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The console room was already humming when Jamie arrived, the whole ship buzzing around him, the time rotor rising and falling with its usual wheeze. Grinning to himself, he let his shoulder fall against the doorframe, breathing in the scene. He could feel it, every vibration thrumming through the soles of his boots, building beneath his feet like he was about to break into a sprint. The lights and the buttons and the levers – and the Doctor, running circles around the console, flicking switches and tapping dials, full of so much joyous energy that he might as well have been powering the whole thing himself.
God, Jamie had missed him.
The look on his face must have been unbearably fond, but he couldn’t bring himself to even try and wipe it away. The Doctor wasn’t looking at him, anyway – and it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen that same look, over and over again for the last couple of weeks. Ever since they’d been brought together again. It was like the Doctor was a magnet, and Jamie’s eyes just kept being drawn back to him, over and over. After so long apart, he almost couldn’t bear to stop looking, even for a moment, just in case he disappeared again.
But here he was. Solid and real and beaming so bright he seemed to sparkle with it, like all the stars had come to nest in his eyes.
“The colony we’re heading for is called Sora,” he was saying. If he’d seen Jamie arrive, he gave no sign of it. In truth, Jamie wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been chattering away to himself the whole time, not caring whether or not anyone was there to listen. Just the thought made him huff out a breath of laughter. “It’s not very old, for its time period – oh, perhaps eighty years or so, since the first settlement. The planet used to be a barren moon, you know, but prospectors discovered minerals beneath the surface – gold, silica, cobalt, that sort of thing – and, ah, you know how that tends to work out.”
Jamie didn’t, really – but he wasn’t about to interrupt the Doctor and tell him so.
“Of course, all that mining meant an awful lot of money was involved -” The Doctor skipped past, flicking a whole row of switches with one careless hand as he went. Not for the first time, Jamie wondered whether he really knew what he was doing, or whether it was pure accident that the TARDIS ever landed anywhere. Maybe she flew herself, and she was just humouring the Doctor, letting him think what he liked. “And that meant they declared independence from Earth rather quickly. Their own laws, their own regulations, that sort of thing. Of course, rather a lot of the bureaucracy carried over – but they became quite well known for nanotechnology, at one point. From all the mining equipment, I suppose.” He paused, one hand poised over a lever. “Funnily enough, they ended up jumping from mining to medical manufacturing. Following the market, I would imagine.”
And then he was off again, just as if he’d never stopped.
Ambling into the console room properly, Jamie slouched against the wall instead, his eyes still fixed on the Doctor. The curve of the roundels dug into his back, and he almost cherished the feeling, the solidity of the room around him. He was really here. He was back. His time away almost seemed like a dream, now.
“So what are we goin’ there for?” he asked. “Guessin’ it’s not just a holiday trip.”
At last, the Doctor glanced up at him. There was no surprise on his face – he must have noticed Jamie coming in, and simply been too absorbed in his dance with the console to react. Now, though, he came to a standstill, stepping away from the still-wheezing console.
“Nanotechnology is, ah – a rather delicate art,” he said. “Especially neurological nanotechnology. The brain is such a fragile thing, after all. But the people on Sora developed a chip – a Shard, they call it.” He held up one hand, thumb and forefinger pinched together, leaving only the smallest gap between them. “If inserted into the brain, it could give you perfect recall of any information. A flawless memory. Anything you’ve ever sen, right in front of your mind’s eye at any time.”
Jamie liked to think his memory was sturdy enough. Better than most people’s, even. He had all those tunes and songs and stories in his head, after all, none of them ever written down. Just passed to him by his family, his friends, his neighbours. Zoe had almost been offended that his memory could rival hers – but he couldn’t quite beat her. She’d had a photographic memory, the Doctor had said. Even so, he’d managed to impress her sometimes. That’s what living without books teaches you, he’d told her, and she’d looked at him so strangely -
Oh.
Poor Zoe.
