Chapter Text
Apparently, trousers made by the TARDIS from bits of old Dalek left lying around after a skirmish in the year 200100 are really cool in the minds of Internet music stars of 2013.
Rory stumbles onto the stage, looking rather dazed, and has to be prompted to “hold the trophy high” as described in the lyrics. (Fortunately, nobody seems to realise how dead a giveaway this is that he'd never even heard of Jonathan Coulton before tonight.)
Amy clambers up, still in her sparkling harem-pants – Rory stops the bouncers from kicking her off, reassuring them that she actually is his wife – and kisses him in front of the crowd, who go wild.
The Doctor (who has added a holographic swirling multicoloured pattern of some sort to his trousers and braces) scrambles up after her before anyone notices, kisses Rory (the crowd go even more wild, and several people faint with joy), then grabs the trophy and peers at it from all angles before taste-testing it.
Rory eases the trophy away from the Doctor, promising that he can play with it later; the Doctor gets bored with sulking after three seconds, and decides to throw his arms round both Ponds and jump up and down in excitement instead.
The after-concert party goes on until the early hours, and it's just as well that the Doctor metabolises alcohol rapidly because the Ponds are far too drunk by the end of it to come up with an excuse for why they don't have a cabin on this ship.
They sneak off to the TARDIS as subtly as is possible when two of you are starting to transition from “very drunk” to “horribly hungover” while the third is twice as hyperactive as normal due to over-excitement.
As the humans begin to groan at the take-off noise, the Doctor proudly announces that he knows where and when they can get the best hangover cure in all time and space.
This statement is not greeted with the declarations of eternal loyalty he'd expected. Quite the opposite, in fact.
In retrospect, he probably shouldn't have shouted it.