She circles and let he lets her. Eyes following her. In case. Narrowing a little because the complication isn't that he thinks the shouting and snapping will at any second turn into an brandished weapon or attack. It's that he can already se a glimmer of it. In her sharp tongue, and her every sharper eyes. The pain that comes only from deep passion, and deeper loyalty. So human, and so honest.

He can already see the glimmers of it. Why she'd be a compelling choice. Even if he shouldn't be thinking it.

"That's a lot to put on one set of shoulders." It's offhand and a little too mild for the depth of memories that shiver behind it. The number of people to come and go in the past. The times he has heard those words thrown back at him, for coming back or not coming back. For being everything. Right up until he wasn't. Until something else. Or someone else. Or bigger events.

"It's good I don't want to know then." The Doctor pops off a second later, a little more serious, a little more callously pushing those dusty memories back. "Especially not if you're who you say you are. The last thing I want to know is about myself." Even if it's not true. He wants to know. He always wants to know. At least a little. Who. Where. What. When. How long. But not as much as he can't know. Never as much as the knowledge of how knowing could change all of time. The way her being here, next to him, threatened that, too.