Here he was, back on board the TARDIS, just like things used to be – and Zoe was still stuck in her own time, her memories locked away, just as his had been. The Time Lords had only allowed the Doctor a single companion, and Zoe was the one left behind.
Did it hurt her as much as it had hurt him, to know her memory was so good, and yet to know that something was missing?
Maybe this Shard thing, whatever it was – maybe it could have helped. Spared them both the pain of it.
Still, he wasn’t sure he wanted to remember everything he’d ever seen. Some things were best left forgotten.
“Is that what we’re lookin’ for, then?” he asked. “This – this Shard.”
“Ah – yes.” The Doctor half-skipped over to him, taking his hands and tugging him towards the console. Even when they drew to a halt, he didn’t let go. “Yes, that’s right. My people, they – they seemed a little concerned about how the technology was developing.” His brow furrowed. “There’s a lot of that sort of thing, in this job. Memory aids, recall matrices – anything that might develop towards the Matrix, I suppose.” For the briefest of moments, his frown deepened – and then he was smiling again, squeezing Jamie’s hands. “Our job today is to understand exactly what the Shard is, and if it’s quite as perfect as it seems.”
“Right.” Jamie nodded, frowning down at him. “I still dinnae really understand how all this works,” he admitted. “Your people sendin’ ye somewhere, an’ telling ye tae – what? Go stickin’ your nose in? Fix it?”
“Something like that.” The Doctor broke into a bright, sparkling grin. “Not so different from old times, really. We land somewhere, there’s a problem, and we have to fix it.” His smile sharpened, turning cheekier. “We just have someone pointing us in the right direction, now.”
With one final wheeze, longer and louder than any of the others, the TARDIS fell silent. Frowning, Jamie took a tentative step towards the console, his hands ghosting over the edges like he could possibly tell what was wrong.
“What’s happened?” he asked. “Are we stuck?”
“Stuck?” the Doctor echoed incredulously. “Of course we’re not stuck, we’re -” He sidled around to lean over a little cluster of meters, his eyes flicking rapidly between them. Checking the environmental readings, Jamie realised. “We’ve landed.”
“That wasnae a landin’,” Jamie protested, gesturing vaguely towards the motionless time rotor. “That wasnae – it was too smooth!”
“That was a perfectly correct landing,” the Doctor insisted, clasping his hands against his breast. “Almost textbook, I might say. We have arrived in the colony Sora, just -” He tipped his head back towards the environmental meters again. “Yes, that should be right. Temperature a little above average, slight pollution of the atmosphere. I do believe we’re quite neatly parked in the rocket-port.” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he shot Jamie a challenging look, as if daring him to argue. “Just as intended.”
Jamie snorted at him. “That’s no’ so much like old times, is it?” he teased, stepping over to bump his shoulder against the Doctor’s. “you bein’ able tae land the TARDIS without knockin’ us off our feet.” He froze, eyes widening, a grin creeping across his face. “Does that mean ye admit ye couldnae fly it before?”
But the Doctor just huffed, shrugging so the shoulders of his jacket puffed up, like a bird ruffling his feathers. “I have no idea what you mean.”
Laughing, Jamie took him by the wrist, tugging him towards the doors. He all but tumbled outside, staggering for a moment as he broke onto the grated metal floor. As if by instinct, his head snapped up to survey their surroundings, and he nearly went crashing into the ground after all just from the sheer scale of it.
Rockets reached up into the sky like flowers, their pointed noses stretching up towards the sun. Some were polished enough that they were almost reflective, some were battered and worn, but all of them glinted in the light. They could almost have been buildings, solid and monstrous – like the buildings of the future, all glass and metal, their endless windows winking at him. Each rocket was set within its own square, marked out with yellow-painted railings. Maybe they were more like horses, then, beasts of burden left in their paddocks. The thought nearly made him laugh aloud.
