Somehow, the Master doesn’t miss a beat (hey, he’s always had excellent rhythm) when the Doctor springs this whimsical request. Mid-pouring of tea, he fluidly spins and gestures to her for attention.
“Well darling, you know that an actual living child requires regular maintenance, right? More than, say, a cat, or a spinning delivery bot head, or a cactus, or a Type-40 TARDIS that a certain someone else,” and he tugs on his own suit lapels, “regularly tends do. She’ll need food, and affection, and probably school of some kind, and next thing you know she’ll be dating, and acquiring moral principles, and asking you where babies come from. Can you feed and water a darling human girl with dedication?”
No really, just leave me. I’m an old man, Doctor. I’ve had my time.
Can we all just reflect on how amazing it is that the Doctor is well past this exceptionally flawed point of view now? “Oh, I’ve lived too long” was the genesis of this evolution. It was lost for a time, but by the end of Twelve’s run, he was ready to tackle it head-on, and now, she’s surmounted it. She asks her companions how they feel, she gives them the chance at informed consent to travel with her, she doesn’t dazzle and bamboozle but is always honest and egalitarian, and she nurtures their dreams and loves their flaws. She is proof of positive change, no matter how long we’ve lived, or how wrong we are.
Icarus 