A/N: I like doing a lot of these drabbles that connect nine and ten. The transition from one to the next fascinates me... ten to eleven does, too, but I don't have enough of a handle on him to feel confident writing him yet.
A manic grin below hair that, all at once, both exists and doesn't. Hands shove through it, just as likely to travel downwards from their start. One always reaches out for hers, speaking louder than the oft-senseless words that travel between them; always joking, regardless of the pitch. Calluses appear and fade from different ways of going about the same work.
Two very different men, exactly the same nonetheless. One is fresher in her memory, but the other is more used to being remembered.
She spent the same amount of time with each, and now they both haunt her dreams.