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“Come along, Jamie – we’re off! Keep up!” 

The Doctor was pulling Jamie by the arm; they couldn’t be out of here fast enough for him.  And it would be splendid laugh when the hardnosed leader Clent turned around to see that they had completely vanished!

They’d made it onto the TARDIS, and he let go of Jamie as Victoria made an inarticulate exclamation of relief, and made a beeline for the console, shutting the doors and taking off before he even turned around.  When he did whirl around to face his companions, it was to see Jamie suddenly collapsing to his knees.

It had in fact been an unusually smooth takeoff, and Victoria had stayed on her feet without a problem, so it was with a little chuckle that he offered Jamie his hand to stand.  “Careful, Jamie!”

But Jamie didn’t take his hand, and as he glanced up his face was neither embarrassed nor amused.  “It’s no’ that,” he said, his eyes wide and frightened, “it’s m’legs again. Doctor, they’re –” And suddenly he broke off, clutching his head with a pained moan.

“Jamie!” Victoria exclaimed, kneeling down next him and putting her hand on his shoulder.  “Doctor, what’s the matter with him?”

The Doctor heaved an anxious breath without replying, crouching down to his friends’ level and tilting Jamie’s face up to examine him.  “I suspect,” he said at length, directing his explanation to Victoria since Jamie seemed momentarily unfocused, “that whatever the doctors on the base gave him only suppressed his condition for a while, rather fully curing him.  Doubtless they didn’t fully understand what the root cause was, and under Clent’s direction, they only need people to be ready.  And these sorts of shocks are often terribly volatile.  At the end there, I suppose he was running on the last dregs of the drug as well as adrenaline and –” his face momentarily shifted to a fond smile – “well, pure bullheadedness to finish the job, but now we’re all out of danger, it’ll just – eh, take him a little longer to recover from the damage to his nervous system. Though I must say – with my limited resources, I barely understood his condition myself.  Yes, I think I’d best do a more thorough examination, now there’s time for it.”

“S-sorry,” Jamie murmured in a weak voice, “to be such a bother.”

“Don’t be silly,” the Doctor told him kindly, patting his shoulder.  “No one can blame you for getting shot.  Come on now, up you get!”  And to both of his friends’ surprise, he simply picked Jamie up, slung him over his shoulder, and carried him over to the wooden chair beside the console, where he set him gently down.

“Now Victoria dear,” the Doctor panted, “I want you to stay with him a moment while I get some supplies; let me know if he takes a turn for the worse.”  Victoria nodded dutifully, and placed her hands on Jamie’s shoulders in a protective gesture as the Doctor moved off.  “And don’t move, Jamie!”

“I can’t move!” Jamie gasped after him in amused outrage as he dashed out of sight.  He shook his head and turned to face Victoria, who looked tense.  “Daft old man,” he muttered to her with a grin.

“Does it – hurt anywhere, Jamie?” Victoria asked in a small, nervous voice.

In point of fact, Jamie’s head was still throbbing rather viciously, but he didn’t want to distress Victoria, so he said, “Och, no, it’s only a wee headache, an’ m’legs dinnae feel anythin’ . . .” When she continued to frown, he tossed his head back with exaggerated bravado and added, “Dinnae worry, it takes more than an Ice Warrior’s gun to lay low a McCrimmon!”

Victoria returned his smile at last.  Her grip on his shoulder tightened momentarily before she moved around the chair to face him more directly, gripping his hands in hers.  “Oh Jamie,” she said.  “When they shot you, I thought –” She broke off, and Jamie watched her lovely eyes filling with tears.

He frowned, then tugged her arm downward so that he could pull her into a hug.  “I’m just fine,” he whispered into her ear, holding her securely and caressing her soft hair, which was hanging loose and long, freed from its ribbon.  He treasured the warm weight and shape of her kneeling there, leaning into him, breathing in her sweet wild scent, feeling the agitated beating of her gentle heart, pressed against his own chest.

“But you were shot trying to save me, weren’t you?” she persisted guiltily.

“Only ‘cos I let ‘em take ye to begin with,” Jamie muttered, clenching his teeth.  He squeezed tighter, as a lump rose in his throat, remembering.  “Victoria, I thought – thought they’d kill you!”

“I thought they had killed you.”

“Yes, you’ve both had a rather trying day, haven’t you?” remarked the Doctor sympathetically, appearing behind them with some mechanical gizmo tucked under his arm and putting a hand on each of their shoulders as they broke apart, Victoria straightening up swiftly and wiping at her eyes. He looked so regretful for a moment that Jamie felt compelled to reassure him, too.

“We’re all right now, though,” he said heartily, smiling up at him despite another wave of pain and reaching to pat the arm touching his shoulder.  “Ye sorted out those beasties for good an’ all!”

“Yes, you were wonderful!” agreed Victoria, gripping his other arm earnestly.

The Doctor looked gratified, and gave a grateful, twinkling grin to both of them, before he pulled out the gizmo and began to adjust some dials.  “Now then,” he said, clearing his throat, “let’s see if this can’t show us a little better exactly what’s the matter with you, Jamie!”

Jamie sat patiently still as the Doctor held the device over him, moving it up and down his body, gazing intently at a little viewing screen, listening to its beeps and dings, evidently making sense of them.

“Ah, very interesting,” he remarked.

Jamie knew better than to ask what he meant.  He only hoped it meant he’d figured out a way to make his head feel better and his legs work again.

“Did you figure out the problem, Doctor?” Victoria asked.

“Yes, the damage to Jamie’s system is actually remarkably similar to the aftereffects of something that happened to me, once.  It manifested in different ways of course, but it was all the same root cause – a sort of complete power surge to the systems of the body.  It was not long before I met you, in fact, Jamie – when I was travelling with Ben and Polly.”

“What happened to ye?” Jamie asked sharply.  Even knowing it was far in the past, he didn’t like the idea of the Doctor going through anything as horribly painful as what had just happened to him.

“Ah, well, it’s a bit difficult to explain, Jamie,” the Doctor said, biting his lip, “but would you believe I didn’t always look like this?  I underwent – a sort of change.  I once looked – quite different.”

“Aye, so did I,” Jamie said in confusion.  “I was once a wee bairn.  We all were, eh?”

