The Doctor waded in a few feet ahead of Daniel. He almost missed his step at the question, giving a surprised splash as he kicked and stubbed his toe on something out of sight.

"What?" The Doctor's tone was sharper than he intended, his toe stinging as he turned, that light reflecting off the surface of the bog water rising up to his knees now. "Red planet?"

The look he gave Daniel for the barest of nanoseconds was haunted. He recovered quickly, making a show of nursing his toe and muttering something about needing new boots and socks and quite possibly a few other things as he waded in deeper and wished that Daniel didn't have to be so-so stubborn!. The water, thankfully, seemed to stop at around mid-thigh, a soupy kind of sludge that Daniel Jackson was completely right about smelling like bogs and month old laundry. The Doctor paused at what he assumed was a cupboard lying face down in the soup, testing it with his foot. Didn't squish down too much and it was their next best thing to dry land.

"Well," the Doctor said, after clambering aboard, his trousers and boots a lost cause. He turned to help Daniel up. "I'm sure you know how these things go. Complicated, messy, loads of reasons. Something had to be done. Now's hardly the time for life stories, Daniel Jackson."

He didn't look very inclined to go into too many more details. It might've happened several lifetimes ago, but he thought he'd need a few more before he could fully come to terms with Gallifrey. That crushing loneliness his clone had broadcasted to anyone and everyone? Still there, in a way, and he preferred to get through his days by not obsessing about what he could, should (and didn't) do. The Doctor shifted his weight on the cupboard squishing in the bog, turning on the spot and shading his eyes, trying to look for any other doors.

Something splashed in the distance, a far away plop.