“I don’t hug,” the Doctor protested, trying to ward of Clara’s determined efforts.
“You’re sure of that? The other you did.”
“I’m not him, he was a different me; this is the new me and yes, I’m quite certain I do not hug.” He backed up another step.
“That’s too bad because I intend to hug you anyway. Everybody needs a hug now and then, even you.” Then Clara’s arms were somehow around the Doctor, and though he’d never admit it, being hugged felt sort of nice.
Perhaps a little bit of his previous self was still there after all.