“Do your people grow up differently?” Victoria wondered.  “Age differently, I mean?  If you look like this when you’re four hundred and fifty years old – it must be quite a different process, mustn’t it?”

“Well, actually – oh, that’s not important now,” the Doctor decided.  “That was all in the past, but Jamie’s still suffering.  I only wonder – if our physiology is too different – but if the shock is so similar – than maybe the same sort of thing can stabilize Jamie’s condition . . . it’s worth a try, at any rate.  It can do no harm!”

“What is it, then?” Jamie asked, trying to be patient as another sudden barrage of pain banged inside his skull, causing him to flinch and Victoria to seize his hand.

“Free radicals and tannin!” the Doctor exclaimed.  “I’ll go and prepare it, and you, Victoria, in the meantime – see if you can’t give him a bit of physical therapy.  Just try to stimulate the blood flow in his legs by giving them a nice sort of massage. Just rub your hands on them, as much pressure as you like, and see if he can start to feel again.  And just, er, keep him comfortable, won’t you?”

Victoria looked a little uneasy, but she said, “Yes, of course.”

“There’s a good girl.  Jamie, just hold on, I won’t be long!” And with one more clap on the shoulder, he dashed off and vanished into the hallway again.

There was a silence as Victoria avoided Jamie’s eyes and glanced down at his currently useless legs.  She was blushing, Jamie realized.  And it was true, something about the task the Doctor had assigned her seemed – awkward.  Indecent.

“Ye don’t have tae,” Jamie offered at once, chivalrously.  “He’ll be back in a minute anyway.  You can just – keep me company.”

“No, I – I ought to – if he thinks it’ll help,” Victoria returned.  With excruciating awkwardness, she knelt down on the floor and put her hand on Jamie’s bare knee, centimeters below the end of his kilt.

Victoria’s hand was soft and warm – Jamie knew this to be true, but his knee couldn’t feel a thing.  Instead he felt suddenly extremely conscious that his legs were hairy and rough – that he’d been lying fevered and wrapped in plastic – he must smell awful. 

“Here,” he said, “go and get that yon trunk – the one we found the bell and pipes in.  Ye can prop my legs up on that, if that makes it – easier.”

Victoria, looking relieved, did as she was instructed and hauled the trunk over to rest Jamie’s feet on, making his legs lie flat.

“And, er, my knees are – still a bit cold,” he invented wildly, “if ye wouldn’t mind –” he gestured at the furred cloak she still wore around her shoulders.  Instantly she stripped it off and draped it over his legs.  Seeing that she looked a bit more at ease with the whole situation, Jamie then ventured to suggest, “A shame, though.  Ye did look lovely it.”

Victoria stifled a crooked smile as she began her task of massaging his legs through the soft cloak.  He couldn’t feel a thing, which would have probably disturbed him more if Victoria hadn’t turned to him and asked, “You do like the way I dress, then?”

“Aye, of course,” said Jamie.  “You always look like a princess.  Even in that – just a princess who’s gone travellin’.”

“It’s not much like – the – the lassies on the base,” she commented.  She was focused on the leg closer to her, and narrowed her eyes at it as she worked.

Jamie laughed.  “Victoria, I meant nothin’ by it!  It suited them fine, but I shoulda known it wasn’t for you!  It’d be like askin’ me – not to wear a kilt.”

“Heaven forbid,” Victoria laughed, shooting him a wide and beautiful smile.  She dug the heel of her hands into his calf.  “Can you still feel nothing?”

Jamie shook his head uneasily, trying in vain not to think about it.  “Nothing,” he admitted dully.  Even with Victoria and the Doctor taking care of him, or maybe partially because it of it, it was horrid to be this helpless.  It had been horrid enough having to have Penley drag him through the snow.  He’d always measured himself by his readiness and reliability – the good he could do for his people, ways he could be of help, of use – whether to his own family, the Laird of McLaren, or the Doctor.  And if the Doctor’s solution didn’t work, or if he’d been lying about there even being a solution just to ease Jamie’s mind – if Jamie McCrimmon was to be an invalid – he wasn’t sure what the point of him would be.

Victoria had evidently read something in his expression, for she took her hand off his leg and pressed it to his cheek, where he could acutely feel every inch of her warm, petal-soft fingers.  “It’ll be all right,” she said soothingly.  “It’ll come back soon.”

Jamie gratefully gripped the hand on his face with his own and shook himself, abruptly ashamed of his gloomy mistrust.  “Aye, of course it will,” he sighed.  “The Doctor’ll fix me up fine.  I-I’m bein’ daft.”

The tense smile Victoria was giving him was so very kind, and with the hand he was holding she reached out her thumb and gently stroked his cheek, right next to his nose.  For one maddening instant, Jamie fought an urge to guide that little hand an inch or two over and kiss her palm – but soon it was sliding out of his grasp and returning to its work massaging his legs, with greater vigor than before.

Jamie shut his eyes and tried to concentrate on the non-existent sensation of his legs – willing them to register the faintest touch of Victoria’s diligent hands, the slightest sign that he was returning to normal. Then suddenly he heard her gasp, and opened his eyes to see her reach under the cloak and pull out the sgian-dubh that was tucked into his sock.

“Jamie!” she exclaimed.  “Why on earth do you have a knife inside your sock?”

Jamie narrowed his eyes at her in disbelieving confusion.  He considered it a rather silly question. “For fighting,” he replied.

This made Victoria frown so deeply that Jamie could do nothing but ask, “Hey – wh-what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she replied swiftly and probably insincerely, setting the knife aside on the console and returning to his useless legs, “Just – you ought not to be thinking of fighting right now.”

“Don’t you worry,” Jamie grinned, “the Doctor wouldn’t send me out tae fight another beastie if I couldnae run away from it!”  He said it like this was a touching consideration on the part of the Doctor.  “He’ll wait until I’m fighting fit before we meet the next one!”

“The next one!” Victoria cried in breathless desolation.  “Yes – yes, I suppose there always is a ‘next one’ . . . Oh, Jamie,” she sighed, after a pause, “do you ever – get tired?”

“Aye, I’m tired right now,” Jamie replied.  “I certainly won’t fight another beastie ‘til I’ve had a wee sleep!”

