Her head was still telling her that this was wrong, that this wasn't really him, but he felt the same. The way he warpped her up in him, the weight of his chin on her shoulder, and oh god, the scent that only ever could be him -- it was all, all right. It wasn't him, then, but they were both miserable... they were both so, so alone, now...
Travel, he said, and she finally got herself untangled from him so she could look at what was going on in his face. He wanted it desperately - he had that excited expression that typically preceded a rousing Allons-y! and a throw of a lever. It at once both hurt and excited her.
And it hurt, she knew, because if she said yes, it meant leaving her attempts at finding her Doctor. She looked around the apartment, the scattering of her research, then back again.
"But... What about him?" She chewed the side of her thumb. "He's alone."