Chapter Text
There were very few times when the Doctor forgot why he’d run away from Gallifrey in the first place, and this was definitely not one of them.
Certainly, in the years after he’d first left, it happened every now and again that he’d land on a planet with a binary star system that didn’t quite pass muster and wish he could show his companions a truly beautiful view, but that was about it. And nowadays, there was hardly any risk of that happening, traveling alone like he was.
So all things considered, he really didn’t see why his superiors in the CIA were apparently bending over backwards to remind him of everything he’d ever hated about it in the first place.
He’d only just returned to the vortex after a long job tediously and finally completed when the column at the center of the console began to move up and down again, carrying him off someplace new. The fact that his mental line back to the office was still open at all was a testament to how quick the turnaround had been, since he never left it active a moment longer than he had to. In fact, technically speaking, he was still in the middle of receiving a debrief he was currently ignoring even as it was projected directly into his mind – but as the Time Lords back at the CIA wrapped up their pointless little speech, the Tardis engines ground to halt. The Doctor knew he must have materialized someplace, but without any other information, it now fell to him to keep the contact open, awaiting an explanation – which by this time of night, was his diplomatic way of saying complaining.
Really? Already? he thought at them when they failed to speak up themselves. But that last one took ages. You control my time machine, can’t you just let me rest for a few hours before you drop me off whenever you need me to be? I don’t see what you’re achieving by having me dead on my feet, I really don’t.
He waited a moment for a response, but none came. The line remained silent apart from a background hum that told him it was still open and functional, and therefore that his bosses must be ignoring him on purpose.
He hated when they didn’t tell him where he was going.
For one, there was never any point to it. If they were worried about him protesting, they must’ve forgotten that his entire employment was based on blackmail, and, anyway, it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t find out eventually. He supposed it just went to show the kind of control they had over him.
“Right then,” he said to himself, adjusting his lapels in a huff, and, without even bothering to check the scanner, he opened the doors and strode outside.
The Tardis had landed in the last fading rays of sunlight atop a small hill grown over with trees and brush. At the foot of the hill, the brush changed to grass, and across the open stretch of land before him, the Doctor could see a small gathering of what looked like disused farm buildings beginning to fade into the twilight – an old barn and a few outbuildings clustered around the back of a field along a ridge. He knew the drill, and set off down the hill in the direction of the nearest of the buildings as darkness gathered around him.
“You know, I truly don’t understand what all this cloak and dagger’s for,” he said aloud as walked. He could easily keep all of his communications with the CIA silent, but when he was alone – which was nearly all the time, these days – he preferred to speak out loud. On the one hand, it made it a little easier for him to separate between what he was broadcasting and what he was thinking privately – a useful skill to sharpen, in his line of work – but in situations like this, he also found it gave him a small amount of leverage against them. If the role he’d been sent to play on this planet was anything other than that of a raving lunatic, it generally increased the chances that he might get a response out of them sooner rather than later, even if it was just to shut him up.
He took his time ambling down the slope, talking to himself. “You already know I’m going to do whatever you ask, and you will have to ask eventually or I simply won’t know what I’m meant to be doing.”
Nothing.
Honestly, it was so typical of Time Lords to lord it over him every time he asked a question – but it was also so needlessly childish, since he’d long since given up on asking things that weren’t necessary. As curious as he was, the Doctor didn’t exactly approve of all of the CIA’s methods, so he’d learned that sometimes it was better if he didn’t look too far into his assignments. He was all for preventing the fabric of time and space from disintegrating, of course, but on a smaller scale he wasn’t always sure if the things he was sent to do helped prevent wars or provoke them, and knowing it was all for the best in the end didn’t always help one overlook what was happening in front of you, not when you caused it, so he tended to keep the questions to a minimum, these days.
He sighed, and began kicking a small stone between his feet as the path leveled out and the trees dwindled to merge with the grass.
“Unless, of course, you’re trying to sabotage me – you know, send me into the field confused and tired and underprepare— what am I saying? Completely unprepared, so I’ll do very poorly and you can give me the boot. And perhaps that’s what you need to do to come up with an excuse to sack your other employees, but need I remind you that it is not the case with me, so there’s really nothing to be gained by attempting to trip me— up—”
The Doctor stopped in his tracks, stumbling over the stone. He had just passed the point where the trees thinned enough to give him a clear view of the fields to his left and behind him, which so far had been hidden from sight.
There was a small group of men, not too far off, and drawing slowly nearer. The sun had already sunk below the horizon behind him, but although the light was low their silhouettes were picked out clearly against the fading orange of what was now undoubtedly the Western sky of an evening on Earth, but the Doctor wasn’t thinking about geography anymore. His eyes had seized on one figure in the group and both his hearts had skipped a beat.
The more rational part of him told him it couldn’t be – it just couldn’t be. Anyone who looked even a little like that – dressed like that – smiled like that would of course remind him of him, he was already always thinking of him anyway, that didn’t mean it could actually be—
But at the same time, he knew him far too well to be mistaken.
His mouth fell open and his breath caught in his chest. He realized as he staggered back dumbly to hide among the trees that it physically hurt him to breathe right now.
