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‘So we’re goin’ to this thing?’
The Doctor sighs and flicks over a switch. The console makes a sad chirping noise, and he pats it sympathetically. ‘I suppose so. It would be terribly rude to sneak away after they’ve been so enthusiastic about it all, wouldn’t it?’
He looks up at Jamie but if he had been hoping for encouragement in his sneaking away idea, it isn’t to be found there. Jamie looks positively delighted by the prospect of some kind of civic celebration in a tiny town on a planet neither of them have been on before.
‘Ah, well, that’s good, then.’ Jamie claps his hands together. ‘I’ll be getting ready.’
The Doctor flips the same switch back to its original position and nods. ‘Yes, of course. You know where everything--’ The inner door is already swinging shut behind Jamie. ‘--is. Well. Don’t let me keep you.’
He wanders around the console, adjusting things that don’t need adjusting, and wonders about the reason for Jamie’s sudden enthusiasm. Neither of them are injured, thank goodness, and the threat really has been defeated, so there isn’t any reason for them to stay any longer, and the Doctor has been itching to get away since-- Ah. Yes. Well. That’s the reason, then, isn’t it.
Arabella -- Isabella? Perhaps Susan? No, no, not Susan. Ah, yes, Marjorie, that was her name. She had been a great deal of help. Without her knowledge of the inner workings of the town’s power systems, finding the leak feeding the rapacious plants would have taken much longer.
He frowns at the viewer control panel and squints up at the screen, currently dark, but he’s never been terribly good at talking himself out of things he knows to be true. And he knows he can’t blame Marjorie for how her eyes brightened whenever she spoke to Jamie or Jamie for how he was more cheerful when she was with them.
This is the problem with having companions, really; one way or another, he always falls in love with them, and it’s so very hard to let them go.
‘Are you ready, Doctor?’
The Doctor looks up from the manual he’s been flipping through -- there must have been a good reason for him to leave it in the corner with a large red flag sticking out of the pages, but for the lives of him, he can’t figure out what it was -- and sees Jamie standing in the doorway from the inner rooms.
For a startled moment, he thinks Jamie is posing, which is a ridiculous notion: who would he be posing for? His mind slides sideways for a second as he lets himself imagine what it would be like if Jamie were posing for him -- then he shakes his head briskly, closes the book, and stands up. ‘Where did you find all that?’
Jamie has clearly bathed, his dark hair still damp around his face, and he has discarded his usual clothes in favor of what look like newer versions of both. They aren’t just newer, though, the Doctor realises as he looks: the kilt he wears now is not only more brightly colored but shorter and sits higher on his waist, held in place with a broad leather belt that isn’t his usual one either. The shirt is tighter, dark golden orange instead of plain white, with a low v-neck the Doctor refuses to get caught by. Jamie has gotten rid of his everyday shoes, too, in favor of high-laced black leather that sits tight to the muscle of his legs.
Jamie is looking at him expectantly, and the Doctor feels he probably missed Jamie’s answer to his question and, judging by the look on Jamie’s face, most likely something else.
‘Well, that’s all very nice, well done.’ He claps his hands and turns to open the doors. ‘If we have to do this, we might as well get it over with.’ Cool air and the smell of rain flood inside, and he picks up his cloak before going outside.
‘You make it sound like some kind of trial,’ Jamie says, following him out and pulling the door closed behind him. ‘Is it that bad having someone make you a good meal and tell you how grateful they are?’
The Doctor sniffs, draping his cloak over his shoulder and shoving his hands in his coat pockets as they set off to the town center. ‘Gratitude often means that people have stopped thinking. They could have prevented all of this themselves, you know. They panicked instead of thinking clearly.’
‘Then they should be grateful you came along to think clearly, eh?’
The dinner is interminable. The Doctor gets dragged away from Jamie -- and his meal which actually looks quite good -- almost immediately. The town council wants to ask him questions about everything: how had the plants gotten that way, was there anything else that would make them that way, was there anything else that could be made that way, was there anything else leaking that could be dangerous, and on and on. As if he could know all those answers!