The TARDIS was a strange, beloved sight amongst them, battered and blue and wooden, tucked into a narrow alley between two of the squares. The Doctor was still fussing with the lock, but Jamie couldn’t resist heading forward, just a little way. The alley breached against a wider road, marked out with white paint like cars were meant to drive along it. On each side, a steady stream of people trickled past, one heading left, the other heading right. Most of them seemed human enough – but as he looked closer, he spotted a few with blue skin, another with six eyes instead of two. Nobody too alien-looking, though. That happened sometimes, the Doctor had told him once, depending on what part of space you were in.
Still, he tucked the thought away in the back of his mind. If travelling with the Doctor had taught him anything, it was that you never knew what might be useful. And they weren’t just travelling, now. They were investigating. Surely the Doctor’s people had wanted him to come along for a reason.
“Come along, then.” The Doctor’s hand slipped into his own, and he found himself led forwards, the two of them merging into the crowd heading left. “No time to waste.”
“Is this the way into the colony?” Pushing himself onto his tiptoes, Jamie surveyed the crowd around them. Some of them were dressed for work, in bright vests and oil-stained trousers and heavy boots. Transport, maybe, people bringing food or tools or whatever else a place like this needed to survive. But some were dressed far more casually – more nicely, even, in dresses or smart shirts or comfortable jerseys, though he couldn’t see why they’d need them in the sun. He’d never quite been able to work out the shifts in how people in the future dressed, but the people here seemed to like bright colours, big patterns and sharp lines. Someone sidled past him, fingers combing through their neatly-curled beard, their dress more like a sculpture than clothes, and all he could do was blink after them.
“This should be the way to Processing, yes.” The Doctor had tugged a little notebook out of his pocket with his free hand, rifling through it with an almost feverish urgency. “According to my notes, we have to head through there to enter the colony. Then we can start figuring out what exactly these Shards are.”
“Processing?” Jamie echoed. “That doesnae sound so friendly.”
“Oh, no,” the Doctor said hurriedly. “No, it’s quite alright. I expect it’s rather like – ah – do you remember the Chameleons?”
Jamie suppressed a shudder. “Aye. Nasty folk. I remember one of them copyin’ Polly.”
“Yes, quite.” The Doctor was swinging their hands between them, now, quiet cheerfully. Jamie tossed an apologetic grin over his shoulder to the girl behind them when she was very nearly struck. “Well, it’s rather like when we came into the airport, and that man asked for our passports.”
“That didnae go so well for us,” Jamie reminded him, wrinkling his nose. “How are ye gonnae get us in here?”
“Ah!” Tugging his hand free of Jamie’s, the Doctor dove into his pockets again. “Yes, well -” He drew out a handful of marbles, a crumpled sweet wrapper, and a twisted piece of wire, in turn. “Our employers have thought of that, funnily enough.” At last, he held up a little sleeve of leather, handing it over to Jamie. Flipping it open, he found a blue card, tucked behind a clear plastic bubble and covered in tiny writing. “Psychic pass, set up by our employers. Whoever they want us to be – that pass will show the right documentation.” He snatched it back from Jamie, twirling it between his hands. “Guaranteed to get us almost anywhere we like.”
Jamie snorted. “So no more stealin’ passes an’ badges from other people, then?”
“Oh, hush.”
The guard looming before him startled Jamie into taking a step back, and it took him a moment of glancing around to realise they’d found themselves at the front of the line. Before them stood a squat grey building, pebbled steps leading up to a glass front door, and he pushed himself onto his tiptoes, straining to see inside.
Beside him, the Doctor was already flashing his little card and tossing the guard a bright smile.
“I’m, ah – I’m a scientist,” he said, still beaming. “Here on a research grant to look into your Shard technology.”
His smile didn’t waver, even when the guard frowned, his eyes flickering towards Jamie. “Who’s he, then?”
Folding his arms over his chest, Jamie stepped back up to the Doctor’s side. “I’m his husband.”
He hadn’t had a good enough look at the pass to see whether he was mentioned on there, too. With the way the Time Lords’ eyes had seemed to slide over him like he was nothing but a bug, he wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d forgotten him entirely. Best to stick to the truth – and if the Doctor’s emphatic nodding was anything to go by, he’d done the right thing.
