Parte the Second
Martha decides to spend the night at Tom’s place and perhaps violently seduce him on the sofa – and too late discovered that it’s a share house crammed full of starving people living as slaves. "The Bastard’s new housing scheme – pack in 100 in every house and ferry them off to the work camps every morning," Tom explains. "How I hate communal living."
Martha’s attempts to get some privacy are predictably doomed to failure, but worse absolutely everyone wants her autograph and beg to know if she really can kill the Bastard. Well, apart from one chick who REALLY hasn’t been paying attention and wonders what everyone else is talking about. What the hell is up with HER, huh?
Annoyed, Martha decides to try and bore everyone to sleep so she can have her wicked way with Tom. "I’ve traveled across the world, from the ruins of New York, to the fusion mills of China, right across the radiation pits of Europe and everywhere I went, I saw people just like you, living as slaves and incredibly sexually frustrated. But if Martha Jones became a legend, then that’s wrong because my name isn’t important. HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU PEOPLE THAT?! There’s someone else. The man who sent me out there. The man who told me to walk the Earth. His name is the Doctor. He has saved your lives so many times, and you never even knew he was there. He never stops. He never stays. He never asks to be thanked. But I’ve seen him. I know him. I love him. And I know what he can do. And by Christ if I don’t get to sleep with him soon then I am going to go stark staring insane!"
Understandably, everyone is now so embarrassed and bored, they welcome the first distraction they can find – even if it is the Bastard, breaking his vow to never walk upon the ground of Earth. Now, as the strains of something Kraftwerky fill the air, the Bastard walks down the street, flanked by Toclafane and armed soldiers.
"Martha? Martha Jones? Is there someone I can talk to? Anybody? Nobody? No?" the Bastard calls cheerfully. "Can you see the grass beneath you? And is your world in perfect motion? Do I cast fear on your conscience? Out you come, little girl, come and meet a REAL Time Lord bastard!"
"Don’t worry," Martha tells the others. "It’s all going to plan."
"Oh, yes! Oh, very well done! Good girl!" the Bastard applauds as she steps outside. "He trained you well! How did he do it? Looked at you every time you were good and chatted about Rose Tyler every time you were bad?"
She steps outside and the Bastard orders she throw down her bag containing the Time Lord gun. Martha points out she doesn’t actually have a special gun, but the Bastard doesn’t believe her and turns her cuddly animal backpack into cinders with his laser screwdriver.
"I’m counting down to zero!" the evil Time Lord laughs. "Digging my heels in the dirt again. You’re not a superhero, Martha Jones! You’re NOT saving the world to the bitter end! And now, good companion, your work his done!" gloats the Bastard, forcing her at gunpoint into his reclaimed TARDIS (in the unobtrusive form of an HMV store at the end of the street).
"I think I’ll kill you in front of the Doctor. If that doesn’t crack the little sod’s resolve then I’m afraid I’ll just have to start the Kath & Kim marathon..."
As the HMV store vanishes with a wheezing, groaning sound, Tom wipes his brow in relief. "What a bloody looney," he marvels. "And the Bastard was just as bad!"
As dawn breaks outside the Skybase Valium, and billions of Toclafane float above the Earth, the Bastard and Martha have returned. Under armed guard, Martha is marched across the flight deck to kneel before the Bastard and Lucie Miller while the Doctor hangs rather uselessly in his parrot cage, gripping his lapels and "hmmm"ing.
"Citizens, observe and rejoice!" booms the Bastard. "Observe that the dawn is almost here and planet Earth marches to war. Down below, the fleet is ready to launch - two hundred thousand ships set to burn across the universe! THAT’S the rejoice bit! Three minutes to align the black hole converters. Counting down! I never could resist a ticking clock," he admits to Lucie. "It’s just a massive turn on when you’re a Lord of Time. I know. Crazy!"
The Bastard aims his laser screwdriver at Martha’s head. "And to mark this day, when we reach zero, Martha J will die. It falls to me, a complete and utter Bastard of all, to establish from this day forward, a new order of Time Lords – and this time round there’s going to be a lot less sanctimonious tradition and a lot more disco synth pop! HAHA! Any last words, Miss Jones?"