The Doctor answers what he can and tries to be patient with the rest: for the most part, these people are simply happy to be relieved of the anxiety of having every other person who passes through a few particular streets at night stagger out bitten and suffering the effects of unknown poisoning. He feels it’s to their credit that they’re almost equally concerned about keeping it from happening again.
He looks over at Jamie when he can, and he feels rather glumly satisfied with himself when he sees Marjorie sitting beside him. He might have to admit to himself it isn’t the outcome he would like, but if it will make Jamie happy, that’s really the important thing.
As far as he can tell, this is a nice planet: small, near a good stable sun, temperate with a slight tendency towards rainy conditions over most of the hemisphere they’re in. The town they’re in is on a huge plateau that slopes down towards a large, distant sea over the course of a few hundred miles -- it’s not unlike Scotland, really. Most of the people are either farmers or technicians in the power plant. There’s a much larger settlement less than two days’ travel away. He could see Jamie being happy here.
There’s quite a group of young people, but Marjorie and Jamie are clearly the focus, the others leaning around them to listen. Marjorie looks to be telling some kind of story from the animation of her expression and the way her hands are diving through the air -- ah, perhaps their last confrontation with the plants. As the Doctor watches, Jamie laughs and shakes his head; Marjorie grins and nudges him with her shoulder, nodding emphatically as the group around them chuckles.
Marjorie is gone the next time the Doctor glances over, and he doesn’t see her again that evening which strikes him as a little odd. Jamie disappears from the table a few times, but by the time the council has done with the Doctor and the hall is almost empty, Jamie’s back where they started, staring into a glass of something he isn’t drinking.
The Doctor does his best to say good night to the last council member with a smile that he hopes isn’t too glassy and turns back towards Jamie with a sigh of relief.
When they go outside, the rain has come on, a steady soaking mist, and Jamie hesitates just inside the door. The Doctor is proud of himself later for thinking this might indicate worry about his clothes, so he swings his cloak over Jamie's shoulders instead of his own.
Jamie jolts like the Doctor had given him a shove instead of a protective layer and grumbles something about ‘not being a girl.’
‘Of course not, but that outfit of yours deserves some protection, don’t you think? You put so much effort into it.’
Jamie goes still. ‘Didn’t think you'd noticed.’
‘Hard to miss, really.’ He aims for breezy and cheerful and isn’t sure if he’s getting it right. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you spend so much time in the wardrobe before this afternoon.’ The Doctor hesitates, then tries, ‘I -- I’m -- sorry if it didn’t work.’
They’re in the rain now, walking back towards the TARDIS, and he can’t see Jamie’s face.
‘What d’you mean, didn’t work?’
‘Well, your -- er -- I mean --’ The Doctor pauses and clears his throat, thinking of Marjorie’s absence when, if he’s honest, he had been expecting to say goodbye to both of them this evening. ‘You didn’t seem to have much company tonight.’
‘Didn’t want any.’
‘--oh.’ The Doctor frowns. That doesn’t make sense. Why would Jamie put so much effort into something he has never seemed interested in before unless--? Well, perhaps he’s just putting a brave face on it. That would be like him.
‘Would you -- like to stay longer?’ The Doctor hates asking. It’s unfamiliar, and the words feel harsh in his mouth. It isn’t usually his part to ask: his friends come to him and say they’ve had enough, they’ve found what they wanted, they’ve found where they want to stay, who they want to stay with. Then it’s his part to say goodbye.
‘What?’ Jamie stops and swings around towards him. His face is hidden in the shadow of the hood, but the Doctor gets the distinct feeling of being stared at disbelievingly.
‘Well, there’s no reason we have to rush off, you know. If -- if there were someone you wanted to --’ The Doctor has no idea what words might come next in that sentence, so he abandons it. ‘I mean, we’re not in any hurry to get anywhere, really--’
There’s a long moment of silence, and then Jamie makes a noise that can only be described as a snort and keeps walking.