But the guard didn’t seem so convinced.
Just as he opened his mouth, looking like he was about to protest, the Doctor jumped in again. “And he’s also my assistant,” he said. The smile had fallen from his face, now, his eyes wide and pleading, and he clasped his hands together. “If that’s all – could we be let through, please? We’re on rather a tight schedule, ah – I do have a meeting scheduled for this afternoon -”
Exactly how the guard was resisting the Doctor’s puppy eyes, Jamie wasn’t sure. He’d never quite managed it, himself. But the man did give in eventually, stepping back and gesturing to the corridor behind him. “On you go, then,” he said. “You’ll need to pass through Processing before you enter Sora’s borders.” As he spoke, he tapped at something on his belt – and then he was tearing off a little strip of paper and handing it to the Doctor. “Room Z-Ten, please.”
“Oh, ah -” The Doctor bobbed into an odd little curtsy as he skirted past the guard. “Thank you very much.”
His hand closed firmly around Jamie’s elbow, steering him swiftly inside as the guard turned to the girl behind them.
“There you are, you see?” he said lowly. “In we go without any trouble.”
“Only just.” Jamie flipped the card in his hands over himself, twisting it back and forth so the shiny clear plastic caught the light. “What’s Processing, then?” He jerked his head backwards, shoving the card against the Doctor’s chest until he took it. “I thought he would’ve been Processing.”
“Oh, it’s all just official business.” The Doctor waved his hand idly. “Registering us as visitors, you know. He’s just there to filter the crowd. Send us to the right places.”
Humming to himself, Jamie tipped his head back and forth, properly examining the corridor for the first time. The floors were polished, shining in the light streaming through the glass panels set into the roof, but the tiles were a muddy sort of mottled brown. Windows were spaced along every wall as they twisted and turned deeper into the building, each one revealing a small room, some empty, some occupied. A couple of the people he recognised, from the queue outside – but some of them were dressed like the guard they had spoken to. And in every one was a man in a white coat, like a doctor. A proper, medical doctor.
“Why would there be a doctor in Processing?” he wondered aloud.
“A fitness check, perhaps.” The Doctor bounced a little as he spoke. “I do hope they’re used to species with two hearts, here. Ah!” He drew to a halt, still rocking back and forth on his heels, and pulled out the scrap of paper the guard had handed him. “Room Z-Ten, wasn’t it?”
Without waiting for a reply, he pushed the door open to burst inside, and Jamie could do nothing but trail after him.
“Welcome!” This room, too, had a man in a white coat, striding eagerly towards them as Jamie clicked the door shut. “Welcome to Sora. My name is Doctor Reeves.”
When Jamie stepped away from the door to stand at the Doctor’s side, he caught sight of the guards, filing in behind him. Just the flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye sent a prickle down his spine. If this was a formality – just registering them – why was there a doctor? Why were there guards, blocking them in?
Something was sinking in his chest, like a round, smooth stone dropped into a still pond. He could feel the hollow of air it left behind as it passed through him, from his lungs all the way down to his stomach. Two guards and a doctor wouldn’t be here just to register them as visitors.
No, he told himself firmly, in a voice that sounded quite like the Doctor’s. He was just being paranoid, that was all. He’d never liked being trapped in a small space, with the exit cut off. The Doctor called it a trauma response, usually, and uncurled his hands where they were clenched into fists. He called it not letting his guard down, and pressed his forearm against the hilt of his knife where it was sheathed at his belt. He did the same thing now, letting the pommel rest against the soft skin inside his elbow. But it was just his brain playing tricks on him, he reminded himself. There was nothing to panic about.
Not yet, anyway.
He was already fighting to keep his breath steady against the slowly-rising panic. Almost by instinct, his gaze flickered over towards the Doctor -
And the Doctor looked back at him. He could almost see the calculations ticking over behind his wide-eyed stare.