“Oh, never mind,” Victoria muttered hopelessly.  She looked suddenly angry – rebellious. “Listen, Jamie, is that all your legs are for?  Running from horrible monsters?”

“Well, n-no,” Jamie began, a little confused and more than a little apprehensive of what kind of mood had taken her.

“You’re not – not just a warrior, you know!  You’re still – you’re still a man, aren’t you?  You’re Jamie – you’re a – a part of a clan – a piper – a – a dear, dear friend!”

“Eh?”  Jamie was now thoroughly mystified about what she was trying to say.

“What about – dancing?” Victoria was suddenly smiling again.  “You could look forward to – to dancing again!”

“Oh, aye,” Jamie agreed quickly, “I do like dancing.”

“Wonderful!” Victoria beamed.  “Do you know how to waltz?”

“To what?”

“To waltz.” Victoria couldn’t help laughing a little at his blank expression.  “That’s a ‘no’ then!”

“It’s – it’s a dance, aye?” Jamie guessed.

“Yes!  Very popular in my time!”

“Must be after mine,” Jamie mused, feeling old.  “But I know lots of other dances,” he assured her hastily. “I know the Highland Fling, and a coupla good reels!”  He also knew a very excellent sword dance that he and his brothers had perfected, to the pride of the clan McCrimmon, but he decided not to mention it since Victoria was being so funny about bladed weapons.

“Well, when your legs are better,” Victoria insisted eagerly, “I shall teach you to waltz – and you can teach me a reel!”

Jamie nodded, but then suddenly winced in pain again, sucking air through his teeth.  “When you’re all better, that is,” she added softly. Again abandoning his numb legs, she dabbed at his damp forehead with a lacy handkerchief she pulled from her jacket pocket. Replacing it, she paused indecisively, and then placed her hands tentatively on either side of his head, rubbing soothing little circles in his temples with her thumbs.

“Aye, that feels nice,” Jamie said with a contented sigh, leaning back and shutting his eyes to enjoy it.  Victoria watched him, his sweet smile, the edges of his mouth quirked upward at this simple pleasure, so at ease with her there.  She stood and struggled with herself for a moment, and then, following the same wild impulse that led her to the inner sanctum of the monastery, she slid her hands down to cup his face, leaned down, and kissed him softly on the lips.

Jamie’s eyes snapped open in surprise, but he certainly wasn’t going to let that ruin the moment.  He reached to gently take hold of Victoria’s face as well, but she abruptly backed away, looking frightened by what she’d done.  “I-I’m sorry!” she said breathlessly as she clumsily retreated and turned away from him.  “I don’t know – what I –”

Horrible, gaping silence stretched between them – Victoria looking remorseful, Jamie, blinking, looking mostly dumbfounded.  But then Jamie spoke.

“That felt nice, too,” he offered.  Tentatively he reached for her hand, drawing her back to face him again.  “Was it – nice for you?”

“Oh, yes,” Victoria reassured him fervently, hoping she didn’t sound so eager it was unseemly.

“That’s good to hear,” Jamie grinned, gazing downward with a little chuckle.  “I always wondered if I did it wrong.”

“Why?” Victoria asked.  But then a horrible thought occurred to her.  “Is it – not your first?”

“Afraid not,” said Jamie, rather apologetically. Strictly speaking, it was his fourth. He was going to leave it at that, but one look into Victoria’s fearful, defenseless eyes told him she badly wanted to know more about it.  Nonetheless, since the question was only about his first, he decided in an instant that now was not the time to mention Samantha Briggs.  “The first was – right before Culloden,” he recalled, a sort of confession, “I was goin’ into battle, thought I might die, that it’d be my last chance, so – I kissed Kirsty McLaren, the Laird’s daughter.  And she started crying.”

“She was afraid for you!” Victoria said bracingly.  “It had nothing to do with how well you kissed!”

“Aye, suppose you’re right.  Her whole family was goin’ into battle, after all.” His heart was aching to think of her, to think of the laird and poor Alexander and all he’d left back home.  “They’ll all be – off in France now . . . or, now, I suppose, long d-dead. . .”

To Jamie’s shame and horror, he felt a lump forming in his throat again, his eyes stinging.  What was the matter with him, whimpering over old Kirsty McLaren when he’d just gotten what he’d dreamed of?  When Victoria – beautiful, sweet, darling, wonderful Victoria – had just kissed him?  It must be this shock to his brain, he decided, making him not himself. His mind kept drifting off into dark, bleak places, which really wasn’t its natural inclination.  But if he carried on like this, he was going to hurt Victoria’s feelings.  After swallowing and working his mouth into a smile, he gave Victoria’s hand a squeeze and managed to look back up at her. “Anyway . . .” he said, shaking his head with a dismissive breath of laughter.

But Victoria’s expression was more understanding than offended.  “It’s alright to miss them, Jamie,” she said, squeezing his hand in return.  “And anyway, I kissed Kemel once!  Just on the cheek – just – just to cheer him up!  Mr. Maxtible was always so horrid to him . . .”

“Aye, he did seem the type,” Jamie nodded grimly, and they both squeezed hands as they remembered Kemel.  Then, looking up, Jamie reached out his other hand as far as it would go from his position and waited for Victoria’s hand to close the distance. It did.  They held each other at arm’s length for a moment, staring intently into each other’s eyes.  “Victoria,” Jamie began, with a soft sigh, tenderly and ever so earnestly, “I –”

“Oh, don’t,” hissed Victoria desperately.  “Don’t say anything!  I don’t – I don’t know what it means!  I don’t – know what it can mean – you and I – I just wanted to kiss you, Jamie, I just – I just like you so much . . .”

Jamie gave her a gentle smile.  He tugged at her hand until she willingly leaned down closer to him, moving his other hand down her arm to her shoulder as he went, and then behind her head, making their foreheads touch.  They both closed their eyes, and Jamie whispered, “That’s good enough for me.”  And then he kissed her again. 

As the Doctor, arms full, carefully rounded the corner back into the console room, it was to see Jamie with his feet up on the chest and Victoria’s cloak draped over his legs, Victoria herself curled onto his lap, their arms wrapped around each other and their faces pressed together.  Jamie was grinning and whispering something to her and Victoria was giggling like a schoolgirl.  The Doctor paused a moment, with a quiet smile, just to watch them in their senseless, guileless laughter, and their closeness.  He was struck in that moment with their youth and his own great age, their innocence and joy despite everything that had happened to them just hours ago.  Lightly touching the wall of the TARDIS, he willed her helplessly to take them someplace nice next, someplace these poor children could have some sweet, untroubled diversion.  Then, shaking himself, he cleared his throat slightly louder than necessary, banging the door open, and started talking right away.

