The Doctor perches his tablet on the edge of the TARDIS' console, staring bleakly down at the information gathered for him by Ianto. He'd run the data through his head at least ten dozen times, run it through the TARDIS' computer, and then, just for good measure, had run it through every single piece of stinkingly obsolete technology he had
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"Well, we can't all be gigantic balls of mope in the face of failure, now can we?"
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"I hope that wasn't a dig at me, by the way." Knowing full well that she doesn't accept her own failure well at all, not until she's shouted at it, sulked about it and finally beaten it. All points he's more than aware of.
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"It's not a dig at anyone, River, it's just a statement. Always was very like you to assume that everything revolved around your little universe and your short little life." There is an edge of cruelty on his tone of voice that is, again, foreign.
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He snorts, shaking his head. "You aren't what you're made out to be, Doctor. I didn't think you'd give up so quickly. All that transmission will do is upset people. Make them worry. And what for? We haven't looked into everything yet. There are other things we could try. Why aren't we?"
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He shakes his head, not entirely sure where he's going with this idea. "I don't know. But the thing is we aren't random, Doctor. We can't be. How many people do you know here? And we aren't the only ones who have people we know here. It's too much of a coincidence for it to really be random ( ... )
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