“All visitors to the colony,” Reeves was saying, bright and bubbly and setting Jamie’s teeth on edge – “are required to have Shards implanted.”
Something inside Jamie snapped, the tight leash on his own dread breaking, letting ice flood through his veins. There was no controlling his breathing now, his heart thundering so furiously in his chest that he was sure it must be audible to the rest of the room. Vaguely, he was aware of his lower jaw trembling, each gulp of air increasingly unsteady.
The Shard – the very thing they’d been sent here to investigate, the thing the Time Lords didn’t trust – these people expected them to have it stuck into their heads?
His fists were clenched. His palms stung where his nails bit into his skin, sweat pooling in the creases. And the Doctor wasn’t reaching out to uncurl his fingers.
Instead, he was staring at Reeves, his face almost as stricken as Jamie’s must have been.
“I realise off-worlders are often apprehensive, but it’s a quick and painless process.” Reeves was still smiling, blithe and calm in the face of their horror. “We have a fully-fitted operating theatre right here.” He glanced down at the device in his hand, tracing one finger over the screen. “My colleague outside says you have a meeting this afternoon, but I wouldn’t worry about that – you’ll be on your way within half an hour.”
The Doctor, at least, was finding his voice, though none of his outraged splutters had managed to turn into words. He swivelled around to face Jamie for a moment, as if begging him to step in – but Jamie couldn’t imagine he could say anything, when not even the Doctor could.
“I’m, ah – I’m a conscientious objector!” the Doctor managed at last. His hands were restless, fingers rubbing together and tugging at his lapels, and Jamie couldn’t tear his eyes away from them. “I refuse to have a Shard implanted.” Reeves’ brow furrowed, but he ploughed on, gaining momentum with each word. “We’re not even entering the colony for very long, surely – surely it isn’t necessary. You needn’t waste perfectly good Shards on us.”
Chest heaving, he fell silent, staring expectantly at Reeves.
“I do find it a bit strange,” Reeves murmured, his eyes back on the device in his hand. “You say you’re here to do research on the Shards – and yet you’re a conscientious objector yourself.” Tucking the device back into his pocket, he frowned down at the Doctor. “If this is a political protest -”
“It is not a political protest,” the Doctor interrupted, his cheeks puffing out with every breath. “I just – like to have all the facts before something is implanted into my brain, thank you very much.”
Reeves’ frown cleared, and he broke into a chuckle, shaking his head. “A principled scientist, then. I like your dedication, even if it is a bit naive.”
“Naive?” Jamie echoed. “What’s naive about no’ wanting a wee bit of metal stuck in your head, just ‘cause somebody else says ye should have one?”
Shaking his head, Reeves glanced between them, his face schooling itself back into a soft smile. His expression was so patronising that Jamie nearly lunged forward to strangle him on the spot. “I’ve personally implanted hundreds of Shards in my time, and I can assure you they’re entirely safe.” He held out his hand. “Could I see your pass?”
The Doctor was a little calmer now, at least, his breathing steadier, and he reached into his pocket to fish out the pass and hand it over. Edging forward, Jamie laced their fingers together.
His own heart hadn’t stopped pounding yet.
But Reeves was nodding as he surveyed the pass, handing it back as quickly as he’d been given it. “I see now. You’re just on the cusp of neurological compatibility.”
All the people outside. The thought struck Jamie like a blow. All the people outside had looked so nearly human – and this was why. All of them needed a Shard stuck in their heads.
God, if only he’d realised it sooner. Then they might have had a bit of warning.
“That all seems fine,” Reeves was saying. “You’re marked down as approved to travel without an implant.”
Huffing, the Doctor drew himself up to his full height – still a good inch or so shorter than Reeves’ but it had to count for something. “That’s alright, then,” he said, just a little sternly. “We’re sorry to have put you to any trouble, ah – if there’s nothing else, then we’ll be on our way.”
