"Oh, my," said the limp-wristed, pretty fellow in the pinstriped suit, "I'd had no idea I'd get here and meet me. And by 'me,' I mean 'you,' of course."
"Indeed." The Doctor sat on the sparse jail-cell cot and stared him up and down, wondering how many lifetimes ahead this one was. He had the type of male body that early twenty-first century gay slang might call a "twink"; something of a negative word with positive connotations. The earlier Doctor himself was leaning toward the positive, despite the London accent. "Then I would suppose I am going to come out of this alive, which cheers me greatly."
"Oh, it won't be long 'til the place blows," the later Doctor assured him with callous good humor. "I'm just here investigating alternate universes. Shame I can only seem to get to the ones that've already been destroyed."
"Oh," said the earlier Doctor. "Pity."
"Don't worry," his later self said. "You'll get out all right, in a couple of hours."
"In the meantime, we find ourselves in close quarters." The Doctor gave his best gentle, hopeful smile.
"Oh, bloody hell!" said the later incarnation. He tumbled himself into the other Doctor's lap with a gleeful grin. "Everyone wants to shag me!"
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