“Terribly sorry I was so long, Jamie, but since I knew I left you in – er, good hands – I figured I might as well make it nice and – ah,” he added, as if he had just caught sight of them.  They had shifted their faces slightly further apart as he came in, but Victoria had made no move to stand up or get off of his lap.  “Interesting theory, Victoria, but I’m not sure a constant stationary pressure on his legs will stimulate the blood flow in the same way!”

Victoria looked a bit embarrassed, so Jamie supplied, “Oh, she’s only tryin’ to keep me comfortable, Doctor!  I was a wee bit cold, ye see.”

“Yes, of course,” said the Doctor, patting Victoria’s shoulder fondly.  “Well done, my dear.”  In his other hand he was holding a rather decorative floral-patterned tray on which there appeared to be three perfectly normal china cups of tea, accompanied by biscuits, finger sandwiches, shining silverware, and dishes for milk and sugar.  He proffered it to Jamie.  “Now, here we are, Jamie,” he said.

“Is this – some sort of medicine, Doctor?” Jamie asked, picking up the cup nearest him.

“Oh, nothing of the sort!  It’s only tea,” said the Doctor proudly.

“What?  D’you mean tae tell me ye’ve makin’ tea this whole time?  I though’ ye were – findin’ a cure for me!” Jamie looked stricken, his eyes widening in dismay.

“It is, Jamie,” said the Doctor patiently.  “The tea is the cure.”

“Eh?”

“Just drink it, you’ll see,” said the Doctor with a maddening grin, deciding to use Jamie’s legs as a table and setting the tray down on them, sipping from his own cup.

“Might as well try, Jamie,” added Victoria, picking up the third cup along with a spoon.  “Would you like milk and sugar?”

“A-aye . . .”

Victoria obligingly took his cup, spooned milk and sugar into it and mixed it for him before handing it back with a wide grin, whilst the Doctor disappeared again for only an instant and returned with two small crates for himself and Victoria to sit down on.  Victoria very carefully angled herself off of Jamie’s lap without knocking over the tea tray on his knees – and perhaps it was just as well his legs had no sensation to react – and maneuvered into the vacant one.  They all sat in a semicircle and sipped their tea, all ardently grateful for the warm and steadiness it lent them.

“This is lovely, Doctor,” Victoria commented serenely, nibbling one of the sandwiches.  “Just like what Mollie always made for us!”

“Yes, I hoped you’d like it,” the Doctor returned with a smile.

“I feel like a king,” Jamie remarked, glancing down at the pair of them seated on their tiny crates, so much lower than himself.

“King James the Eighth of Scotland,” said Victoria with a giggle.  “Or would it be the Ninth?”

“Only the Eighth,” Jamie informed her regretfully.  “We never did make the Old Pretender a king himself!”

“You’re quite a historian, Jamie,” grinned Victoria.

“Och, only about Scotland,” said Jamie with a blush.

“Jamie also knows several dances,” Victoria told the Doctor.  “He’s going to teach me a reel when his legs are better!  And I’m going to teach him to waltz!”

“Oh, that’s a splendid idea!” the Doctor returned, grinning at her before turning to Jamie.  “It’s just the thing to exercise your legs and help them recover, Jamie!”  He patted Jamie heartily on the leg, and Jamie nearly gasped in shock.

“Doctor!  I can – I can feel – f-faintly – I can feel your hand!”

Victoria, grinning excitedly, placed her hands on his knees again, and he felt their soft pressure through the fabric of the cloak.  “What about that?”

“Yes!  I – can feel it, too!  It’s – it’s coming back!”  His smile twisted a moment into a look of concentration, and then fell slightly.  “I still cannae – move them, though.”

“Well, give it time, Jamie,” the Doctor smiled bracingly.  “Let’s finish our tea, shall we?  I’m awfully glad it’s worked.  But then, the free radicals and tannin in tea are quite good at heating the synapses – repairing and stabilizing all the connections in the central nervous system.  And yours and mine aren’t so very different, after all!  Of course, it won’t be quite as fast, as your cells don’t hold the same regenerative properties, but just the natural healing of the human body can be a pretty marvelous thing . . .”

Jamie and Victoria exchanged smiles.  “Oh, aye,” Jamie nodded like he understood.  They sipped their tea in silence a moment, and then Victoria asked him more about the campaigns of the Old Pretender and the Young Pretender, which he was only too happy to explain, proud to be considered the knowledgeable party for once.  Both Victoria and the Doctor beamed at him and listened with great interest.

When they had drunk all the tea and Jamie had finished his enthusiastic biography of the Old Pretender and his absconding son (along with the last of the biscuits), the Doctor stood and took their cups, removing the tray from its place on Jamie’s legs.  “Now, let’s all get a good sleep,” he said.  “And after that, we’ll see if you’re dancing fit!”

“Oh, I’m not tired, Doctor!” Victoria grinned broadly, but then she turned to Jamie and bit her lip.  “Oh, but maybe – well, are you, Jamie?”

Jamie quickly squeezed his mouth shut, which he had half-opened for a yawn.  “N-no, ‘course not!” he lied.  He had said he was tired earlier, but she seemed to have forgotten.

“Can you talk me through the steps of the reel, then?” she asked eagerly.  “So maybe I won’t be quite so far behind when you’re ready to join me!”

“Well, you cannae reel without the pipes,” Jamie told her doubtfully.  “Or at least some kind of music . . .”

“Oh!  Of course!  But you can play, can’t you?  Where are those pipes you found?  You wanted to fix them, so you took them – I’ll go and find them!” She began to dash away.  “Don’t move, Jamie!”

“Och, I can’t move!” Jamie called after her, shaking his head.  He turned to face the Doctor.  “Daft wee lassie.”

The Doctor was giving him a knowing smile that reminded him of one his father gave when he was a child, when he knew Jamie was about to nod off but was insisting on staying awake to play with his brother.  “Are you – quite sure you’re not tired, Jamie?”

