The lines at the corner of his eyes hardened—rather than the desired opposite—when small hands crept the length of his jaw and encompassed his face, a closeness that was unexpected and not entirely welcome when he was in such a state. However, he did ease up on the pressure in which he was applying at her shoulders, but he still kept her in place.
He stared at her for a while, measured her up and weighed her words with much deliberation. It wasn't that he didn't believe her, at least not entirely, but it was such a selfish and foolish decision to make (not that he could talk) that he had a hard time believing that Rose Tyler could pull it off, especially considering the knowledge that he had not just left her—but himself—in her care on that horrible beach in the parallel universe some months ago.
“. . Just like that?” he asked, voice tense and airy, almost as if he were testing her. “You just left, without a care to the family that you might never see again or the damage you could have inflicted upon yourself or the universe?”
It was reckless and stupid, something he would have done, if he'd been given no other choice. But the difference was, Rose had a choice, she had a family who loved her, who worried after her, and a part of himself that was more than capable of ripping the dimensions in half to find her.