The Doctor looked at her. The traces of lightness he'd clung to until that moment blow away like the last leaves before a winter. Before the ability to be able to look at her and know. Know absolutely without the full recollection of it yet, and the knowledge of the look between his earlier self, that was later than her, and himself that first day.
Because he is still himself. No matter where he goes. No matter the face. No matter the clothes.
And it means, his words, are not the past tense of hers. "Yes--" It's simple, and he makes himself say it, wishing he could say something else, mean something else, knowing something else was coming for her. "--Lucie Miller--" The name imprinted on his heart in guilt and grief, the last one at his side, at his hand, before the universe taught him what the truest grief and the truest loss and the truest destruction could be.
He nods, severe and straight-forward as a winter dawn. "I do know what I'm not telling you."
no subject
The Doctor looked at her. The traces of lightness he'd clung to until that moment blow away like the last leaves before a winter. Before the ability to be able to look at her and know. Know absolutely without the full recollection of it yet, and the knowledge of the look between his earlier self, that was later than her, and himself that first day.
Because he is still himself. No matter where he goes. No matter the face. No matter the clothes.
And it means, his words, are not the past tense of hers. "Yes--" It's simple, and he makes himself say it, wishing he could say something else, mean something else, knowing something else was coming for her. "--Lucie Miller--" The name imprinted on his heart in guilt and grief, the last one at his side, at his hand, before the universe taught him what the truest grief and the truest loss and the truest destruction could be.
He nods, severe and straight-forward as a winter dawn. "I do know what I'm not telling you."