping gingerly down the corridor to the front entrance, where their friends waited to walk with them to the pub. “All I want in the world right now is scrambled eggs, hot buttered toast, and lots of strong coffee.”