“ … . That’s all I ever wanted to hear from you and yet I’m … I’m sometimes uncertain where to go from here. Hating you and finding ways to render your life’s mission moot … was … . my default setting for centuries.”
“How do I see the man behind the monster? How do you?”
“How DARE you, Rose Tyler! What happened to sisters over misters? We were meant to be the bleach-dyed duo and now you’ve gone and spoiled our mojo!”
“You’re tellin’ me that Time Lords have to reduce themselves to bleach? Talk about superior biology. Oh, please tell me hers is bleached, too? We’re not the bleached trio, are we?”
“Well I didn’t exactly bleach my hair during the brief interlude when it was THAT pale a blond; I wouldn’t go for a bottle of Sun-In while I was a cannibalistic electric skeleton running naked about London at Christmastime, now would I? Bit of a complication with being resurrected properly and an angry ex-wife. Some ex-wives want alimony, but mine? Me as a cannibalistic electric skeleton, I suppose, or, you know, rather dead. As for the Doctor, she came out the regeneration with that hair, but I guess we’ll see when her roots grow out.”
It’s one of two people, both halves of himself. One who left him behind, one who stabbed him with a concealed blade, to also leave him behind. He bets on the former, but either he would welcome in forgiveness, as a balm to this unceasing gloom called “survival;” this lonely honor code called “self-sufficiency.”
Icarus 