Lucy obediently stepped inside, mentally shaking her head. It was shaping up to be like most days with the Doctor--where she couldn't quite decide what to make of him, where he would remind her more sharply of Harry than he probably cared to know about, where she wished that either she hadn't picked up that gun, or that she had turned it on herself instead of her husband. That it was him, or even perhaps both of them, trapped in this weird half-life of tagging along after the Doctor like a good companion was expected to do, but without the benefits of his complete trust and affection.

Then again, even this half-life was infinitely preferable to what had more than likely awaited her if the Doctor hadn't insisted on taking her on.

"We can expect it's alien," she said, as she went to her accustomed place at the console for dematerialization, and faintly suprising herself by making an effort to sound not so mulish. "Can't we?"