He wasn't him
Disclaimer: I dont own any part of Doctor Who nor the characters within.
Spoliers for 4:13He wasn't him.
He had the same dark hair that stuck in many different directions due to hands being ran through it in confusion and deep thought.
The same eyes which showed so much depth that you could never reach the bottom, capable of showing a thousand different emotions, so expressive. Eyes that were searching slowly, containing anger, hurt and compassion, then the next second became child like and sparkling as he found something new to grab his enthusiasm.
The arms were the same. The arms that enveloped her in a hug, a huge safe bear hug, the sort that you only give to someone you know, someone you trust. A hug that lifts you clear off the ground in excitement and leave s you hanging with complete joy. A hug that you know only one person can give and that you will accept off only one person.
The hand that took hers was his, it fitted so snug and well. Their fingers laced together like two parts of a whole, like they were meant to be. It was the first thing she remembered, and she recalled how safe it felt – like nothing was going to be able to hurt her, as long as she kept her hand in his it would all be okay. And it was okay until she let go.
The voice was his, the voice that told her to run and she did, the voice that commanded respect from alien forces, that stopped people in their tracks, that cracked with emotion when people needlessly got killed, that babbled so fast no one had a chance of hearing him – which was good because really he was talking to himself. And even after the regeneration, when it changed, the tone and the emotion behind it never did.
The memories, the things they'd done, places they'd visited, the things they'd shared, he knew them. He could recite them, smile at them, laugh at them, cry at them. She could reminisce with him about Queen Victoria, New Earth, and 1950s London and they'd sit and laugh together, each amazed at what the other remembered most vividly.
His memories were the same, he remembered the Time War and the part he played in it. He remembered watching his planet burn, his people die. She saw the pain in his eyes and wanted to take away, and she understood his earlier actions.
His enthusiasm was the same, the tiggerlike bounciness of finding something new that was all 'brilliant' or fantastic' and the need to know exactly how everything worked and why. His incessant need to be on the move, considering a second sat down to be a second wasted.
He could tell her he loved her
He wasn't him.