“Wh-why would I lie?” Jamie asked defensively, almost certain that the Doctor could see through him just as well as his father.

“Well, you have been known to go to rather extreme lengths to make Victoria happy,” the Doctor observed.

“Aye, well – s-so do you!” Jamie retorted.  “She’s – she’s our – she’s – she’s precious, isn’t she?” 

“Of course,” the Doctor agreed.  “But that’s not a denial.”

Jamie sighed in surrender, and rubbed a hand across his face, suddenly too weary and muddled to find a reply.  “S’pose it’s not,” he said finally.

“Then I think dear Victoria can wait a bit longer for her dancing lesson,” said the Doctor, smiling warmly and placing his hand on Jamie’s damp forehead.

At his touch Jamie instantly felt his eyelids droop, his brain filling with warm, pleasant fog – he wasn’t going to last until Victoria got back.  “Suppose I could – concentrate better – to teach her, ye ken – after I’ve . . .” he trailed off, his eyes slipping shut, his head slumping on its side.

“Good night, Jamie,” said the Doctor, grinning fondly.  Reaching to the console he dimmed the lights of the room, and pulled Victoria’s cloak a little higher, to cover his chest and arms.  He then turned to go, but to his surprise found the young man still clinging to his arm.

“Doctor,” he murmured, before he could stop himself, looking suddenly very serious and very small, and not looking him in the eye, “will I – will I really get better?  My legs, I mean . . . You’re no’ just – sayin’ that, to make me happy?”  He had shut his eyes, looking miserably ashamed.  “I know I said – I’d take your word on that, but –”

He didn’t want to finish the thought out loud, wanted to spare him that, but the implication hung in the air between them – that perhaps the Doctor had been lying before in his assurances.  Jamie was not angry, only unsure.  Only skeptical, and ashamed to be so.

“Oh, Jamie,” the Doctor said with pity, patting the arm still gripping him by the wrist, “of course you will.  You’ve already got the feeling back, so it’s just a matter of how many hours now until they’re strong enough!  I promise, Jamie – and, while I’m no Highlander, in this case I can say – my word is my bond.  Do you believe me?”

Looking up at him, Jamie swallowed and nodded unwaveringly.  “I believe ye,” he said.  He looked away again, gripping the arm once more before releasing it, as he added, “I’m – I’m sorry, Doctor.  I’m – not myself.”

“It’s all right,” the Doctor assured him again.  “You will be soon.”

Jamie smiled at last.  “Th-thank you, Doctor,” he said.  “Thanks – for everything.”

“You’re quite welcome, Jamie,” said the Doctor with a smile, tucking the errant arm back under the cloak and then patting his cloaked shoulder.  “Now, rest.”

“Aye,” Jamie agreed, leaning back and closing his eyes.  “G’night!”

The Doctor fiddled with the covers a moment longer, pillowed Jamie’s head with his jacket, and then, satisfied that he was sleeping comfortably at last, he gently smoothed back his hair once more before he turned to go.

“Sleep well, my dear boy . . .”

He met Victoria in the doorway, brandishing the whole of the vast Great Highland bagpipes she’d found among Jamie’s things.  Stopping her, he held a finger to his lips, indicating Jamie’s peaceful figure lying back in the chair at the console.  Victoria gave Jamie one tender expression, and then nodded to the Doctor as he put his hand on her shoulder and led her out.

Jamie dreamed a lovely dream.  The pleasant fog half cleared into a flowering Highland glen, at sunset, where he was riding a sturdy black stallion at high speed.  There was another horse and rider in the distance, and though they were too far ahead to make out, he knew he had to follow them, had to catch up.  Their pace never faltered, whereas Jamie had to dodge obstacles and try to stay at a steady pace, not go to a full gallop, lest the horse lose all its breath and have to stop in its tracks.  The distance lengthened sometimes and shortened others, and Jamie worried he’d be left behind far behind, but nonetheless – this was a merry chase. When it seemed at last that Jamie’s horse was out of breath, slowing to a halt, and his quarry vanishing over the horizon, suddenly Victoria rode up beside him on a chestnut mare, beckoning him to come and ride with her.  Her horse was fresh and they could catch their quarry together.  He nodded, dismounted, and reached for her hand, but the moment his hand touched hers, his eyes snapped open and he found himself in the dimly-lit console room again, holding the real Victoria’s hand and staring up into the real Victoria’s eyes.

She was a wearing a lacy nightgown and had her hair in a long plait hanging down one side, and she smiled her glorious smile as he blinked her into focus.

“Good morning, Jamie,” she whispered, and he returned the sentiment sleepily, rubbing his eyes.  She had brought a breakfast tray bearing several slices of toast with jam, and more tea.  Imitating the Doctor in setting the tray down on his legs, which now had enough feeling to sense the warmth of the teacups through the layers, she picked up a piece of toast and then settled down on her little crate to join him for breakfast.  “How are you feeling today?”

Jamie considered.  The fog was clearing from his head, and behind it, there was no echo of yesterday’s pain.  Never mind that his neck was slightly stiff from sleeping in a chair, his mind felt refreshed and alert, and the discovery of the Doctor’s rumpled suit jacket folded behind him to pillow his head filled his heart with an odd, aching tenderness.  He also found that if he concentrated, he could very slowly wiggle his toes.  “I’m – worlds better,” he said, and his eyes twinkled as he added, “Galaxies.”  He grinned over at her, and then, as they were alone, he picked up her hand and kissed it.  “Thank ye for this,” he added sincerely.

Victoria giggled and blushed a little through her mouthful of toast, hiding her face with her other hand, but clearly very pleased.  “Eat – eat your breakfast, Jamie!”

“Aye,” Jamie smiled and obliged, but they continued to grip each other’s hands.  They both ate their breakfast one-handed without a word about it.

Jamie had just opened his mouth to ask if Victoria had had pleasant dreams when they heard a crash from the hallway, and the Doctor’s voice roaring his irate but innocuous curses.

“Are you all right, Doctor?” Jamie called.

“Yes, quite all right, Jamie – just trying to carry too much!”

“Let me give ye –” Jamie stopped, as with a pang he remembered he wasn’t in any position to offer the Doctor his help with the heavy lifting.

