Title: 357 Conversations (About One Thing)
Rating: a good PG-13 for the "(About One Thing)" part
Characters: Ten, and sort of Rose
Summary: No matter how you look at it, its still a different species.
Author's Note: I suppose I can blame this on reading too much fic obsessing over the Doctor's love life. I was then struck with a plague of realism.
A long, long, long longlonglong long, long long time ago, Rose, we're talking so very very very very long ago, when I was a young woman—
Oh, come on, Rose, don't— you must have kno—
Well, alright. At least suspec—
Alright. Alright! No, I can hear you're upset, so we'll begin again and I'll be— less clear this time. A very long long longlonglong time ago, when I was a young Time Lord (and keeping in mind that 'Time Lord' does not instantly preclude said Time Lord from being whichever gender they so desire)— He took a deep breath. He'd said that last bit rather quickly.
Yes, I'm getting to the point. I had this friend, you see, and we spent rather a lot of time together, and I was as I said quite young and naive and not at all the galaxy-wise traveler I am today, and quite sexy too if I do say so myself. Anyway this friend and I, we were together, I trust I do not have to draw you a diagram—
Yes, as you say, it would be quite an impossible feat at this distance, but many things are impossible. Many things are impossible and many things are feats, and that doesn't stop—
Right, moving along then. Quite far along, actually, I must have been— ooh—" He squinched his eyes, his forehead, his face, turned upwards to scrutinize the ceiling. "Quite near a hundred. Had just found my first grey hair, which was a shock, as you might imagine— because I don't think you'll have had that particular horror yet— and I know I said its just not the same sort of biological imperative as with you lot, but all the same I did begin to look at the situation with a new urgency you might say. Here I was in the springtime of my first regeneration, no one on my arm and— well, I took a lot of long walks and cold showers, but neither helped because the woods where I walked were meeting places for the trysts and gambles of others, and the showers were at that time simultaneously communal and co-ed," he sighed, "which didn't particularly help the whole safe-sex campaign that had been put in place at the universtiy, but then universities are known hotbeds of, well, hot beds and really we only attended the biology lectures so we could shout out 'boobs!' from the back of the class.
Yes, I swear I have a point, Rose, actually— nevermind. Leaving it lie.
We are positively surrounded by double entendres, do you realize? Horrible awful ones. Tempting ones too. That is not the issue. This is the issue.
Later on I met this girl at University. She liked me quite a lot, I was a strapping lad in those days, and strapping was still new enough to be kinky so I had lots of friends. She had abortive antennae, some genetic throwback, I used to know a man with one leg and two, well, aren't we glad we didn't go that route. Would have been very difficult to walk. They, the antennae that is, used to stand straight up at the sight of me. Oh, Rose, she was so warm and buttery soft and smooth like honey on biscuits on a Sunday morning, not that we had your actual Sunday mornings as our pompous elders had just banned the week-end, but it was more like Tuesday afternoon delight.
Yes, Rose. I'm sorry I inadvertently brought that particularly memory up. You must tell me more about this Jimmy Stones sometime, he sounds an interesting fellow.
Moving right along, there was a variety of conquests at University because that's what we were there for anyway. I can't remember any of their names.
Then there was Romana. Rose, did I ever tell you about Romana? She dumped me for another reality. The other reality had a flash car, she said. I was never sure what I could believe, with Romana, because she also said she found chest hair to be sexy, so she set out to regenerate with some. Things were just never the same after that.
Lots of things about me are sexy, Rose, but the chest hair's appeal is negligible, don't you think?
And then. Well, Rose, I never told you about that time on Betelguese 7 when I met up with a colony of Time Lord nuns and introduced nipple-piercing, did I? It exploded soon thereafter. The planet, not the nipple, I was very hygienic.
No, I won't stop talking now. This is the 357th time we've attempted this conversation, Rose, now lets do it properly since we've gotten this far. No sense turning back now. You must have known where I'm going with this. My past record shows—
I disagree. I strongly disagree, but you are entitled to your opinion that I am a pompous bleedin' sod, if that's really the language you insist on using.
My past record shows that I am not asexual. Far from it. I am fully functional. I am all systems go. I am quite the stud muffin.
Yes, I know you didn't want that to be my next word.
Yes, I'm aware of that.
Yes, I agree, it is as bad as 'nevertheless.' Nevertheless — I'm not saying I don't find you attractive, because I do, or I did, or I have on occasion been quite— well, listen.
In order to listen you must hush.
No matter how you look at it, its still a different species.
I realize I am not being clear enough for you. There is not really a polite analogy, nothing that serves as an accurate or relevant comparison. Unless, well.
You know how you have laws against bestiality on your planet?
I told you, Rose, different species. And while I may qualify in some ways as a bit of a deviant from the norm, I am not actually—
Oh, Rose, don't be like that— and don't tell your mother—
As the other line hung up, the Doctor stared at the receiver in perplexity and growing horror. He'd never been quite so relieved to be having a conversation over the phone instead of in person.
The lock on the door was going to come in handy, too.