And there they arrive at last, at a point the Doctor couldn't have entirely predicted when they'd started, but it satisfies the curiosity and the part of him that fully believed there was more beneath the surface.

"Well," the Doctor's lips briefly curve upward as though a darkened and humorless smile might make an appearance, but just as quickly, it's gone and his eyes are a starless night, his entire form tense as he grips the edge of the table.

"I know a bit about that, too. More than I'd ever care to, or for anyone else to, either, being honest." Jaw taut as he speaks, his words are a bit more halting than usual.

He doesn't admit this to people, he simply does not. Oh, the part about being the last, yes, he'll come around to it eventually, less easily than in his previous life. But this, this, this is a secret few know. And is he really going to share with Wrathion, is he honestly about to? He doesn't have to, he doesn't owe him anything at all, yet as guarded as the one across from him has been, he's shared this much about himself and doesn't he warrant the same in turn?

A question that will haunt him long past their time together here.

"I'm the last of my kind, Wrathion, and I'm the reason for it."