With much grumbling and muttering about the frailty of humans, the Doctor grudgingly found a hotel in which they could stay overnight. The chipper attitude of the young man behind the desk merely served to additionally annoy him. It didn't help matters when the fellow volunteered, "I'm sure you and your mum will have a great time here!"
The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "Did you say my mum?"
"Yes." The man smiled at Evelyn.
The Doctor swelled importantly. "She is not my mother."
"Oh." The receptionist gulped audibly. "I am so, so sorry. I will definitely fix matters straightaway."
Fifteen minutes later, Evelyn and the Doctor stood just inside the threshold of a room. The Doctor's mood had not improved.
"I can't believe the incompetence of these employees," he fumed. "First they leaped to conclusions based on physical appearance and assumed you were my mother, and now they've given us a single room with just one bed in it. What in the world are they thinking?"
"Certainly not that I'm your mother now," Evelyn wryly ventured.
The Doctor turned his head from contemplation of the lone bed and stared at her. "What, you mean ...?"
Evelyn nodded. "Yes, I do mean. You yourself were very indignant at the very idea that you're my son."
"So instead of realising I'm actually the older one in this relationship, with a good six hundred or so years on you, they assumed something quite different."
Evelyn nodded again. "Indeed."
The Doctor looked from her to the bed, and back. When he spoke, it was in a much quieter tone than his earlier roars. "Ah. Well, perhaps this situation was simply fated to arise."
"Yes?" Evelyn cocked her head. "Whatever do you mean?"
"Younger women do have their attractions. Maybe we should take advantage of opportunity!"