Yes, another birthday fic, within 24 hours (just) but this one is for my friend Jasmine, and with a bit of Eleven. Happy Tanjoobi, Jamsmee!
"I'm paranoid, aren't I? I'm sure I'm paranoid. Is this what paranoia feels like? You've been paranoid, haven't you, Jam? Yes, I should think so." The Doctor adjusted his bowtie once more and sent his reflection a cheeky grin. 'Jam' stayed quiet, giving a slight chuckle at The Doctor's bewildering behaviour, and folded her arms.
"Jam, talk to me! Do I look like a proper human being? Can't have that thing noticing me, can I? No, so I would appreciate you helping me here." Catching his pleading expression, Jasmine rolled her eyes and placed her head in her hands. Something she had done often since meeting the peculiar man, little over a month ago at a
"You want my honest opinion?" she asked.
"Definitely." came the reply.
"She's going to notice you anyway. But you could ditch the bowtie, an-"
"Bowties are cool." Here we go again, she thought, trying not to show her opinion in her face. Instead, she nodded.
"And…Actually, pass me the credit card and I'll pick you out something, yeah? Trust me." Jasmine pulled her most trustworthy look, not easy since not much good had come of it. In the most recent times; a Sontaren had mistaken it for a dirty look, Captain Jack thought she was 'eye-flirting' and the Daleks reconsidered staying to fight to The Doctor's dismay. He scanned her face for any signs of plotting.
"Jam…Fine."
In half an hour, Jasmine had The Doctor in a white tee, skinny jeans, a tailored jacket and sunglasses; very Grease. Very fetching, she thought. He wasn't so sure.
"And this is normal for humans to wear?" he asked worriedly. She nodded, grinned and readjusted the lapels of the jacket. There was every chance that thing was going to notice him, in fact it was definite that he would be spotted, but at least he looked human.
"Just keep cool, and let me do the talking." Jasmine hugged his arm and lead him out of the TARDIS and out into the winter snow. December 18th 1947, Marilyn Monroe's Christmas party, and fish fingers and custard weren't going to save him now.