“I’ve got it, Jamie,” Victoria assured him, giving his hand a squeeze and setting off down the hallway to help.  Jamie grimaced and waited uselessly, and a moment later the door banged open and Victoria and the Doctor came into the console room, panting and carrying between them the beautiful set of Great Highland bagpipes, a large, decorative wooden harp, and two huge black machines with great cross-hatched metal circles, trailing a mess of wires.

“What are those, Doctor?”

“They’re speakers, Jamie,” the Doctor panted.  “In case we want to dance to something we don’t know how to play ourselves.  These can play recorded music!”

He smiled vaguely, thrust the bagpipes into Jamie’s hands, and then set down his speaker, indicating Victoria to do the same with hers, and began to mess about with the wires.  Victoria took the harp and sat down again on her crate, placing her fingers on the strings in a practiced manner, and moving them to a few different positions.

“D’ye play the harp?” Jamie asked her incredulously.  “Ye never said so!”

“Well, not very well.  Mother taught me – a little,” she recalled.  “But I haven’t had a lesson since she died.”

“Oh,” said Jamie uncomfortably.  “Well, ye don’t have tae – I mean, if –”

“No, it’s all right,” Victoria assured him, smiling, “The Doctor was right – it’s not a sad memory!  Not always, at least.  I think it can be – a way to honor her.”

“Yes, I thought since we all played instruments, we could do a sort of little concert to go with our dancing,” the Doctor added with a smile, looking up from the speaker wires and pulling his recorder out of one of his pockets.

“Like a ceilidh!” said Jamie, struck with comprehension.

“Yes, that’s right,” the Doctor smiled.

“And since your legs are still on the mend,” Victoria put in, leaving the harp momentarily and taking the tray from his legs to set it aside, and gently lowering his legs down from the chest to make more room for the pipes, “preventing your dancing with us just yet, and you’re the most accomplished musician among us, perhaps you’d like to start us off?”

“Oh, if – if ye like,” said Jamie with a blush.

“And I believe,” added Victoria cheerfully, moving to stand at the ready, “that a reel was the first order of business!  So how does it go?”

Jamie hoisted the repaired pipes into position, blowing experimentally into them to expel some dust, and then silently fingering well-remembered notes on the chanter.  It had been a good long while since he’d played.  Not since the battlefield.  He’d wanted to, had been looking forward to fulfilling his promise to teach the Doctor to play, but the Doctor had ever since then seemed reluctant to the idea.  He glanced over at the Doctor uncertainly, and couldn’t help feeling a little hurt when he saw that he was stuffing something inside his ear.

“Do ye – not want tae hear, Doctor?” he asked.

“Oh, no, Jamie, I’m sure it’ll sound lovely, it’s only that my people have very sensitive hearing, you see, and bagpipes – well, they do tend to get a bit loud.  These little devices will just muffle the sound waves for me so that I can hear your song at a volume more comfortable for my ears!”

“Oh, aye,” said, Jamie, relieved.  “Well, are ye ready, then?  I’ll – start with an easier one . . . I’ll play it once first, so ye’ll know the rhythm, then take ye through the steps.”

The Doctor nodded and offered Victoria his hand.  “Ready, my dear?”

“Wait!” said Victoria suddenly, with an enormous smile.  “Wait – sorry, one more thing!  Let me just –” she began to dash for the hallway again, her voice carrying as she disappeared down the hallway.  “Just one more thing!  Don’t move, Jamie!” 

“Och, I can’t –” Jamie began incredulously, but with a gasp he stopped suddenly as he realized he was contradicting himself – for he had risen to his feet mid-sentence.  “D-doctor!” he exclaimed, wobbling slightly and nearly dropping the pipes.

The Doctor beamed from ear to ear.  “That’s it, Jamie!” He rushed over to grab Jamie by the arm and steady him.  “Here – here, Jamie, hold on to me – that’s it – now let’s – let’s try walking a bit . . .”

Jamie set his pipes down in the chair and concentrated on moving.  His legs were still weak and trembling, and he had to lean heavily on the Doctor, but with his help, he managed to walk a full circle around the console without falling.  At least until he saw Victoria.

“Oh, well done, well done,” the Doctor was saying proudly, patting him on the back as he leaned over, gripping the console and panting from the effort of the short walk.  But he looked back up as he heard the door opening, and there was Victoria in the doorway.

She now wore a beige-colored sweater, and her hair, now freed from its braid, was partly pulled back underneath a jaunty tam o’ shanter.  Best of all, hanging from her waist was a real knee-length red Scottish tartan, only subtly different from his own best kilt.  Taking her in, Jamie did not think he had ever seen anything so beautiful in his entire life.

“Jamie!” she exclaimed happily, “you’re standing!”

Completely struck dumb, Jamie just stared and took three shaky unaided steps toward her before his weak knees gave out and he began to fall – only for her to swiftly close the distance and catch him in her arms.

“Oh, careful!”

“You look – beautiful,” Jamie gasped out, gazing transfixed into her eyes as she helped him stand up straight again.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, grinning a bit at the non sequitur of it, completely ignoring the fall or anything other than her.  “I thought perhaps it would be a fitting thing to dance a reel in!”

Jamie could say no more.  He just threw his arms around her and, caught up in the moment, unwisely attempted to lift her off her feet, which caused his knees to buckle again, and the Doctor to rush to their aid, trying to catch them, but only succeeding in cushioning their fall.  All was a quavering confusion of tartan and limbs and the three tried to raise themselves from the heap they’d fallen in, their squirming appendages colliding.  Simultaneously all three of them surrendered to the chaos, momentarily laid back on the cold console room floor, and burst out laughing.

“Sorry abou’ that,” Jamie gasped, still laughing, when Victoria and the Doctor finally managed to untangle themselves, pull him to his feet, and deposit him in his chair again.

But they were laughing, too.  “No harm done,” the Doctor managed, swiping at his face with his handkerchief and patting Jamie vaguely on the arm.  “Now you just rest a while.”

They both sat on the floor by Jamie’s feet while he caught his breath, and then took his hands when he rose to his feet again.  The instruments momentarily forgotten, the two of them helped Jamie from the room – first to the bathroom, to clean up a bit, then to the wardrobe, where Victoria found him a dark wool waistcoat that she said looked very fetching on him.  By the time he came out wearing his fresh clothes, just Victoria waited for him to help him back to the console room, and though he had to go slowly, he barely needed her help.  He clung to her hand nonetheless.