Martha chuckles, somehow contriving to appear even more insane than the psycho pointing a screwdriver at her. "Honey, honey, honey, don’t you think it's funny?
People think I’m crazy – they know nothing at all!" she gloats.
"Don’t you DARE quote Rogue Trader songs back at me!" roars the Bastard, beside himself... and his wife... with fury.
"Yes, I’ve learnt a lesson, music is a weapon!" continues Martha remorselessly. "ANYTHING can happen under a mirrorball!"
"Oh but you’re STILL gonna die!" roars the Bastard. "That gun in four parts scattered across the world! I destroyed it!" he screams at absolutely everybody. "The best weapon you can take is a gun that won’t fire? Use that heart like it’s all mine!"
"But I never had a gun! For crying out loud, it’s against the Hippocratic Oath, dumbo!" mocks the medical student, giggling uncontrollably. "I was never after a weapon, I just told a story, that’s all. Sang a few songs. I did just what the Doctor said."
Martha recalls the Doctor’s last words to her before she left one week ago, with his own cunning use of Rogue Traders lyrics: "Use the countdown - just tell them a story, anyone will do, I can make it happen if you want me to do..."
"Oh, jings, VERY amusing," sneers the Bastard.
"I went across the continents all on my own. And everywhere I went, I found the people, and I told them my story. Which really cheered them up for some reason. And I told them to pass it on, to spread the song so that everyone would know about the Doctor!"
"Faith and hope? Is that all you’ve got? Is that your weapon?! Prayer?! So here we go! Get on board if you were a believer, take stock of your superstar shine!"
"No, coz I gave them an instruction!" Martha reveals triumphantly. "Just as the Doctor said. I told them that if everyone sings one song, at one specific time—-"
"NOTHING WILL HAPPEN!" shouts the Bastard. "Listen, you insane bitch, you think I DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT ALL THIS? The WHOLE PLANET is under my control – I’ve got a traitor in every garage and you think I didn’t hear about you turning up on people's doorsteps with a ridiculous story about a countdown that hasn't even been announced yet - and people not only believe this shit, they actually tell each other stories about it! Sorry, I just don’t buy it! This is a cover story for your TRUE conspiracy against me."
"I’m afraid not, sir," tutts the CGI Doctor. "That is precisely what Plan B was all about."
"How disappointing," boggles the Bastard. "Oh, well, it doesn't matter. I've got her exactly where I want her..."
"Right across the world!" rants Martha with deranged zeal. "One song, just one tune, at one moment but with 15 satellites! A telepathic field binding the whole human race together, with all of them, every single person on Earth, thinking the same song at the same time!"
The countdown ticks towards zero, and across the entire Earth, everyone – well, not EVERYONE... not the babies, for example; or those ill; or those totally clueless about what the time is precisely; or hermits; or people who are very easily distracted; or the isolated groups Martha didn’t get to; or the racists who didn’t give Martha the time of day; or the skeptics who refused do accept the idea of telepathy or prayer or close-harmony singing; or those with poor memory; or the pessimists; or Americans more worried about what Paris Hilton is up to; or people who don’t want to annoy the Bastard; people who literally can’t think of anything but sex...
So, while not EVERY HUMAN BEING is joining, quite a hell of a lot actually ARE and as the countdown begins to climax and the clock ticks towards zero, millions of people... begin to sing!
"THE THREATS OF TIME AND OUTER SPACE
HE’LL ALWAYS KEEP IN LINE
HE’LL PUT THE NASTIES IN THEIR PLACE
THROUGHOUT THE REALMS OF TIME!"
Back aboard the Valium, the Bastard rolls his eyes in disbelief. "So let it go, let it show if you’re wanting salvation?" he mocks. "At the end of a sunrise! Scream it louder by the hour, babe, it’s all about power! Write it down, cause it’s all lies!"
Nevertheless, all over the world, the chanting continues...
"THE WHY AND WHERE AND HOW AND WHEN
THE BACK, BEYOND AND THROUGH
THE WHAT AND IF AND MAYBE
WILL DEPEND ON DOCTOR WHO!"
