[ It is a little different, she supposes. Because where before, she had thought (hoped, more accurately) that she would return home when she did, to something more, to Him and his magical machine and all of Time and Space. But now she'd gleaned, had come to find, that it wasn't going to be like that. Her story was .. over, in that sense. She didn't know what came of Theta and she, what would transpire back home (no matter how despairingly Theta painted the picture, here). The life she'd so exhaustingly fought to get back to, wasn't what she would return home to.
He had more lives to come; three more, at the very least, as was proof right there in the city with them. So she leans into his touch, however light it is. It's gentle, just as he is, even when he isn't. But she can feel her eyes watering at his words. They make sense, don't they? That they should never pass up... But hadn't he just been refuting that, only moments ago?
Confusion paints her face once more, but only until it begins to melt into a soft yet stricken sort of realization. What he was saying. She doesn't dare move nor breathe as he cups her cheek, leans in and only inhales as his lips touch hers. ... She could forget this. She could be pulled home and never remember the Doctor (in leather and a jumper) confessing to her, kissing her. Never remember this Doctor, in lieu of his death, coming to her doorstep upon her request, inadvertently admitting to his feelings (that she hadn't been sure of, from him), and kissing her. She could forget all of it, and just for a moment, she's terrified that she will. That the rug will get ripped out from under her feet.
So she grasps at his opened shirt, anchors herself and push-pulls him just a little closer. It's not an excited, sporadic, enthusiastic sort of kiss. But it is full of as much emotion as she could possibly muster out of her human body right now. Even if her eyes are wet within seconds. ]
action
He had more lives to come; three more, at the very least, as was proof right there in the city with them. So she leans into his touch, however light it is. It's gentle, just as he is, even when he isn't. But she can feel her eyes watering at his words. They make sense, don't they? That they should never pass up... But hadn't he just been refuting that, only moments ago?
Confusion paints her face once more, but only until it begins to melt into a soft yet stricken sort of realization. What he was saying. She doesn't dare move nor breathe as he cups her cheek, leans in and only inhales as his lips touch hers. ... She could forget this. She could be pulled home and never remember the Doctor (in leather and a jumper) confessing to her, kissing her. Never remember this Doctor, in lieu of his death, coming to her doorstep upon her request, inadvertently admitting to his feelings (that she hadn't been sure of, from him), and kissing her. She could forget all of it, and just for a moment, she's terrified that she will. That the rug will get ripped out from under her feet.
So she grasps at his opened shirt, anchors herself and push-pulls him just a little closer. It's not an excited, sporadic, enthusiastic sort of kiss. But it is full of as much emotion as she could possibly muster out of her human body right now. Even if her eyes are wet within seconds. ]