Why? he asked mentally. He’d been scared into not speaking aloud anymore, but somehow even the voice inside his head was trembling with emotion. Why would you bring me here? He doesn’t remember anything so he can’t be affecting the timeline in any way he shouldn’t be, is this just to torture me? You’ve no right, you know! I agreed to work for you, I already have a sentence, thank you, and this isn’t meant to be part of—
On the contrary Doctor, we thought you might be grateful for this, a voice in his head finally answered, and if he were less busy being shocked the hint of amusement in it might’ve enraged him.
But why do this? Why send me here, to him, when it must be – the mental image of Jamie he had recorded from that one glimpse was painfully sharp, the realization that he could judge exactly how much his one-time friend had grown from such a quick glance equally painful –oh, four and a half years since he was put back here?
Your instincts with time are remarkably good, Doctor, but not so much your ability to read people, I’m afraid.
Eh?
Are you aware that you were actually 17.3% more efficient at preserving the correct timelines before you were in our employ?
I hope you’re not trying to suggest I’m being deliberately less effective. It’s not so easy you know, dealing with omniscient bosses landing me places without warning, being exhausted all the time—
Missing him? the voice suggested.
The Doctor could not deny it but would not confirm it. Why have you brought me here? he demanded again instead.
We’ve been studying your timeline – just a routine review – but the evidence suggests your effectiveness was increased due to the assistance of your human companions. You did much better with them to keep you on track, and with none so well as with this – the tone shifted as the supervisor obviously read from his notes – James Robert McCrimmon. And, since your methods aren’t particularly in keeping with those of our other Time Lord agents, we have decided to enlist this McCrimmon as your assistant for the foreseeable future.
You what? The Doctor couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He wondered briefly if the fact that he was only hearing it inside his own head meant it was possible that he’d simply gone mad. It was almost easier to believe that way, but his supervisor was already continuing with his briefing in the same monotone voice as ever.
Our records indicate that the same council that passed sentence on you also removed all memories he had after he began traveling with you in the Earth year 1746, so at present he has no knowledge of time or even space travel, which is a hindrance. You may return any memories you see fit to helping him become as productive as possible—
What if he doesn’t want to? He was still having trouble processing it, but he had to know what would happen. He heard the supervisor pause, not understanding.
. . . Are you asking us to run a personality profile and analysis, to determine how best to attain optimal compliance? We can do that, of course, but you are purported to have known this McCrimmon fairly well, and he is only human, how hard can it be to predict—
I mean what will you do if he says no?
Then his memory will be wiped again and he will remain here on Earth.
I thought you said you needed him.
He is the ideal candidate, yes, but there are others. Top of the pile is a Ms. Zoe Heriot, she was the one with McCrimmon when you were brought in—
Yes, I know who she is!
Well, she’s the obvious next choice, having already been to Gallifrey before. Of course, her memory has been wiped as well, but the fewer humans we need to bring here the better. But even if she too refused, there are still plenty of other choices.
The Doctor didn’t like the thought of it. He felt awful about what had happened to Zoe and he knew she didn’t like it on the Wheel much, but the fact was, even unhappy, she was probably safer there than Jamie was here. And even though she could hold her own in a fight – the Doctor had witnessed that first-hand, once – she was usually quite distressed by violence upon real people, and he wasn’t sure how well she’d take to this new life he led, where taking more than a cursory interest in the places he was sent usually led to nothing but horror and disappointment.
Jamie, on the other hand, was at least less likely to balk at it— but he couldn’t actually consider . . . but then again, Jamie had told him before that he wanted to spend the rest of his life traveling with him.
The Doctor had spent the last several decades furious with the Time Lords for preventing Jamie from remembering their time together when he had explicitly stated his desire never to forget – could he really go and do the same thing, ignore those wishes, and put Zoe or anyone else in more danger in the same breath? Perhaps the time had indeed come to see if Jamie meant what he said. He was probably the only person the Doctor could look in the eyes again and after everything that had happened, and even that was asking a lot of him.
In spite of himself, he peered through the trees back at the spot where he’d first seen Jamie, and noticed that he and the other men seemed to be making for the barn further out on the ridge in a slightly roundabout way. They were close enough now that he could just hear their hushed voices, even if he couldn’t make out the words, and he thanked the stars that one of them had said something that made Jamie laugh, even though the sound of it cut right through him. In his distraction, he must’ve slipped up a bit mentally, because the supervisor seemed to take note of his thoughts.
I see you’re ready to be cooperative.
I haven’t made up my mind yet, he insisted, still staring through the branches at Jamie, but he wouldn’t have trusted his tone either.
Nonsense. The logic of the situation has made matters more than clear to you.
I think you’ll find there’s very little logic to this.
But you are going to do as you’re instructed, I trust?
If I am . . . if I am to ask him, I’ll have to do it on my own terms, you know. He’s got a quite remarkable willpower, Jamie does, so it’ll all have to be presented to him in the right way.
You have permission to return whatever memories you think would help.
It would have to be all of them or nothing. And even so, I’d have to go about it correctly, to gain his trust, I’m not sure— oh my word, he’s coming over here now!