The Bastard’s confidence begins to fade as the withered goblin begins to glow as the psychic-charged Doctor reboots his very DNA in a sequence scientifically designed to annoy all those fans who would rather see humanity as a cringing, powerless, hapless and helpless collection of uselessness totally dependant on the Doctor for everything rather than as an innately powerful species capable of shaping their own destiny.
Which is pretty much most of them, if we’re honest.
"Stop it! No, no, no, no, you don’t!" shrieks the Bastard, but all around him, Captain Jack, Martha Jones, the other Joneses, even Lucie who’s caught up in the tune, are all singing along with crowds of people across the world gathered in public places all singing. "Stop this right now! STOP IT!"
"DOCTOR WHO IS GONNA FIX
DOCTOR WHO WILL PUT IT RIGHT!
AS HE MOVES ACROSS THE GALAXY
AT TWICE THE SPEED OF LIGHT!
BACK INTO THE FUTURE
THE TARDIS TRAVELS TIME
WITH HIS BEAUTIFUL ASSISTANT
AND HIS TRUSTY MATE K9!"
The Doctor explodes out of the cage, reverting to his younger... well, older... well, David-Tennant-shaped... well, NORMAL-David-Tennant-shaped self. "The one thing you can’t do," sneers the Doctor to the horrified Bastard, "is stop them singing! Especially when the song’s got stuck in their head all week! HOIST BY YOUR OWN LEOTARD"
"I order you to stop!" squeals the Bastard pathetically as the glowing blue Doctor floats upwards, using his new powers to telekinetically kick all the guards in the bollocks and snap the Bastard’s laser screwdriver in half. Unarmed, the Bastard totally loses his cool and panics, "You can’t do this! Christ on a Quidditch Stick! IT’S NOT FAIR!!"
"I always told you," booms the Doctor as he floats towards the Bastard, getting closer and close, "I could restore my clothes via mental powers alone. But you never believed me! AND YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NOW..."
The Bastard, up against the wall, freaks out completely.
"...YOU WOULDN’T LISTEN..."
The Bastard curls up into a foetal position and cries like a baby.
"...BECAUSE YOU KNOW WHAT I’M GOING TO SAY..."
As people across the world get sick of singing, the telepathic field ends and the Doctor drops neatly in front of the whimpering Bastard who has totally lost any mojo he may once have possessed.
"...you owe me five quid."
The Bastard screams in despair, as somehow losing a childhood bet with the Doctor is a more crushing blow than any he has suffered in his incredibly long and disastrous life. He is unable to do anything but sob the words "please rescue me tonight" over and over again
"Oi, Captain Jack," shouts the Doctor. "Earn your keep, Mr. Invincible – get into the TARDIS and smash up the Dues Ex Machina! Pronto!"
Jack, very nearly approaching sobriety after the week of hell, stumbles off in the vague direction of the dastardly machine, and takes a couple of submachine guns with him as well. These prove to be less than helpful when he finds the TARDIS guarded by three extremely bored and dangerously keyed up Toclafane.
"Oh, not again..." he grumbles as they open fire...
Having been defeated in the most ridiculous, contrived and embarrassing manner in all of creation, the Bastard is feeling rather self-destructive. Activating his TARDIS, he sends it hurtling to oblivion, trapping everyone, himself included, aboard the Valium. "My spherical children!" he shouts to the Toclafane over the PA system, "PROTECT THE PLOT DEVICE!"
"We will fly and blaze and slice!" boast six billion Toclafane spheres as they hurtle down through the atmosphere straight towards the Valium, intending to slaughter every living thing aboard.
"I used to be strong but I can’t get back to my beginning! I’ve been here too long and the years have stolen what I've lived for! Now it ends, Doctor!" announces the Bastard happily. "If I can’t use humanity for my own sick little purposes, Doctor, then neither can you! We shall stand upon this Earth, together, as it BURNS!"
The Doctor bitch-slaps the Bastard to the floor. "Cliché after cliché after cliché," he sneers. "All you do is talk and talk and talk. But over all these years, and all these disasters, I’ve always had the greatest secret of them all. I KNOW YOU. And the one thing you can never do is kill yourself in a heroic bit of suicidal symbolism."
"OK, you got me there," the Bastard sighs.
