[Now, the Doctor is no expert at consoling people who’ve got tears running down their cheeks. If he did, then the tiffs between Clara and him would be much less messy. But the Doctor does have a modicum of emotional intelligence to read the room. Anyone with an ounce of compassion knows that this is scary. To breathe the ashes of the dead. The threat of fiery ire looming over their shadows. This is not something you throw any ordinary person in and expect them to be okay about it.

If they were okay about it, then that…is a whole other problem.

He stuffs a hand in the pocket of his black trousers.]

Souped-up metabolism. My species can take on extreme weather conditions without so much catching a sniffle.

[Several steps around the bed and the Doctor takes a seat on top of the rickety bedding.]

But it is a nice coat, so don’t go on and get any tomato sauce on it.