Jackie thrust out her bosom invitingly.
"Nice dress, innit?"
"Umm... yeah," said the Doctor, trying not to look.
"It really pushes me boobs up though," she clarified. "See?"
"You'd know better than I would."
"You're not looking!"
The Doctor looked. More or less. Why had he even let this woman in the TARDIS anyway? He wasn't that desperate for company. Was he?
He worried that she was going to put her back out if she kept pushing her breasts out like that. "They're very... umm... they're very... nice?" he tried.
"Knew you had a good eye on you," she leered.
"Actually," he said, fiddling with the console, "we'd better get you back home. Your kid'll be worried sick about you. I'd hate to have you listed as a Missing Person or something."
"Oh, Rose'll be fine," she said, flicking her hair about in what she probably thought was an incredibly seductive manner. Not for the first time, the Doctor wished he'd regenerated into something a bit more... mature. A bit more weathered. Or female, if that was what it'd take to get shot of this bint. Might be worth a try. Lots of dangerous electrical things round here, after all...
"Anyway," she continued, "you said we was going to the nineteenth century. Blackpool, you said. You promised me Blackpool."
Oh, yes, he remembered that bit. "Anywhere in time and space," he'd said. "Does that mean it can go to Blackpool?" she'd said. And he'd said "Yeah!" He must've been drunk. Sometimes he thought he'd never get rid of the hangover he'd built up when he had that scarf.
Jackie frowned down at her admittedly impressive cleavage.
"You don't think it makes me look like a slapper, do you?"
"No," he lied. "I think you look smashing. Really, really smashing."
"Aww, thanks!" She smacked his arm playfully. "You're a right one you are. Don't think I haven't seen your eyes roaming, sunshine."
This was it, wasn't it? Jackie Tyler was his nemesis in low-cut Victoriana. He'd thought showing her the Earth blowing up might give her a bit of perspective, but she'd just yawned and said it looked more impressive on the telly. And then she'd nicked half his chips.
She moved closer. And closer. And then far too close. She moved a lot faster than you'd think, he had to give her that.
"It must be terrible for you," she fluttered, "all your own sort dead. I know it's not the same for foreigners, but you're not really like other foreign people, are you?"
One of his hearts raced. The other one stopped and hoped the other one would take the hint.
"I've always liked children," she said.
"I know I'm not a teenager, but I've still got me monthlies, if you know what I mean."
"I'm gay!" he said, louder than he'd meant to.
Jackie stared and moved a centimetre away. Which was something, at least.
"Totally gay," he said. "Bent as a Tory MP. Close personal friend of Dorothy. Any further in the closet and I'd be going down the pub with Aslan."
"You can't be gay!"
"Because!" Jackie glared at him and pouted. Actually pouted.
"It's not you, it's me," he said, edging round the console until his personal space was clear of her and her breasts. "It's an alien thing. All aliens are gay."
"Then where do baby aliens come from?"
"Grow them. In a vat."
"Well, I suppose it does make sense. I mean, you're very clean. And you can form sentences."
"Exactly," said the Doctor. He was really impressed with himself.
"Oh, well," she said, "we can still go shopping together and talk about boys."
The Doctor smiled somehow. "Fantastic," he said, and managed not to sound too unconvincing.