Turning on his heel, he marched towards the door, like sheer momentum could carry him out – but the guards closed ranks against it, nearly sending him bouncing off their joined shoulders. Blinking, the Doctor stumbled back, wheeling around towards Reeves again.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. His hackles were well and truly raised, now, his shoulders lifted like he could make himself look taller. Jamie was just rooted to the spot, glancing between Reeves, the Doctor, and the guards like they were tossing a ball between them. “you said we were approved to travel without implants -”
“You,” Reeves said carefully, “are allowed to enter Sora without a Shard. But your companion here -” He turned towards Jamie. “Is listed as fully human. And I’m afraid he’s not covered by the exception on your pass.”
Slowly, jerkily, the Doctor swivelled around towards Jamie, staring at him like he’d forgotten he was there. His throat bobbed with the weight of a swallow, his eyes as wide and panicked as Jamie had ever seen them.
“Doctor?” he said, his voice soft and raspy, like if he spoke too loud he might shatter the moment entirely. “What do we do?”
But the Doctor was frozen, lips parted, eyes flickering between Jamie and the pass in his hands – and Jamie wasn’t sure whether it was his own mind working or some stray thought sent over from the Doctor’s, but he understood -
This was the Doctor’s people at work. They hadn’t forgotten him, like he’d thought they might. And they hadn’t made a mistake, or overlooked a detail. This had been the idea all along. They didn’t want the Doctor to investigate the Shard – they wanted it gone. Whatever their reasons, they wanted the thing eliminated, and they wanted the Doctor to do it. Like they were hunting, and he was nothing but their dog. And every good hunting-dog needed bait to follow. Something to keep him working, keep him digging away beyond the point of madness.
The Doctor would have looked into the Shards anyway, no matter what the Time Lords did. He might even have managed to get rid of them, if he’d really put his mind to it.
If Jamie had one, though – if there was something he needed to get out of Jamie’s head -
A hand closed over his shoulder, firm and gentle, and he glanced up to see Reeves standing beside him, still wearing that awful smile. “It’s quite alright,” he said. “There’s really nothing to be worried about. In fact, I’m sure you’ll find the benefits -”
Jerking back, Jamie shrugged Reeves’ hand off him. “I don’t want benefits -” He scrambled towards the Doctor, as if he could offer some protection, even frozen as he was. “I dinnae want your Shard.”
Reeves just sighed, as if he was giving in, and for a moment hope soared in Jamie’s chest. “I never like it when my patients put up a fight,” he said – and then he was flicking one hand towards the guards and retreating towards the little room behind him. “Bring him in, please.”
“What -” Any words that might have followed were shoved out of Jamie’s mouth by the guards gripping his shoulders, gentle enough that they wouldn’t leave a bruise but tight enough that he couldn’t slip away easily. His hand was torn from the Doctor’s hold. “Get off me,” he snarled, but the guards hardly flinched, wrapping their free hands more forcefully around his upper arms. “I’ll not go anywhere with ye -” Desperately, he glanced towards the Doctor. ‘Hey – Doctor -”
“Just relax,” one of the guards said. “It’s only worse if you struggle.”
As if that was supposed to make him feel better.
“I -” The Doctor swallowed again, clutching the pass to his chest with unsteady fingers. “I can’t allow Jamie to undergo the surgery -”
Jamie’s boots skidded against the floor, rubber whining against tile. Through the glass wall, he could see Reeves fiddling around with a surgeon’s table, laying out his instruments on a wee trolley beside it.
“There’s no other choice, I’m afraid.” Reeves’ voice was tinny, muffled by the glass. “If you want to enter Sora, he’ll need a Shard implanted.” How could he be so calm, arranging his tiny instruments so steadily? “You can’t decide his medical requirements for him, even if you’re approved to skip the surgery.”
With one heaving, groaning shove, Jamie managed to wrench himself out of the guards’ grip. He staggered to a halt beside the Doctor, and at last, at last the Doctor’s hands came up to grip him by the waist, pulling him back against his chest protectively.