The Doctor huffs and trots a few steps to keep up with him. It had been a sincere offer -- not entirely easy to make! -- and he's a little miffed that Jamie can’t even be bothered to say yes or no.
Just before they get to the TARDIS, safely tucked in the backyard of an unoccupied house, Jamie says, ‘It wasn’t -- there wasn’t anyone I wanted to see. So there’s no point in stayin’. Not for me, anyway.’
The Doctor pauses in fumbling for the TARDIS key -- honestly, he has to come up with some better way of keeping it handy or tidy his pockets more regularly: what on Gallifrey is he doing with five piastres? ‘Oh, I -- I’m sorry.’ He isn’t, but it’s the thought that counts, or so he tells himself.
Jamie sighs. ‘Aye, well. It’s no matter.’
The Doctor unlocks the door and waits for Jamie to go in first, but he’s stopped a few steps away and is shrugging off the Doctor’s cloak, shaking it briskly to get rid of the drops of water that have fallen and clung. The light from the console room streams out, showing Jamie up nearly as well as a spotlight, and the Doctor stops with one hand on the door.
Between the warm light and the softness of the rain in the air, Jamie exists in a slightly golden haze. The Doctor can’t see the colors of Jamie's clothes anymore, but he can see the lines of his body, where the broad belt pulls tight around his waist, the line of his knee and thigh above the high-laced boot --
‘Jamie--’ The Doctor doesn’t realise he’s going to speak until he hears his own voice, and when Jamie looks at him, he doesn’t know what to say next.
Jamie waits for a moment, head slightly tilted, then, when the Doctor doesn’t go on, gives the cloak a last snap and shakes it together into one long fold of material. He comes back towards the TARDIS door, holding out the cloak. ‘Here. I’ll put my old gear back on. Rain can't hurt that.’
The Doctor can see Jamie's face more clearly now in the stream of light behind him, and his expression doesn’t look right -- he’s trying to smile, his usual cheerful expression, but there’s something pulling the corners of his mouth down, tugging the smile into something wry and tired. When the Doctor doesn’t take the neatly folded cloak, Jamie shrugs and steps past him into the control room. As he goes, there’s a faint whiff of scent: soap, yes, and the familiar scent of Jamie’s skin, and a faint tang of wet leather from the boots, but also something else -- something like perfume. It’s sweet, slightly milky, almost like a hop garden.
The Doctor turns with him, trying to remember where he had left perfume in the TARDIS that Jamie might have found and why Jamie might have put it on in the first place. He feels slightly lost as if something in the universe had shifted half a degree to the left without his noticing, and he hasn’t quite caught up with it yet. ‘Jamie.’
‘Aye.’ Jamie throws the cloak over the back of the Doctor’s chair and sits down, leaning forward and starting to unlace the high boots.
The Doctor steps inside, out of the rain, pushes the door closed, and stands with his back to it, watching Jamie. Jamie hasn’t looked up at him, instead stretching forward to undo the bootlaces. In the clearer light of the control room, the Doctor can see the way the deep v-neck of the dark shirt draws attention to the line of Jamie’s throat leading down to the arch of his collarbone. As the Doctor looks, he can see the working of the muscles of Jamie’s forearms as he tugs the laces loose, the quick movements of his fingers. He imagines standing close enough that he would be able to catch that faint scent of perfume again and feels himself blush.
‘Jamie.’
Jamie finishes unlacing the first boot and looks up, propping his elbows on his knees and leaning his chin on one hand. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at the Doctor.
The Doctor clears his throat and walks across to the console; somehow, he feels better with his hands on the familiar panels. ‘Did -- did you --?’ The question seems foolish somehow, perhaps even a little risky now they’re back with the familiar background hum of the TARDIS; everything is exactly as it has been since Jamie first came on board.
