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He was playing with Jamie’s tousled hair early one morning, trying to tease it back into order without waking him, when he noticed it. A strand of silvery-grey hair slipping through his fingers, barely visibly amidst Jamie’s thick brown mop but undeniably there. Tiny as it was, the sight of it was like a punch in the gut.
It wasn’t so bad, he told himself. It was just one hair amongst thousands and it was a perfectly inoffensive shade of grey. And yet a lump was rising steadily in his throat, threatening to choke him.
He oughtn’t be shocked. He knew that Jamie was getting older and he was reliably informed that he looked his age. It showed on his face, people said, but the Doctor didn’t see it. He’d never been any good at judging human ages. To his eyes Jamie looked just the same as he always had. It was easy to pretend. But now here was the colour fading from Jamie’s hair and all at once his comfy screen of denial came crashing down.
It simply wasn’t fair. Jamie was still so young, and yet here he was, already starting to die. Why did humans have to be so – so fragile, like butterflies withering away as winter set in. The inexorable unfairness of it gripped him like a vice, threatening to crush him in its steely grip. Tears filmed his eyes.
As Jamie began to stir, he found another grey hair.
“Mmm,” he murmured. “Are ye groomin’ me again?”
“I might be.” The Doctor tried to sound light-hearted, blinking away tears. He wound a lock of Jamie’s hair around his finger. “Did you know, you’re starting to grey?”
“Hadn’t escaped me notice, no,” said Jamie. “So what? You’ve been all grey for years.”
“I suppose I have.” He wanted to say that no, no, that wasn’t the same at all – but he couldn’t, not without distressing Jamie unduly.
But then Jamie sighed, and rolled over, and said, “I’m no’ goin’ anywhere just yet, you know.”
One of these days, the Doctor thought, he would learn to stop underestimating Jamie. “I know.”
“I’ve a good few years on me yet.” Jamie stretched against the pillows. “I’m still in me prime, ye ken.”
“Of course you are.” The Doctor laid a hand on Jamie’s chest, feeling for the beat of his single heart.
“So stop worryin’.”
“I’m not worried, exactly.” Not worried, no. Worried was when you were afraid that something might happen. This was more of a slow-building terror at the inevitable. “It’s only that – well, for someone like me – a few decades isn’t long at all.” Jamie said nothing, a contemplative look on his face. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I don’t know what I shall do without you.”
“Ach, you’ll be fine,” said Jamie. “You’ll find someone else. You’re good at that.”
“Jamie –”
“I tell you what,” said Jamie. “Ye go back tae Scotland and find another pretty young thing in a kilt to corrupt.”
“Why, I did nothing of the –” He broke off, for Jamie was only teasing to mask real concern. The Doctor could see it in his eyes. “You don’t really think you’re so replaceable,” he said in a small voice. “Do you?”
A hurt, uncomfortable look crossed Jamie’s face. “No’ really,” he said. “I just don’t like to think of you bein’ all by yourself.”
“You don’t think about that often, do you?” said the Doctor, dismayed. Oh, but he hated the thought of Jamie worrying about what the Doctor would do after he – passed on, like a mother wondering who would provide for her children. He wanted Jamie reckless and immortal, the way he’d been when they first met.
“Now and then,” said Jamie. “You’ll find someone else, won’t you?”
“No-one could replace you,” said the Doctor. “You do know that, don’t you?”
“Och, I didn’t mean it like that,” said Jamie. “Just – someone to look after you. I worry about you.”
“I don’t need looking after.”
“Aye, you do.” Jamie rolled onto his side. He took the Doctor’s hand and laced their fingers together, squeezing. “Promise?”
There was no sense in arguing – and it wasn’t as if he’d ever been able to say no to Jamie. “Alright. I promise.”
“Good man.” Jamie flopped onto his back. “Ach, it’s too early for this.”
The Doctor laid his head on Jamie’s chest. “I’m sorry. You go back to sleep, now.”
“Mmm.” A hand stroked his hair. “Stop your worryin’, ye daft old man.”
“I shall do my best.” As Jamie dozed off, the Doctor listened for his steady heartbeat, not letting himself relax till he found it.