In a perfect inversion of the Doctor's tension, Eva relaxes in his hand and closes her eyes. As horrible as it is to spread this plague, it's a relief to share it and no longer be along in carrying the burden of her crimes. At least, these crimes - she lets the last few weeks slip into his hands but holds tight to her secrets from the Yeerk war. There are some battles she's not yet ready to surrender, not to herself and certainly not to the Doctor.

And then he starts to fill her back with these gestures of emotions, these feelings that pour into her like warm bathwater. It's a welcome feeling, comforting. He sees past the violence and the rage and wraps his good thoughts around the deep core of her like the fingers of a glove. She's okay. They're okay. Given the circumstances she might even be fine, more fine than most other people would be.

Think of home.

She thinks of attending symphonies in her black turtleneck and skirt. She thinks of sitting on the patio with a glass of wine, back when a glass of wine was just a drink and not a one-way ticket into hurling her mind into the void. She thinks of the water cooler at work and of interns that don't always avert their eyes when they see her. She thinks of Peter, her hands running up under his shirt, him falling asleep in front of the computer, him drumming his hands on the steering wheel as he drives, him linking his hand with hers. She thinks of Marco, the little boy being lifted up to play airplane with her and the dark-eyed young man coming by their house every other day to make sure she's alright, under the pretense of showing off his new gadgets or endorsements.

She thinks of the color green, and all the promises it makes. The Doctor pulls away and she's still thinking of green.

"Between the two of us we'll almost make one functioning person." A smile teases her lip. "My body and your mind. So what do we do now?"