They returned to find that the Doctor had repossessed his jacket (now crumpled worse than usual form being used as a pillow) and moved the chair, chest and crates off to the side with the harp and pipes upon them, to make more room for dancing, and was now leaning against the console idly playing his recorder.

“Ah, there you are!” he said brightly when they came in.  “Are we ready now?  Jamie?”

He nodded and smiled widely.  “Aye.”

And so it began – just a few merry hours of his life that Jamie would shortly after swear he would never forget, as long as he lived.  It was blurred montage of little moments, strung together by song, making up a whole that was unfathomably vast and vital. 

Jamie took up his pipes and played his reel, while Victoria and the Doctor listened, impressed and perhaps a little surprised, and tapped their feet appreciatively.  He then instructed them on the steps and played slowly while they tried them.  Eventually, he felt the need to stand and step in, exclaiming, “No, no, no, like this!” – to show the Doctor what he was doing wrong, seizing Victoria’s hand and demonstrating the movements for the position across from her.  Distantly he recalled his father teaching them to him when he was a lad.

Victoria was a fairly quick learner for dance steps.  She’d been trained by a dancing master, she’d told them, in preparation for what she called her first “season,” but she’d never actually gotten around to it before the Daleks had invaded her life.

Eventually, when Victoria and the Doctor were dancing something slow and vaguely resembling the intended reel, they switched places, and the Doctor tried (with limited success) to play a waltz on his recorder for Jamie and Victoria to dance to.

Jamie’s legs, while much better, were still a bit stiff and weak, and he wobbled and had to lean on Victoria a bit more than he liked to admit.  Nonetheless, his nimble feet, with their innate sense of rhythm, picked up the steps from Victoria’s humming and instructions faster than the Doctor’s fingers picked up the tune.

Victoria laughed as they tried to slow their pace to keep up with the Doctor’s stilted playing, but eventually she asked if she could demonstrate, and took up her harp. She played the same simple waltz tune on it, and Jamie and the Doctor laughingly took hold of each other, and Jamie led him through the steps he’d just learned.  The Doctor just managed to keep pace, mostly by simply following Jamie’s confident lead and allowing himself to be steered.  Victoria giggled a little and began to play faster, so accordingly, they danced faster, Jamie dragging the Doctor into all sorts of spins and dramatic dips, until all at once it was too fast for the Doctor to follow, while simultaneously the returning strength of Jamie’s legs expired, and sent them sprawling to the floor in a laughing heap once again.

After that, Jamie rested in his chair and closed his eyes listening to Victoria playing a slower, haunting and mournful sort of lullaby, feeling each note resonate through him like ecstatic pain, like she was playing the very strings of his heart.  She followed it up with a merry, sprightly little tune, and sang a song in French, and her sweet voice was like sunlight and joy. 

The Doctor then dragged out an old book of folk songs, and he showed Jamie some of the Scottish ones – some he knew, and some written after his time.  He showed him a song that had been written about the battle of Culloden a hundred years after it happened, and his heart throbbed with the weight of history.  Victoria squealed in delight to see some madrigals she knew.  The Doctor seemed to like songs that twisted the tongue.  The three of them sang what songs they knew and could teach each other – Victoria in her sunny soprano, Jamie in his broad baritone, and the Doctor in a tinny tenor.

Jamie took up the pipes again and showed the Doctor some tunes on the chanter for him to copy on recorder, and though his fingers were not as nimble and practiced as Jamie’s were, Jamie patiently worked him up to playing the same tune together. Next, they played to complement each other, and Victoria joined in with her harp on some simple background chords.

The Doctor could not match Jamie’s skill and grace, be had a flair for inventing his own harmonies, even if they were more ambitious than he could quite get a hold of.  He had Jamie’s steady, nimble, adaptable skill to lean on, and so he could also bring it back before it completely fell apart.  Soon they were playing a patchwork of tunes they knew and tunes of their own invention, and Victoria, classically-trained, was on the verge of giving up trying to follow along with them, until Jamie thoughtfully came to her rescue and brought it back around to a tune that symphonized beautifully with her gentle harp melody, and put it at the forefront of the song.

They returned to dancing, and the Doctor switched on the speakers and played them songs from across time and space – songs from Ben and Polly’s time, songs from the distant future of earth, songs from Victoria’s time, songs from planets with strange names and strange ideas of what defined music; he even said that one of the songs was a song of his own people. Jamie, ever adaptable, gamely did his best to find the rhythms in them, and guide Victoria along with him when she looked puzzled. He could feel his legs growing stronger as he moved and rested at his own pace.

The Doctor, of course, tried to dance to all of them, and Jamie could never decide if he was really that clumsy, or if he was merely playing at it to make them all laugh.  One moment, he was tripping over his own feet to a Bollywood number, but the next, he was dancing a break-neck Irish jig to unarguable perfection.

Jamie and Victoria waltzed again, to a sweet, brisk and bouncy recorded tune, and Jamie’s legs by now were strong and steady, and he lifted her and spun her and dipped her with panache, staring into her eyes lit up with joy. It made him feel, for the very first time, that perhaps he wasn’t so very far from the kind of gentleman she deserved.

They tried a few more fast-paced reels, to Victoria’s further delight, and Jamie lamented that he could not play and dance along at the same time, which gave the Doctor an idea.  He fiddled with some wires on the speakers and attached something to them, and then instructed Jamie to play his favorite reel of them all – or whatever song, reel or not, that he liked best to dance to.

Jamie thought about it only a moment before he gave the Doctor a nod and put pipe to mouth again.  He began to play – the tune started slow, simple, almost shy, before building to an ecstatic crescendo, crashing with energy, the raw joy and pride of life, of freedom.  This was song the McCrimmon boys had composed together – a nameless tune, never written out, only played and shared among the clan and the McLarens.  His older brother had started it as a love song to court his wife, but the younger ones had added their own connotations.  The tune accelerated to keep pace with the frantic beating of the war drum that was meant to accompany it, as the world reeled into chaos, and love and life and freedom must be fought for – died for.  As he played, he felt that the ghosts of his brothers were surrounding him, straining to listen.  Jamie was pouring all his breath, all his heart into his playing, as if music and memory could bring their pale shadows into sharper relief, bring them back before his eyes.  But the song moved on, and it ended with the lively merriment of victory, of freedom earned and restored – this part mostly Jamie’s own contribution. For the McCrimmons were nothing if not a hopeful clan, and of course they hadn’t known when they crafted it how it all was to end for them.