Just as the Toclafane are about to reach the Skybase, the very singed and burning Captain Jack finally stumbles inside the TARDIS and opens fire on the casing of the Dues Ex Machina – you know, the mechanism so powerful it could blow up a solar system – with two machine guns. First there are sparks and then a massive explosion as Jack uses a rather unorthodox method to reverse the polarity of the paradox flow...
...turning the Dues Ex Machine into a ReSet Button!!
The instant its pressed, the six billion spheres vanish. Time reverses and the statues of the Bastard, the shipyards, the crowds of bored singers, all vanish as the paradox breaks and time reverts back one week exactly, leaving a rather startled Jack standing in an intact TARDIS console room with two empty machine guns.
"You know, this is the sort of thing that could actually put a chap off alcohol permanently," he muses gravely. "Fuck, I need a drink."
On the flight deck of the Valium, everyone looks around as the skies swirl and the Bastard’s Empire is destroyed – and across the Earth, people continue in their lives, unaware of what has happened. "The entire tangent universe has been destroyed," the Doctor explains to the baffled audiences. "At first there wasn’t one and blowing up the Dues Ex Machina could’ve taken out the main universe, but it only took out the tangent one. Didn’t ANY of you see Donnie Darko?!"
"But how come we still remember it?" demands Francine.
"We’re at the eye of the storm," the Doctor shrugs. "The only ones who’ll ever know. Everything back to normal. Planet Earth restored. None of it happened. The rockets, the terror. It never was. Oh, President McCain still got killed though... so, happy ending all round, huh?"
"What about the Toclafane?" asks Martha.
"They never left the end of the universe, they’re still trapped 100 Squillion years in the dark and the cold. No hope, no optimism, no humanism... JINGS! Getting a bit bleak there, huh?"
"So what do we do with this fine upstanding dictator?" asks Captain Jack as he shambles, pointing a machine gun at the Bastard.
The Joneses all go for the "execute the fucker" option, but the Doctor insists that this is not the solution. "You know we’re falling to zero," he continues staring the Bastard straight in the eyes, "hurting much more than it did before and I’m always playing the hero, cleaning your mess as you walk out the door. I’m counting things’ll change now. Taking it back where it all began... Don’t like this merry-go-round. Gotta believe, believe we can!"
"And in English?" asks the Bastard.
"You’re MY responsibility from now on," the Doctor reveals with a feral grin. "You’re going to stay with me, sunshine, in the TARDIS, from now on. No more teaming up with Dustbins or Goablins or compressing planets into diamonds..."
The Bastard’s eyes widen in fear. "You mean, you’re just gonna... keep me? As some kind of... pet gimp? And whip me?!"
"And that’s not even half of it," the Doctor says in what is probably the most terrifying part of this entire three-week epic.
The Bastard looks at him with contempt. "I have but one thing left to say to all of you: You should end the show with a blow IF you're keen to deliver the kind of thrill that makes the temperature rise! Come learn a lesson for free, amongst the falling debris – look em dead right between the eyes! NOW, Lucie!"
Suddenly a gunshot rings out and the Bastard falls to the floor, as Lucie looks awkwardly at the smoking gun in her hand. "Oops!" she winces. "Sorry about that. I was aiming for the Doctor, honest! Did I mention I’m a rubbish shot, me?"
"For fuck’s sake, Lucie!" the mortally-wounded Bastard exclaims. "Have you been drinking the bong water again? You got me right between the hearts... I’ll never regenerate my way out of this..."
"Look, I said sorry, didn’t I?" yells Lucie.
"Why... is it ALWAYS... the women... who keep killing me off... huh?" the Bastard gasps. "Ace, Susan, Jo Grant, Chantho... now Lucie! Jings... It’s... just... getting stupid!"
"Jings, stop being a dying duck in a thunderstorm," snaps the Doctor, unimpressed. "You’re not fooling anyone. You’ve been zapped, fried, turned into a sea mammal, blown up, shrunk down and swallowed by the 57 Chevy of Rassilon... twice! One little bullet’s going to kill you? Do me a favor!"
"Tough!" spits the Bastard. "I’m dying... get used to it..."
"It’s ONE bullet! Jings, just regenerate!"
The Bastard grins smugly. "Uh-uh... You said my weakness... was never being able... to kill myself. Well... never... let it be said... I don’t listen to my critics..."
