"Don't be. You had no hand in their demises. That should never have happened, but there's no going back to change it, is there?" he says, his voice harsh. The Doctor might sense the warring emotions in the other: rage at the past and the ones who treated him and his adoptive siblings as so many test subjects in a long term science experiment, despair at losing track of Alex and her presumed demise, given Spencer defining him as the only survivor of Project W, envy that he could have had a normal life free of, a burning hatred for humanity itself, that no one thought to look into this dire act of subtle cruelty and stop it, that humanity would rather dodder along in its mediocrity than truly advance itself. So many conflicting emotions seething behind this generally stoical facade, like a caldera-type volcano hidden deep beneath a rolling grassland, threatening to explode and spread destruction...

However, he makes no movement to push The Doctor's hand away, accepting its presence, accepting the mind behind it.

He might look toward The Doctor, the tiniest grin, just uncovering the tips of his teeth, crossing his face. "Perhaps I did. I'm not without a sense of humor, though it's a dark and sardonic one and likely unsuitable for Disney's target audience."