His voice is quiet, almost nearly a whisper of his usual, more boisterous tenor, when he repeats: ] Trenzalore.
[ His hearts sink at the mention of the place, the one place he could never go, the place that he'd been running from for almost as long as he could even remember. Given his absolute aversion to endings ... it only makes sense. ]
Now, why would we go to Trenzalore? [ The Doctor keeps his gaze on hers, thumb grazing at her cheek again, though the tears have stopped at least. ] No, don't tell me. Spoilers. [ He huffs an exhale, wry, and thinks briefly of River Song. It was always her favourite word. ] I shouldn't know that. I can't know that.
[ He lets his hand drop now, diverts his gaze, looks towards the trees around them and the simulated sun above. It's all beautiful, but that's all it is: a simulation. It isn't real. It isn't really life.
Clara continues to speak, and the more she does, the more the Doctor can feel the edge of panic rise within him; there's dread too. He snaps back towards her, all thoughts of trees and sun forgotten. ]
You did what? [ It's not angry, but it isn't gentle either. ] Clara — why? Do you know what could have happened? How did — why would I let you do something like that? Why would I ever let you do something like that? You could have — [ He breathes out again. There's a pause, and he shakes his head. ] Impossible. Impossible Girl.
no subject
Oh, no.
His voice is quiet, almost nearly a whisper of his usual, more boisterous tenor, when he repeats: ] Trenzalore.
[ His hearts sink at the mention of the place, the one place he could never go, the place that he'd been running from for almost as long as he could even remember. Given his absolute aversion to endings ... it only makes sense. ]
Now, why would we go to Trenzalore? [ The Doctor keeps his gaze on hers, thumb grazing at her cheek again, though the tears have stopped at least. ] No, don't tell me. Spoilers. [ He huffs an exhale, wry, and thinks briefly of River Song. It was always her favourite word. ] I shouldn't know that. I can't know that.
[ He lets his hand drop now, diverts his gaze, looks towards the trees around them and the simulated sun above. It's all beautiful, but that's all it is: a simulation. It isn't real. It isn't really life.
Clara continues to speak, and the more she does, the more the Doctor can feel the edge of panic rise within him; there's dread too. He snaps back towards her, all thoughts of trees and sun forgotten. ]
You did what? [ It's not angry, but it isn't gentle either. ] Clara — why? Do you know what could have happened? How did — why would I let you do something like that? Why would I ever let you do something like that? You could have — [ He breathes out again. There's a pause, and he shakes his head. ] Impossible. Impossible Girl.