"Jing, come on, you are not dying. I do not believe that. Just regenerate, get it over with. Come on. Please..."
"Hah... and spend... the rest of my life... in some... wacky sitcom with YOU?!" sneers the dying Time Lord. "NEVER! I’d rather die... than be imprisoned... in some... alternative comedy by Ben Elton..."
The Doctor grabs his foe by the shoulders. "Seriously! You can’t let it end like this – accidentally gunned down by one of my most annoying ex’s! That’d suck! Come on, regenerate, find a much cooler way to die forever! You and me, think of all the crazy shit we got up to in the seventies, huh? Exxons? Remember the Exxons? So boring we tried to fly a second-hand gas stove instead? And the Dustbins! When you, me, the Draconians, the Americans and the Dustbins all met up on New Detroit? Where Jo was working in a strip club? YOU MUST REMEMBER THAT! We’re the only two left out of our Exclusive Kasterborus Facebook Group – there’s no one else!"
The Bastard laughs up blood. "Jings, dude... just... look at yourself... you’re so pathetic... it’s just sad! You suck... you suck massively... How about that... huh? I... finally... get you to... humiliate yourself... I WIN!" The dying former Prime Minister cackles insanely. "OK, OK, I’ll regenerate... Oh, crap, I think I left it just a little bit too late this---"
The Doctor stares in shock as his former roomie, common-law wife and arch enemy for over 40 years slumps dead. Our hero’s eyes fill with tears, he rocks back and forth for a moment, screams in despair and loss while the others simply look on rather awkwardly.
"RIGHT! FUCKING RIGHT!" the Doctor starts screaming, kicking the corpse. "You want to die? You want to be dead, just to spite me? FINE! You’re dead! AND I AM GOING TO MAKE DAMN SURE YOU **STAY** THAT WAY, YOU UTTER, UTTER BASTARD!!"
The Doctor grabs the Bastard by the ankle and drags his corpse aboard the TARDIS, still swearing mightily as he does so. Martha, Captain Jack and Lucie exchange looks and then run inside the police box as fast as they can, leaving the Joneses alone to face the music.
And why not? With the US President murdered live on TV by the man considered to be his closest ally, not ONLY has the United Kingdom declared war on the USA, it’s been left entirely without a government! The West is effectively decapitated! There will be a global panic, a crippling hit to the economy, law and order will collapse, food and petrol riots would break out, terrorism will run amuck and the so-called "rogue states" will go absolutely apeshit!
(OK, the next series explains that Britain rather convincingly pulled off the line that Alan B’Stard was an insane motherfucker and the new British PM Aubrey Fairchild and new USA President Barack Obama will lead the world to a new golden age of peace and prosperity... but when we actually watched this episode, everything looked completely fucked!)
In any case, I can tell you this for nothing – it would NEVER have happened if Harriet "Hellfire" Jones was still in charge!
Meantime, the Doctor has cranked the TARDIS up to full throb and sent it hurtling through time and space to the year 60120724. There, the time machine fetches up on the freezing radioactive mudball of Messaline, beside a convenient heap of shoring timber.
By the light of three moons, the Doctor emerges from the TARDIS, dumps the Bastard’s body atop the wood and begins to douse it in petrol as Lucie watches on, agog.
"You know, Lucie," the Doctor shouts as he soaks the corpse, "I was thinking of just detonating a tomahawk missile on his head and yelling, 'Yesssss! IN YOUR FACE!' but that would be too merciful. I’m going to destroy the Bastard in the most humiliating manner possible!"
"You don’t mean..." gasps Lucie.
"YEAH! I’m going to cremate the fucker in a cheap Return of the Jedi tribute!" roars the Doctor, igniting the flames with his sonic screwdriver. "All it’s missing is the damn Ewoks! Oh, and by the way, I AM NOT SORRY AND NO MORE CHANCES!"
The Doctor watches the flames rise into the night sky for a moment, considers waiting for the pyre to burn down so he can piss on the ashes, but instead gets bored and wanders off back to the TARDIS, leaving Lucie standing with the smoldering monument.
