He's about to make the now-so-old quip about how he loves his name falling from the Doctor's lips –because it's so important that their roles be laid out, that he be paid his due and given his respect after all the crushing defeats he's had to endure across countless centuries and planets– because it's funny humiliating him when there are -
Future. No.
Three sixty-eight. Three days after his paradox should come to fruition. Why was his own mind telling him this? Why did the Doctor's presence feel too vivid –too close to mending– the way it shouldn't in a dream?
Why was the Doctor looking at him as though he had –discovered a planet or a stream flecked with gold– to keep staring to be sure he wouldn't vanish? "Part," he repeats coldly, squaring off toe to toe, his eyes a cocktail mix of confusion and violence. "I think you have some explaining to do."
no subject
Future. No.
Three sixty-eight. Three days after his paradox should come to fruition. Why was his own mind telling him this? Why did the Doctor's presence feel too vivid –too close to mending– the way it shouldn't in a dream?
Why was the Doctor looking at him as though he had –discovered a planet or a stream flecked with gold– to keep staring to be sure he wouldn't vanish? "Part," he repeats coldly, squaring off toe to toe, his eyes a cocktail mix of confusion and violence. "I think you have some explaining to do."