The Doctor stands his ground, grudgingly meets her empty eyes. No, he doesn't have an argument to make. No, Callie doesn't belong with him, not really, she's right about that much, though maybe not the way she thinks. No one belongs with him, not ultimately, he's only a temporary steward, and that doesn't change even if his stewardship is over an utterly forsaken child on the other side of death. But looking after Callie is still the right thing, the only thing to have done. This ghost doesn't seem to understand, for all his backtalk and attitude he really had no way to immediately ferry her back to her void. Still doesn't. Isn't going to make it a priority. Who can blame him? He didn't ask to be indirectly responsible for the survival of this universe he knows almost nothing about. He was just a man investigating a spatio-temporal (and that's a conservative estimate) rift, when he found Callie in the woods. And now he's just a man having a dream. He didn't invite this. At least, not this specifically.
Why is there always a catch? Callie was supposed to be a consequence-free reversal of death, just one little token of justice, outweighing the sad realities of life not just in spite of her smallness and ultimate inconsequentiality, but paradoxically because of it. He can really only promise this being what he's already promised Callie, though something in this grim figure's bearing at least makes him consider honesty, even if it doesn't compel him to it. "I've already told her I'll help her get back to her universe if I can," when she's ready, when she feels capable, "And I know how she'll choose." It's not even a question. Her new life is anything but wasted on her. She deserves that and so much more. Braver than he'll ever be. "But why can't she live a little, first? You don't know me, but getting her back on time wouldn't be as difficult as you think. Basically a Sunday crossword, for me, if I'm really trying, if it's possible, as you say. Everybody wins." He looks at her, almost fearful. "Don't you want that, for her? Wouldn't you have wanted it, for you?" This is chalk and cheese, this is the limit of his ability to understand that which is alien, and he isn't sure at all.
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Why is there always a catch? Callie was supposed to be a consequence-free reversal of death, just one little token of justice, outweighing the sad realities of life not just in spite of her smallness and ultimate inconsequentiality, but paradoxically because of it. He can really only promise this being what he's already promised Callie, though something in this grim figure's bearing at least makes him consider honesty, even if it doesn't compel him to it. "I've already told her I'll help her get back to her universe if I can," when she's ready, when she feels capable, "And I know how she'll choose." It's not even a question. Her new life is anything but wasted on her. She deserves that and so much more. Braver than he'll ever be. "But why can't she live a little, first? You don't know me, but getting her back on time wouldn't be as difficult as you think. Basically a Sunday crossword, for me, if I'm really trying, if it's possible, as you say. Everybody wins." He looks at her, almost fearful. "Don't you want that, for her? Wouldn't you have wanted it, for you?" This is chalk and cheese, this is the limit of his ability to understand that which is alien, and he isn't sure at all.