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“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” said Donna. “Just for a laugh.”
“It doesn’t seem like a laugh,” said the Doctor, wrinkling his nose. “It seems like it’s not my scene.”
“ Alright , well, it’ll be a laugh for me ,” said Donna. She pushed him toward the door. “Besides, it’ll do you good to have a proper shag.”
“I’ve done shagging,” the Doctor protested. He danced out of Donna’s grasp just inside of the bar, looking around him with a marked expression of distaste. “Eugh, the lighting in here is abysmal–”
“‘Scuse me, love,” said a tall, well-built stranger, putting a broad hand on the small of the Doctor’s back as he squeezed by. The Doctor malfunctioned, his face wiped blank. He and Donna watched as Tall Dark and Handsome approached the bar and offered the bartender a blindingly white grin.
“Oh, hello,” Donna muttered.
“Hello,” said the Doctor weakly.
“Your type, then?” said Donna.
“Well, he’s not – not my type,” the Doctor waffled, his eyes firmly glued to Tall Dark and Handsome’s arse. “I’m sort of still figuring out what my type is, exactly. It could be Betagardian Thermo-males or proto-masculine Exefigures, theoretically. Or–”
His gaze trailed after a man in a mesh crop-top and leather shorts.
“Or musclehunks,” said Donna. “Theoretically.” She grabbed the Doctor by the shoulders and pivoted him around. “Lookit! That one’s reading a book! Smart and handsome.”
The Doctor fumbled for his glasses and squinted past the flashing rainbow lights and general haze of body glitter. “Oh, he’s reading alright,” he said scornfully. “Reading a biography of Margaret Thatcher.”
Donna hastily steered him away. The Thatcher fan stretched a little, his top riding up to expose a midriff cut like diamonds.
“Well, but that’s interesting, on a philosophical level,” the Doctor said, steering himself back.
“No, absolutely not,” said Donna.
“As a puzzle, I mean,” the Doctor said, peering over her shoulder. “I do like puzzles.”
Donna pushed him toward the dance floor. “We’ll find you someone with a queer theory textbook instead,” she promised. A dancing twink plucked the Doctor’s tie out of his waistcoat and let it trail flirtatiously through his fingers before twirling away. “Focus,” said Donna, slapping the Doctor lightly on the cheek.
“I’m focusing,” he said, eyes on the twink.
“Pick a man and go chat him up,” Donna instructed.
“I can do that,” said the Doctor with a confident nod.
“Really?” said Donna skeptically. “Give me an example.”
The Doctor reluctantly tore his eyes away from the twink. “According to Newton’s law of universal mavitation,” he said, “if I’m attracted to you, then you must be attracted to me.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“You know what,” said Donna, “if that works, then you two deserve each other. Go for it.”
“Really?”
She spotted a bloke in spectacles across the way. The poor man was wearing a sweater vest to the club and seemed too nervous to speak to anyone. With new determination, Donna grabbed the Doctor’s chin and pointed him toward Tall Dark and Nerdy.
“Oh,” said the Doctor softly, his eyes going wide.
“Go get him, tiger,” said Donna. She pushed the Doctor forward with a slap on the arse and watched, shaking her head, as he minced through the crowd to deliver his pick-up line. Above the music, all Donna could hear was Tall Dark and Nerdy saying:
“You are the photon quanta to my valance electron.”
And the Doctor, delighted: “Because I excite you to a higher level!”
Good God, what had she done?