It’s not like this with his companions -- well, it hasn’t been for a very long time, and the Doctor has gotten used to that, and the prospect of change is making him slightly lightheaded. And he can’t trust his own intuition entirely; if nothing else, humans have all kinds of rules about this kind of thing, and he’s never really understood the ins and outs. He had thought Marjorie was the obvious solution, but if she isn’t the answer---
‘Did I what.’
The Doctor fixes his eyes on a blinking set of lights and clears his throat. ‘Did you pick those clothes -- because of me?’
There’s a moment of silence, Jamie sighs. Out of the corner of his eye, the Doctor sees him slump slightly, shoulders sagging. ‘Not much point in saying somethin’ else.’
The Doctor sputters. ‘There’s a point if it isn’t true!’
The control room goes silent, except for the eternal distant hum of the TARDIS engines, and the Doctor has to take a breath before he looks at Jamie. Jamie has his eyes fixed on his boots, one hand still on the loosened laces. After a long moment, he sighs again and sits up, settling one hand deliberately on each arm of the chair, letting his legs slide out and fall slightly apart, one knee crooked against the seat. He leans back, resting his head against the back of the chair. He would look at ease if it weren’t for the tension in his hands and the lines around his mouth. ‘An’ what if I did.’
It doesn’t happen often, but it does now: the Doctor’s mind goes blank, fizzing static.
When he says nothing, Jamie’s expression hardens, and he leans forward to unlace the second boot. When he speaks, his voice is almost toneless, as if he is deliberately trying to sound flat. ‘Not the first daft thing I’ve done, eh? I’ll put everything back, don’t worry--’
‘I’m not worried about the clothes!’ The Doctor raps his knuckles sharply on the console, turning towards Jamie almost in appeal. ‘Why didn’t you say something!’
Jamie shrugs again, the movement awkward because he’s still bending forward. ‘Didn’t know what to say.’ He pulls the last twist of lacing loose and sits back, toeing each boot off in turn. ‘Don’t know where you got these things,’ he says, and he would sound conversational, except he’s not meeting the Doctor’s eye. ‘Comfortable enough, but they’re a bloody nightmare to put on.’
‘Jamie--’
‘I’ll clean ‘em before I put ‘em back.’ Jamie stands barefoot and picks up the boots by their tops. ‘That is if you’ve got a brush and a blacking kit somewhere in that warren--’
‘Jamie--’
‘--I know Victoria was always threatening to give the place a cleaning, but I can’t blame her for--’
This is ridiculous. They might stand here burbling at each other about boots and cleaning for the rest of time, and the Doctor hasn’t got the patience, not when Jamie had meant all this for him.
He lets go of the console, aware when he lifts his hand that he’s been clinging to it as though the floor were unstable, and takes the few steps to where Jamie is standing by the chair, still going on about Victoria and cleaning. Jamie falls silent as the Doctor stops in front of him and takes the boots out of his hands, setting them carefully to one side. He turns back to Jamie and takes his hands, pressing them between his own and not missing the blush that sweeps up Jamie’s throat when they touch.
Jamie swallows hard but says nothing, his eyes wide like he doesn’t want to blink.
‘Jamie.’ The Doctor pauses. It’s so very important he gets this right. ‘Jamie, why didn’t you tell me?’
Jamie’s laugh startles both of them, and Jamie bites the sound off short. ‘Tell ye -- what would I tell you? You tell me things, I don’t--’
‘But you would have to tell me that -- that you did this for me.’ The Doctor has to pause and clear his throat, and he can feel himself flushing, and he wishes, truly wishes, that he were better at this. ‘That you -- like me.’ How is it, he thinks wistfully as he hears himself speak, that several hundred years of age doesn’t give him any better language for this than a human teenager? He’d like to be able to make it something poetic, something subtle and affectionate and sweet, like the perfume he can smell again now they’re so close.
