Fortunately, perhaps, the Doctor feels like he's been sitting a moment too long again; abundant energy to shed. It's not nervous energy by any measure, but more just the need to be doing something always, even if that's just pacing around a bit and fidgeting with his hands. It means that he moves away just slightly, giving Arthur space, stoking the fire. Of course, conversely and perhaps strangely, the Doctor thinks nothing of the way Arthur had removed part of his clothing in front of him, if only because the Doctor's sense of modesty is a bit opposite of the norm. He has none, essentially. He saw enough, though, to be more concerned about the other man than anything else.

"Since we've only just met, I'm going to take you at your word and assume that fine of yours is a genuine fine and not one of those middling attempts to redirect when you're actually the opposite of fine. And if you are, in fact, truly the opposite of fine, I can help. It's what I do. Among other things!"

Things ranging from the mundane to the fantastical; from making a fabulous omelette (more's the pity they're lacking eggs here) to time traveling to planet-saving, to bingo night with Lydia and the gals. And all points in between.

"Tell me, though, how does a private investigator from Arkham in 1934 get mixed up in — all of that?"