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“And when it's all over, you'll just both have to look after me, that's all… if what the Intelligence says is true, my mind will be like that of a child. You'll have to look after me until I grow up.”
*
Jamie scraped grey mush from saucepan to bowl, from bowl to spoon, all the while trying to focus all his attention on the task, on every detail of it. It was harder each time, for he was getting to know it inside out, to know all those monotonous details like the back of his hand.
He could only put off the inevitable for so long. “Alright,” he said, plonking himself down upon the bench and the bowl down upon the table. “Supper’s ready. It’s –” He looked at the grey mush dripping off the spoon. “It’s food,” he said. “It’s hot. Well, warm. Well, ish.” He offered the Doctor the spoon.
The Doctor turned his face away. “Where’s Vic’oria?”
He hadn’t quite mastered Victoria’s name yet, but he was getting there; aye, he was getting there. “She’s gone to take the air,” he said. “C’mon. Eat up.”
In truth, there wasn’t much air to take. All the ways up to the surface had long since been stopped up thick, grey webbing that seethed to the touch. They had this room, and a stretch of passage. That was where Victoria was, pacing. It was colder than the room, but less stuffy, and it hadn’t begun to smell yet. What was left beyond that he couldn’t say. They heard noises sometimes, bangs and crashes and something like distant screaming.
In truth, Victoria couldn’t stand to be around the Doctor while he was in this condition, and Jamie couldn’t say he blamed her. Still, he told himself, as he did most days, it wouldn’t be forever. Sooner or later the Doctor would be back to his old self, and then they’d find a way out of his mess. He’d started talking almost at once, and he could speak in sentences, now, more or less.
“She’ll be back soon enough to read to you,” he said. “You like that, eh? When Victoria reads to you?”
“Book?” said the Doctor hopefully.
“Aye, after supper.” Jamie rubbed his eyes and took up the spoon again.
“Book,” said the Doctor. “Book, book, book.”
Jamie looked at him, rocking back and forth on the bench, and wondered – not for the first time – just why the Intelligence was keeping them alive. Did it still need the Doctor, or did it get some sick pleasure from seeing him like this?
He could never bring himself to do more than toy with the notion that they might have been better off dead. There was hope yet, and even if there wasn’t, so long as he could keep the Doctor and Victoria alive and safe, things would be alright.
“C’mon.” He proffered the spoon. “Eat up, now.” The Doctor turned his face away, snubbing him again. “Come on.”
“Don’t want it,” said the Doctor. “Nasty.”
“I know it is, but you need tae eat,” said Jamie. “You need tae keep your strength up. Eh?” He held out the spoon again, trying to be gentle. The Doctor snubbed him. “Och, come on.” He shoved the spoon more forcefully at the Doctor’s mouth – and this time the Doctor slapped it out of his hand.
And it hurt, too. That was the worst of it. It was bad enough trying to feed a stubborn bairn when they didn’t have the strength of a grown man. He clutched at his stinging hand, hot rage swelling in his chest. “Och, fine. Have it your way.” He shoved the bowl aside. “You can have it back when it’s cold and you’re hungry.”
The Doctor knocked the bowl to the floor, where it echoed dully about the stuffy room. And he could have screamed. He wanted to scream, but if he screamed Victoria would come running and he’d only frighten the Doctor. He buried his face in his hands and groaned into them, muffling the raw, frustrated sound as best he could. He was so damn tired. He wanted to scream, and then he wanted to go to sleep and wake up back in the TARDIS, before, before –
Hands, nudging at him, plucking at his grubby shirt. “Jamie?” The Doctor clutched at his shoulder. “Ja-mie.”
Jamie allowed himself a deep, shuddering breath, and pulled the Doctor into a hug. “It’s alright,” he said, soothing. For the Doctor knew he’d hurt Jamie’s feelings, even if he didn’t understand why. And he cared. He still cared, in his own way. “It’s alright,” he repeated, tightening his grip, stroking the Doctor’s back. “I’ll be alright.”