Who: Tenth Doctor and TARDIS When: The morning after the luau Where: Gwen and 10’s place What: Tara wakes up in John’s bed. Rating: PG Status: Complete.
Tara couldn’t exactly give you the reasons why she hadn’t a) woken up in her bed that morning, or b) woken up on John and Gwen’s couch. As she stretched and opened her eyes, waking up considerably early on a Sunday, she was greeted with a brand new sight. John’s room, in John’s bed -- somewhere she’d never slept before. If she’d ever slept over at their place before, she’d either stayed with Gwen or on the couch. This was a different level.
Yawning, still groggy from (the very heavy, alcohol-induced coma) sleep, she rolled over onto her side and drew her legs up closer to her chest. Too early. Way too early. She wasn’t ready to be awake just yet.
Neither was John. Not at all. Not one bit. He didn’t even consider the shifting on the other side of his bed -- because he was more concerned about just how dry his mouth was and how dull his head felt. Giving a little groan (had he drank that whole bottle of Malibu? On his own?), he pressed his eyes even more closed and rolled over.
Directly into Tara.
“Owww,” groaned the brunette as his head collided with her forehead. Well, that was certainly a way to wake her up. She pressed a hand to her skull and groaned again as her eyes opened to see the intruder of space. “Jooohn,” she complained, shutting her eyes tight again. She was getting a headache now. Well, to be honest the headache had already started, she was just now more awake to feel it.
She wondered, idly, if her breath smelled as bad as it tasted. Oh well, payback for waking her so rudely. “That huuurt.” Pout.
“Sorr--” John paused before he could even finish his (not very authentic) apology. Opening his eyes and sitting up slightly, he was sort of shocked to find Tara there. Well. That was a new.... thing. It was new. Yes.
“Hello,” he said instead even as he rubbed at his own forehead, because what else could you say?
Tara hadn’t witnessed John’s shocked reaction, but she’d felt the jerky movements through the bed. Opening her eyes, she let her legs stretch back out, still rubbing at her forehead. “G’morning,” she said, not quite smiling because he’d just tried to roll over her.
Had he forgotten she was there? Tara was pretty sure he’d convinced her to stay in his bed last night. Well, okay, her memory was a bit foggy. But she was pretty sure he’d told her not to sleep on the couch. And to sleep in his bed. 85% sure. “How’re you feeling?”
Oh god. Had he 85% invited her to his bed? What happened with the other 15%? Was it just in decision limbo somewhere? Was someone else on the couch? What was going on? “Good morning,” he said, a little vaguely. “I think... I think I’m still drunk.”
“Mmm, yeah,” she mumbled, inching up closer toward him. Tara had a bit of a thought, hoping John had been as drunk as she’d assumed he was last night. This would be a bit evil on her part, but she didn’t mind in this moment. Teasing was one of her favourite things.
Placing an arm over his middle, the brunette smiled up at John. “Last night was amazing.” Let’s just let him assume what she meant by that.
And then John vomited out out spite.
Just kidding.
John gave yet another pause, eyes widening large enough to be little saucers as his mind raced and searched to catch up with what she was saying. “What?” he asked, because he was totally a lady killer, man.
Hopefully a night with Tara didn’t really bring up John’s lunch. Because that would make her sad.
Tara was grinning into John’s side. She was a really bad liar, okay? She didn’t want to ruin her ruse before it had even begun. “I had a really great time,” she began, nuzzling him a bit before turning her head up to look at him. “Really, you were great. Didn’t think it could be that much fun.” She was being vague on purpose. Bad liar, here.
John Smith, on the other hand, nearly fucking preened over the compliments. Until he realized that they were both still wearing clothes (in fact, Tara’s outfit was different than the grass skirt and coconut bra from the night before). And if he knew anything, it was that when he was as drunk as he’d been last night, once he got naked, he was staying naked. “You’re being mean,” he pointed out, deflating a little.
Tara was giggling. Okay, so her lie hadn’t gone over so well. But she was tickled that he’d believed her for at least a little. Giving him a nudge with her nose, she forced him to lie back down on the bed with a hand on his shoulder and rearranged herself to cuddle on him for just a bit. “I’m never mean,” she pointed out, because it was kind of true. “I never said anything specific.
“Besides,” she continued, sighing as she got comfortable. “You’re the one who asked me to sleep in your bed, then forgot I was here.” She wasn’t so oblivious on that one.
Okay, yeah, probably John had forgotten that piece of information there. He was unsure how he could have -- well, beyond the being very drunk part. He stared up at the ceiling thoughtfully, letting his fingers snake lazily through her hair like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You’re right,” he said, agreeing. Because she was never really mean. And probably because he had invited her into his bed. Even if he was having a moment trying to piece it all together.
With an arm over his middle, head on his chest, Tara let her eyes fall closed as he toyed with her hair. That was nice. She should cuddle with John more often. “You really were quite drunk last night, though,” she carried on, smiling lazily. “You were handing out bananas to everyone, telling them not to attend a party without a banana.” She said the word ‘banana’ with such a definite British accent. “Also you’re still wearing the same clothing.” She, on the other hand, had had the sight to change into her oversized button up pyjama shirt.
Hawaiian t-shirts were made to be worn for comfort, so John saw no reason why that was a problem at all. Except for that whole silk thing. He giggled and gave a horizontal shrug over it. “You shouldn’t go to a party without a banana,” he said, in his own defense, even as he scrunched up his face in thought. “Did anyone take one?”
“I did,” she said, thinking back to the moment. “But you didn’t give me much choice. I believe you told me that we couldn’t be friends any longer if I didn’t take a banana. And if I didn’t get my mouth off of Gwen’s.” She was laughing at that particular memory. Perhaps she was still drunk too? Usually Tara might have been blushing at that. Or maybe she was just comfortable enough with John to tell him anything.
Either way, she was giggling a bit uncontrollably.
Her laugh was infectious, seriously. John giggled a little himself, although it was an abashed sort of noise. He did remember walking in on that kiss. He did not however remember making that sort of ultimatum. But her telling him that it’d been said did not really shock him, so it must have been true. “Yeah, welllll,” he said, elongating the L for an emphasis on awkwardness!
Awkward is okay. It’s healthy. She pulled herself away from him, rolled over and grabbed something from the bedside table. Rolling back over, she put her chin on his chest and wiggled the banana in the air in front of him. “Can we still be friends, then?”
Why was it not at all shocking that there was a banana on his bedroom floor? He gave a little groan and patted Tara on the head. “I’ll see what I can manage,” he said somewhere between playful and just plain hungover.
Tara had kept the banana, because John had advised her not to eat it just yet, to save it for when she absolutely had to eat something. Apparently potassium was important for alcohol consumption? Who knows man. Friendship party bananas. John had rules for them.
Pouting at John’s reply, Tara set the banana down and made that face at him. “See what you can manage? You don’t want to be friends anymore?” Let’s see if he could take the teasing right back.
There had to be rules for friendship party bananas. If there were no rules, the whole world would go all willy-nilly about it. And no one (NO ONE) would be able to handle something like that. “It depends,” he said, raising his eyebrows at her mischievously. “Do you like crepes?”
“Who doesn’t enjoy crepes?” was all she asked, because seriously, crepes are fucking delicious. Whoever denies this is just lying about it. Did this mean that he was going to make her breakfast?
Yeah, he was definitely going to make her breakfast. And mimosas. Because hair of the dog, and all that.