She draws one eyebrow up, the other down, in a quizzical attempt to glean meaning from the Doctor's face. He's plotting something, she can tell, but what is beyond her. It occurs to her that she's not sure that she trusts his schemes - she didn't when he refused to fill her in on the killer library, and while she knows he probably has her best interest in mind, she also knows he won't keep her as up to date as she'd like to be.
"And what do you know about the real me, Doc?"
For that matter, what does she know about the real her? That person seems like another casualty of the war, lost behind some wall twelve years ago. It's like remembering another person, an old friend she knew growing up, maybe, from childhood to high school to motherhood, but they got separated along the way.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-03-10 12:00 am (UTC)"And what do you know about the real me, Doc?"
For that matter, what does she know about the real her? That person seems like another casualty of the war, lost behind some wall twelve years ago. It's like remembering another person, an old friend she knew growing up, maybe, from childhood to high school to motherhood, but they got separated along the way.
Or is the real her the person she is now?