[It's like something a dear friend of his once said to him: If you were that old, and that kind... you couldn't just stand there and watch children cry. The Doctor had seen his housemate in passing, but walking by now, he hears the faint sound of crying and quietly approaches.

Noticing the way she tries to hide the evidence of her tears, the Doctor obliges and does not remark on them. Instead, he pauses a moment, giving her question some consideration.]

There are a lot of things I want, to tell the truth. My ship, for one. A proper bowtie, too; they took mine the other day.

[He leans down a little, whispering as though sharing a secret.]

But you know what I really want? I've been having a craving - don't get those too often! For fish fingers and custard. Don't suppose they have those here though...