“I really can’t allow this,” he repeated. “If you think you’ll get anywhere by forcing him -”
“By entering Sora,” Reeves said – and God, how could he still sound so cheerful – “you consent to carrying a Shard. I really am very sorry, but it’s the colony’s policy.”
“We can -” Jamie twisted around to meet the Doctor’s eyes. “We can just – go, can’t we? Can’t we just leave? Go back to the TARDIS and land inside the colony? Or ask the Time Lords for another pass?”
The Doctor still couldn’t look at him. Even his grip was loose, fingers curled gently in the fabric of Jamie’s shirt.
It was like – it was like he had already given up.
“I’m afraid we can’t,” he said, voice low enough to rumble through Jamie’s chest where they were pressed together. “The Shards are linked. You’d be a constant target without one, and without a pass. And – the Time Lords will never give us another pass for you. Nor would they allow us to forfeit the mission.” His head was bowed, like a mourner at a funeral. “Not without terrible consequences.”
The Doctor had told him something about dread, once. How it sometimes came from vibrations in the air, so slight you wouldn’t even notice them – but your body felt them all the same, a low whine in the back of your head and the pit of your stomach. That was what made ice run down your spine and seized your lungs up in your chest.
The rough, gravelly murmur of the Doctor’s voice, now – he could feel that in the back of his mind, in the pit of his stomach. And his spine might as well have been pressed against a glacier.
He was only vaguely aware of the guards grasping his shoulders again. The only thing in the world was the Doctor, the tremor in his jaw and in his words, his eyes wide and shining, his grip falling away too easily.
“Do you remember what I told you?” he was saying. “When I first found you again. I told you I’d keep you safe from the universe.” His knuckles were white, the pass almost folded in half between his clenched hands. “But I can’t even keep you safe from my own people.”
That was fear, in his eyes. Not fear of the guards, or the Shard, or Sora – fear of his own people.
The thought hit Jamie like a wall of water. Like the whole glacier was coming down on top of him. This wasn’t like old times, not at all, and not just because the Doctor’s people were guiding them. It was because he was terrified of them.
Jamie had never seen him that frightened by anything.
The guards were dragging him again, now. Their grips on his shoulders ached, white-hot, like his bones might shatter beneath their hands. The pain of it had turned time into molasses, passing in slow, sticky drops. A roar of frustration broke from Jamie’s throat of its own accord, and he whirled around to throw a punch at the jaw of the guard to his left, straining away as his hold loosened. The motion sent all three of them lurching to one side, the other guard’s shoulder slamming against the wall, and he braced himself like a runner, fingers just barely brushing against the hilt of his knife -
But his other arm had been flung out by momentum, and the guard snatched for his wrist, yanking it with enough searing force that he was sure his bones would pop out of their sockets. This time, the sound that passed his lips was a scream, primal and guttural. Tears leaked from his screwed-shut eyes, tracking hot, wet trails down his cheeks. Every muscle in his body seemed loosened from the pain, like he’d been pulled apart, his mind too scattered to draw himself back together and fight. His knife was seized from its sheath and tossed away from him.
Something about his scream had pierced through the Doctor’s frozen shock, at least, and he started forwards, grasping more firmly at Jamie’s sleeve. “Don’t hurt him,” he thundered, and the guards even paused at that for a split second. “Whatever you do, don’t harm him -”
“Bring him in, please,” came Reeves’ voice, so sickeningly calm that Jamie retched, bile stinging against the back of his throat. Saliva dripped from his lips in long strings, staining the front of his shirt. “I’ve prepared a sedative.”
“No,” he gasped, slapping his hand uselessly against the guard that had caught his wrist. The other guard had his arm twisted behind him, twisted all wrong, sending white flashes pulsing through his vision. “No, please -”
He kicked out, aiming towards the closest knee, but only the side of his boot brushed against anything. The wild motion sent him staggering, almost crumpling to his knees on the cold tiles.