As the pyre burns down, the Bastard’s nifty Gallifreyan decoder—mood-ring falls from the ashes. "My precious!" grins Lucie, and as she reaches down with her well-manicured hand to pick up the ring, if you pay close attention, you can make out the sinister whispering voice of the Bastard on the wind:
"So start the show! Pick it up from the very beginning at the part where the roof blows, timber’s falling as you’re crawling through the forthcoming chapters! Better watch for the cameos! BWAHAHAHAH!"
I have to admit that I’m not entirely sure what this sequence actually means, but I’m pretty certain it’s extremely high-quality sequel fodder for future production teams.
"Right," shouts the Doctor as he re-enters the time machine and points at Captain Jack, who is sitting on the pilot seat, feet on the console and smoking a fully-loaded Turkish bong. "YOU are next on my list!"
"Aw, come on, shipmate," Captain Jack complains. "Can’t I come with you? Just like the old days? You, me and some passing teenage girl with the screaming thighsweats for you?"
"No," the Doctor retorts, wondering which randy girl Jack refers to and missing Martha bite her fist in shameful embarrassment. "I’m not having you with me, cramping my style, spreading STDs anywhere and anywhen... twice... and the second time to apologize! You’re going right back where I found you!"
As the Doctor starts up the engines, Jack wails. "But what am I going to do, eh? Those tosspots at Touchwood are never going to let me join because they think defending the Earth is more vital than a decent orgy! And I can’t die, can I? You’re a doctor, can’t you cure me?"
"That would probably involve invasive medical procedures," the Doctor retorts, nauseated. "And the thought of getting that close to you makes my flesh crawl. Nope, Jack, I’m going to chalk this one down to experience, say that you’re an impossible thing and try and forget I ever met you!"
The TARDIS reappears by the rails of the Pierhead Building overlooking Cardiff Bay, and immediately the shambolic form of Captain Jack is kicked out the police box doors. "But what about aging?" he protests as the Doctor and Martha try and keep him out. "Just cause I can’t die, does that stop me getting older? What happens if I live for a million years, savvy? What will happen to my complexion then?! What if, say, I somehow end up becoming the Face of Bond?"
"Jings, Jack," complains the Doctor, "that’s not going to happen!"
"But you never know!" Captain Jack reproaches them. "They called me the Face of Bond back in the 51st Century, you know. I was the poster boy for the Time Agency, the first one ever to finish the Karma Sutra with three different populations simultaneously without anyone noticing. They called me the Face of Bond, cause I grew up in the Bondjella Peninsula, that tiny little place of rednecks and camper vans..."
"You’re just making this up!" Martha realizes, and knees Jack in the balls – proving that, while he may be completely and utterly indestructible, a quick blow to the happy-sacks makes him drop just like everyone else.
While Captain Jack lies sprawled in Roald Dahl Plass, the Doctor and Martha run back inside the TARDIS and slam the doors shut. With no flat, laptop, mobile phone or car and on the verge of being chucked out of medical school, Martha understandably has no desire to stay on Earth, especially as all her family intend to take time off, stay at home and recover from their torment... mainly by tormenting her. And possibly Annalise Jones, if anyone bothers to remember her.
But as they re-enter the TARDIS, Martha is deeply annoyed to find the Doctor is more interested in where he should put his severed arm in a jar. "I know it sounds a bit creepy," the Doctor concedes, "but something like this could come in handy – handy! Eh? Oh yeah, still got it – for breaking the ice at social gatherings. I could do the old handshake-and-leave-the-hand-behind-gag on new companions..."
"NEW companions?!" fumes Martha.
"...it could make a really attractive lava lamp, too..."
"After all this, I’m just ANOTHER companion?!"
The Doctor starts checking over the console. "Of course not, Martha. You were never just another companion..."
"Really?" she gasps, doe-eyed with lust.
"You’re the Companion After Rose," the Time Lord concludes. "Or was that Flora Jones? Yes, Rose, then Flora, then Martha. Oh, jings, I forgot about Arthur the Horse! And Ricky the Idiot. Oh, and Jackie, never sure where Jackie fitted in but, seriously, what does chronology matter nowadays, eh?" he adds hastily, noticing the way Martha’s eyes are bulging with fury. "It doesn’t matter if you’re THE Companion After Rose, you’ll always be A Companion After Rose."
