Watson's face passes through several emotions very quickly, starting at shock, then despair, then something akin to hope, then a sort of sick self-loathing. Can he do that? He hates his reflection, sometimes, but does he want to just... have her so casually remove them? If that's possible? He wants to believe, and he doesn't, and he wants to say yes, and he wants to say no. He doesn't know what he wants. He's had twelve years to come to terms with the way his body looks, under his clothes, and even if he still feels very ugly at times, that's a long time he's had to live with them. He shakes his head.

"In fact, I have a good many scars," he says, suddenly a little hoarse. He clears his throat, not at all sure he's not being very foolish. "But perhaps we oughtn't start with those, Miss Tendi. Ah. Perhaps a smaller one, as a demonstration. Does no one in the 24th century have scars? Really?"

Watson leans his cane up against the wall, and takes a seat on a stool. He moves to roll up his trouser leg, but hesitates, feeling sick.