Jahannam

RITA: 
Tea? 

RORY: 

Every time the Doctor gets pally with someone, I have this overwhelming urge to notify their next of kin. 

(laughs then flinches) 

Ooo. Sorry. The last time I said something like that, you hit me with your shoe. 

And you literally had to sit down and unlace it first. 

RITA: 

What exactly happened to him? 

DOCTOR: 
He died. 

RITA: 

You are a medical doctor, aren't you? You haven't just got a degree in cheese-making or something. 

DOCTOR: 
No! Well, yes, both, actually. I mean, there is no cause. 
All his vital organs simply stopped, as if the simple spark of life, his loves and hates, his faiths and fears were just taken, and this is a cup of tea. 

RITA: 
Of course, I'm British, it's how we cope with trauma. 
That and tutting. 

DOCTOR: 

But how did you make it? 

RITA: 

All hotels should have a well stocked kitchen, even alien fake ones. 
I heard you talking when you arrived. 
Look, it's no more ridiculous than Howie's CIA theory, or mine. 

DOCTOR: 

Which is? 

RITA: 

This is Jahannam. 

DOCTOR: 

You're a Muslim. 

RITA: 

Don't be frightened. 

DOCTOR: 

Ha! You think this is Hell. 

RITA: 

The whole '80s hotel thing took me by surprise, though. 

DOCTOR: 

And all these fears and phobias wandering about, most are completely unconnected to us, so why are they still here? 

RITA: 

Maybe the cleaners have gone on strike. 

DOCTOR: 

Ha! I like you. You're a right clever clogs. 
But this isn't Hell, Rita. 

RITA:

 You don't understand. I say that without fear. 

Jahannam will play its tricks, and there'll be times when I want to run and scream, but I've tried to live a good life, and that knowledge keeps me sane, despite the monsters and the bonkers rooms. 

Gibbis is an alien, isn't he? 

DOCTOR: 

Yeah. Sorry. 

RITA: 

Okay. I'm going to file that under Freak Out About Later.