Martha, shivering with rage, spits at him. "YOU FUCKWIT! YOU UTTER, UTTER CLIT-TEASE! I saved your life over and over and over again, even when YOU were the one trying to kill yourself! I babysit you when you’re possessed by sentient suns, I’m your bodyguard when you turn yourself human, I pay your rent when you’re trapped in 1969, and, oh yeah, I just saved the entire fucking universe at great personal risk while YOU sat around in a bird cage! And after ALL THAT you STILL don’t love me?!"
The Doctor blinks. "Of course I love you, Martha. I love lots of people. I’m a loving guy. Or maybe a slut. But a loving slut. And I love you, Martha, as much as anyone can, given your massive xenophobia."
"First time you were in the TARDIS, you said you preferred humans."
"AND YOU BELIEVED ME?!?"
The Doctor frowns. "You wouldn’t lie to me, Martha. You’re my best, platonic, not-having-sex-with of friends. A bit like K9. But much more attractive. And without a laser in your nose. Now, then! Off we go, down the open road and there’s a burst of starfire, right now, over the coast of Meta Sigmafolio! Oh, the sky’s like oil on water. Fancy a look?"
"No!" shouts his upset stalker, folding her arms.
"OK," he shrugs. "We can go back in time. We could, I dunno, Charles II? Henry VIII? I know! What about Christie Allen? I’d love to meet Christie Allen! I bet she’s brilliant! She’ll give us Goosebumps! Heh? Eh?" the Doctor trails off. "Lady’s choice?"
"You know, you just ASSUME I’m going to follow you," Martha snaps bitterly through the tears. "Just run inside the TARDIS and be all happy puppy dog to be with you."
"Be fair, it’s what you NORMALLY do."
"Well, maybe I WON’T this time!" Martha retorts. "Maybe I’ve actually fallen in deep, non-scary unconditional love with that Tom Milligan guy you never met or even know about? Maybe I want to stay on Earth and live happily ever after with him, huh?"
"Aw, that’s just brilliant!" the Doctor cheers. "Good for you, Martha! I knew you’d find yourself someone if you lowered your standards and got over those esteem issues..."
"I DON’T HAVE ESTEEM ISSUES!" Martha roars at him. "I did NOT spend all our time together thinking I was second best to Patron Saint Fucking Rose! I’m good! I’m MADE of AWESOME! I’M BETTER THAN THAT BLONDE STRUMPET EVER WAS! I can save the world WITHOUT being possessed by MAGICAL PIXIE DUST LIKE SHE DID!! AND I’D NEVER RUN OFF AND LEAVE YOU ALL ALONE!"
"...isn’t that what you’re doing right now, though?"
"DON’T ARGUE WITH ME!" she shrieks. "I’ve got a boyfriend who loves me and looks at me twice and who I don’t have to waste years of my life pining after him and never looking at anyone else! So... yeah! Stick THAT up your sonic screwdriver and smoke it!"
There is a long, rather embarrassing pause as the Doctor awkwardly turns back to the console and starts flicking various switches. "See ya round then, Martha J," he says eventually.
His Dark Lady lets out a strange squawk and runs out the doors, kicking the still-supine form of Captain Jack on the pavement as she passes.
"See me walk away!" Martha shouts back to the TARDIS in a suitably ironic Rogue Traders lyric. "You know it’s now or never! See me walk away! I’m feeling kinda better..."
The light atop the box begins to flash and the TARDIS begins to bleach into translucency and Martha realizes that she’ll have to abandon the whole subtle reverse-psychology approach altogether:
"I’M OBSESSIVELY IN LOVE WITH YOU AND WANT TO DO IN THE DIRT!!" she screams over the mechanical grinding sound as the police box dissolves into dancing blue flashes then finally disappears into thin air, taking the Doctor out of her life as predictably as he’d entered it.
Inside the time machine, the Doctor frowns at her indecipherable coded message. "I wonder what she meant by that?" he asks himself before the console room lurches.
The Doctor moves to reset the controls - and feels his arse being pinched. He turns around, and finds himself face-to-face with a fat, bespectacled old man in a nightmarish fluro-multi-coloured coat: the Sixth Doctor! As played by Colin Baker!!!!
"Do you work out?"