When Jamie finally let go of his last quavering note, he glanced up, breathless, at Victoria and the Doctor, with a nervous and slightly desperate look.  Having poured the song out of himself, he felt almost – laid bare before them.

They were both staring at him with unreadable expressions.  Victoria was the first to speak.  Her voice sounded rather unsteady.

“That was – beautiful, Jamie,” she said ardently.

“Yes, I’ve – I’ve never heard that one,” the Doctor added faintly.

“No, nor like to hear again,” Jamie told them.  “Just a family tune of the McCrimmons it is, and we never wrote it down.  And no one else knew it.” He gave a hollow laugh.  “It’ll die with me, I suppose.”

The Doctor grinned suddenly, despite Jamie’s somber expression.  “Ah, I think that’s where you’re mistaken, Jamie!  You see, I’ve just recorded it!”

“You’ve what?”

Rather than trying to explain recording, he merely said, “Listen,” and then pressed a button on the device in his hand. Immediately, Jamie’s song began to sound from the speakers.  The Doctor gave Jamie a grin at the look of wonderment on his face, as he stopped and rewound the song.  “Now your family’s song is here, for all time if you allow.  Captured in electric currents.  And it will go everywhere we go, Jamie.  Everywhere in time and space.  You’ve given it to history.  To all the universe.”

“The McCrimmon legacy,” said Jamie, blinking.

“Quite right,” agreed the Doctor.  “One of many, I’m sure.”

“Doctor –” Jamie began, meaning to say – he didn’t know what.  He was feeling a little fragile again, despite the renewed strength of his legs.

“Come,” the Doctor cut him off, sensing him struggling.  “I recorded it so that you could dance to it.  You wanted to dance to your own music while you weren’t busy playing.  And here it is!  Would you like to try?”

Jamie faced Victoria.  “But I – I ne’er taught you –”

“I’ll follow your lead, Jamie,” Victoria said, gripping his hands and then getting into position.  “I trust you.”

He gave her a faint grin.

“There we are then,” said the Doctor brightly, and he pressed the button to begin the song again.

As they danced and whirled, Jamie and Victoria felt more in synch, more connected than ever before – she in her tartan and he in his fancy waistcoat. She followed his lead like she’d danced it a thousand times – seemed to know where the reel was going before it shifted – just because she knew Jamie.  As he’d played it, Jamie had felt the absence of the family with which he’d created this song.  But as he danced, its notes and steps took on a brighter cast, filling him up to the brim with the presence of his family – of Victoria and the Doctor, there beside him, sharing this with him.

As the song ended, they stood panting, holding each other, and Victoria looked up at him, beaming.  The Doctor was beaming, too, some distance away, visible over her shoulder.  They had done all this for him, given this to him – this music, this time – their gift.  He was so overcome with how much he loved them – both of them – that he felt a lump in his throat again, and he quickly reached up to shade his eyes.

“Are you all right, Jamie?” Victoria asked worriedly, wrapping an arm around him as he leaned back against the console and tried to get a hold of himself.  He felt the Doctor appear on his other side, and place a hand on his shoulder.

“Aye, I –” he began, meaning to mutter some nonsense about dust in his eyes, or about not being himself.  But he felt very much like himself – more fully himself than he had been in a while, like parts of himself had just woken up – and so these lies died in his throat.  Instead he merely sniffed, smiled, and said, “I’m – perfect.”

He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he saw that both Victoria and the Doctor were had taken out their handkerchiefs, and now moved to wipe his face with them.  Profoundly embarrassed, Jamie gave up on it all and threw his arms around both of them, squeezing them tight to his chest.  He kissed Victoria’s forehead fervently and held them there for a long moment.  Neither resisted.  They both rubbed his back.

“I—thank you,” he said as he released them at last.  “Thank ye for givin’ me a ceilidh.”

They both smiled in return, knowing that Jamie had given them just as precious a gift.

“Now then,” said the Doctor, “let’s have some lunch.”

Having whiled away many hours in this makeshift ceilidh, they were all hungry again from the exertion.  They idly made some sandwiches and sat down together to eat them.  Victoria and the Doctor were talking about holidays they’d taken where they didn’t run into any monsters, while Jamie, who had never left the Highlands before meeting the Doctor, just listened with rapt attention.  Victoria happily told them how beautiful Paris was, and the Doctor was just beginning a tale about an apparently fascinating place called the Eye of Orion, when he heard the telltale sign and looked up with a smile.

“Ah, we’re landing!”  Immediately he sprang to his feet in excitement.

Jamie and Victoria finished up and set the dishes and crates aside as the Doctor worked the controls.  “Ready, you too?”

They nodded.  Gripping the console – and each other – for support, they listened to the signature sound of materialization.  Half-furtively, the Doctor glanced up at the scanner and was pleased to see a serene seaside.  Thank you, Old Girl, he thought fervently.  “Well, what are we waiting for?”  He was tucking his recorder into his jacket pocket and he turned for the doors.

“Och, leave it here, Doctor,” Jamie said suddenly, gesturing to where they’d stored the other instruments.  “For – for next time, aye?”

The Doctor wanted to protest, but a glance at Jamie’s expression changed his mind.  “Oh, very well,” he said, and reluctantly set the recorder aside. “Come on!”  And out he went, into the unknown.  Jamie made to follow him.

“Wait – don’t forget this, Jamie!” said Victoria suddenly, picking up the sgian-dubh from its resting place on the console and offering it to him.  It had lain there, completely forgotten, ever since she’d taken in from his sock.

Jamie accepted it.  “Oh, aye . . .”  As he tucked it away, he looked Victoria in the eyes curiously.

She was frowning a little at the open doors, looking slightly reluctant to leave this all behind.  For once he understood how she felt.

He offered her his hand.  “Shall we?”

Victoria grinned, took it and squeezed it, and together, they followed the Doctor outside.