“Doctor,” he begged. His cheeks were stained with tears, now – from the pain, from the fear, from the fact that the Doctor wasn’t doing anything. “Doctor, please -”
A shove to his back sent him sprawling forward into the operating room, all the breath knocked out of him. Only at the last second did he manage to cross his arms in front of him, slamming his bruised wrists against the wall rather than his face.
Behind him, the door slammed shut, and he heard the tell-tale click of a lock. The Doctor couldn’t help him now, even if he tried.
He wanted to scream again, to shout out the injustice of it all until someone heard. There must be people walking by outside, all those innocent, happy people who had been queued up behind him. Couldn’t they hear what was happening, or see in through the window? Could they really just walk by and ignore it?
Of course they could. He wasn’t so naive to think they couldn’t.
“Please,” he said again, turning to Reeves instead. The doctor just raised his eyebrows, half his face already covered by a surgeon’s mask. One hand was raised, a needle poised between his fingers. “I dinnae want it, God, please -”
“Hold his arms,” Reeves said, and it took Jamie a moment too long to realise he was talking to the guards – that the guards were still in there with him. “Try not to move too much,” he added, directing his words to Jamie this time. “I hate having to sedate a patient like this – but it will make things easier for you.”
Jamie strained upright, drawing his head back to spit at Reeves – but the guards had a hold of him again, tugging him backwards.
“Really, there’s nothing to worry about,” Reeves went on. “It’s completely painless, I promise. You’re making this so much harder than it needs to be.” He sighed. “I haven’t had such a difficult patient in a long time.”
Gritting his teeth, narrowing his eyes, Jamie studied Reeves as he came closer – and finally, finally managed to deliver a well-placed kick to the shins.
“Leave me alone,” he hissed as Reeves cried out, crumpling backwards in pain.
But the guards were lifting him, one pressing his arms against his sides, the other gripping him at the hips to haul him onto the table. Yelping, he writhed in their hold, twisting his shoulders and kicking out as much as he could manage – but they were well out of his reach, like they were holding a snake, and he found himself pressed down against the table, cold metal burning through the fabric of his shirt. Every desperate motion he made rattled the thing, filling the little room with its awful noise.
As he twisted and turned, he caught a glimpse of the Doctor standing by the window, one hand pressed to the glass.
“No,” he gasped, “Doctor -”
And then Reeves was by his side, needle raised again. To his left, one guard had a hand on his chest and another on his thighs – and to his right, the other guard had his arm pulled out, the soft flesh inside his elbow carefully exposed. He nearly ached at the loss of his knife, longing for the feeling of the pommel pressed against the spot, keeping it safe.
When the needle stung against his skin, he howled, feral and desperate like an animal.
But his eyes were already growing heavy, even before Reeves had pulled the needle out. Darkness was flashing in front of him, heavy and warm, so tempting compared to the cold metal of the table at his back. All he needed to do was relax. Give in to it.
An image of the Doctor’s pass flashed in front of him. Two little boxes, only one with a cross through it. One conscientious objector, not human enough to take a Shard. One human. He hadn’t paid it any mind, before, but now the blank box might as well have been mocking him.
Drawing in a harsh, shuddering breath, he forced his eyes open again – but the sedative was in his blood, now, wrapping itself around his mind. His lips were numb, his limbs leaden. There was only so much he could do.
This was what the Time Lords had really needed him for. Not for his mind, or his strength, or his heart. Certainly not to keep the Doctor company. He was bait, that was all. A sacrificial lamb to keep the Doctor’s leash short.
No wonder he was frightened.
Had he known it all along, what Jamie was there for? Had he known ever since he’d heard they were to be reunited?
Of course he had. It was all so clear, now, even as Jamie’s mind blurred around the edges.
“It’s alright,” he managed. He had no idea if the Doctor could even hear him through the glass – and if he could, the words were probably too slurred for him to make out. “It’s no’ your fault.”
The last thing he saw was the Doctor’s eyes, wide and panicked and guilty, burned into the backs of his own eyelids as the world faded to black.