[for the doctor]

[more_flexible]

His high was wearing off by the time Jack returned to the treehouse. Tomorrow was the play and he was still sore even after the rubdown. Mostly he just wanted...he didn't even know what he wanted anymore. He kind of wanted a martini, but that wasn't going to happen.

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[sortofaman.livejournal.com]

Maybe it was the time of year, screw the whole tropical island thing, but the Doctor had been more and more sleepy lately. This afternoon, he'd managed to finish one of the sofas in the main room, upholster it, and try not to think about all of the completely mad shite that was going on.

The last was more wishful thinking. But now he was flopped out on the sofa, reading and really, really missing wet weather, as the book was doing a good job of evoking a Scottish winter: damp and cold. This whole Nice Out thing was getting bloody monotonous.