Jamie laughs again, almost frantic, and drops his forehead against their joined hands. ‘Like ye.’ He shakes his head, the dark fringe of his hair brushing the Doctor’s knuckles, then looks back up. ‘I liked a lad back home -- bonny little thing he was, all smiles and bad jokes, and he was sweet to kiss. I don’t like you, Doctor.’
The Doctor can’t help himself: he jerks back as though physically stung by the words, but Jamie doesn’t let him get far, stepping forward to compensate for the tug of the Doctor’s hands.
‘If there’s a word for how I feel about you, I don’t know it,’ Jamie goes on, his cheeks burning red but his voice steady. ‘An’ we move so fast all the time, there wasn’t--’ He stops and bites his lips together for a moment, then says slowly, ‘All I could think was that the lasses back home would get in a dither before all the big gatherin’s because they could dress up a bit; show off, like, for --’ He visibly loses momentum, and the sentence trails off into Jamie shrugging and fixing his gaze somewhere over the Doctor’s left shoulder.
‘Oh, Jamie--’ The Doctor frees one hand gently, keeping a careful hold of the other so Jamie won’t have any illusions about what’s going on, and touches Jamie’s cheek; Jamie keeps his gaze firmly away, and the Doctor eventually has to lean sideways and break into his fixed stare to make him blink and refocus. ‘And you were going to take all this off without giving me a chance to say how lovely you look?’
Jamie looks back at the Doctor with an expression so shocked that it would be funny if the Doctor didn’t feel the same way himself.
‘I -- you --’
‘Because you do, you know.’ The Doctor finds enough encouragement in the delight starting to show in Jamie’s eyes to slide his hand from Jamie’s cheek to the curve of his throat. ‘Very lovely indeed.’
Jamie is starting to smile properly now; nothing wry or tired about it. ‘Oh, do I now.’
‘You have been,’ the Doctor says seriously, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. ‘Since you came in here the first time.’
‘Then why didn’t you say anything?’ Jamie tilts his head, one eyebrow raised, his smile now more of a grin.
It’s very clearly a tease and not to be taken seriously, but the Doctor can’t quite take it as such because Jamie needs to understand. ‘Because I didn’t want to keep you.’
Jamie blinks. ‘You what?’
‘It’s -- it’s just what happens, you see. You all -- you spend time with me, and then you find where you want to be, and you -- stay there.’ It barely makes sense to the Doctor, and he’s the one saying it. He tries again: ‘I didn’t want you to feel that you had to stay with me -- that I was -- that I was keeping you--’
Jamie rolls his eyes and flicks the tip of the Doctor’s nose gently with a fingertip. ‘Now who isn’t thinking clearly?’
‘--what?’
‘What if I wanted to be kept?’ Jamie slides his hands around the Doctor’s, weaving their fingers together and squeezing gently. ‘What if I wanted to keep you?’
The Doctor feels his mouth drop open and has to think for a few seconds before he can get it shut again.
Jamie goes on without waiting for the Doctor to speak, which he feels is probably wise since he can’t think of a single word. ‘Mum always said I was a greedy lad, and I think she was right because I’d keep you all to myself.’
The Doctor’s mind stays blank for a long, fizzing moment, and only the fact that he can see Jamie starting to get anxious snaps him out of it. He clears his throat. ‘Well, if -- if that’s what you want, then -- then I think that’s what you should do.’
Jamie starts to smile again, slow and sweet, a look the Doctor can’t remember seeing before and one he loves immediately. He loves it even more a moment later when Jamie stops smiling and leans in slowly, as though even now waiting for the Doctor to pull back. Not about to let that stand, the Doctor kisses him first and only lets Jamie get breathing distance away when he’s reluctantly forced to pull back for lack of oxygen.
Jamie’s breath is coming a little fast and the Doctor lets himself feel slightly smug about that. ‘You didn’t think I was easy to keep, did you?’
Jamie laughs. ‘Haven’t you noticed I like a challenge?’