“Aha!” He blurts, clapping his hands together before imitating finger guns. It is the most extravagant way The Doctor has visited her. That much is true, but it probably is no surprise either or at least it shouldnʼt be, considering his nature. “Yes. Figured the ‘keeping a low profileʼ needed some ... tweaking.” A soft yet wistful sigh leaves his lips, before arms are poised and a theatrical, purposeful pivot is thrown into the equation. “What dʼyou think?”
His cheeky grin only broadens in her presence. It is infamous, but there is something about it that illustrates this particular expression is one only reserved for her.
“Glad you asked,” The Doctor continues, barely letting silence linger nor even surface. “Now normally I wouldnʼt have a plan, at least unless it was, a distress call or occassion, though this is an occassion. So perhaps I should have a plan, which, which I do, actually... Yes, yes... Plan.”
He clears his throat, clapping his hands together. A hand soon combs through his dishevelled locks before extended palms illustrate that the Timelord has somehow found the purpose of the exchange again — amidst all of the rambling.
“How does...” A purposeful pause for emphasis arises. His brows furrow before The Doctor pats himself down. “Where did I put the Sonic — ah yes...” The Timelord taps his trouser pocket, letting a relieved smile grace his lips. “Ah, sorry... Yes that plan... How does, a beach, sunset or, sunrise if you prefer, grab you? Perhaps with a picnic, maybe a stroll, or not a stroll. We can just sit, talk or be in silence...”
And there he goes again, trying his damndest to both please her and wordless demonstrate these emotions. The ones he cannot convey. Not even if he tried.