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1.
“Half past three,” Jamie announced.
“Eh?” said Ben, rifling through the papers he’d found.
“Half past three,” said Jamie with a touch less gusto. He nodded up at the station clock, which he’d been studying for a good half-minute. “The time.”
“Oh, right.” Ben looked at his paper. “Says ‘ere there was a train at twenty-past. We probably just missed her.”
“Because it’s half past now?” Jamie chipped in.
“Yeah, I ‘eard you the first time.” Ben was studying the rows and rows of figures on the page as if he actually understood them. Just looking at it gave Jamie a headache.
The clock on its high archway ticked around to thirty-one minutes past. Beneath it, Jamie stood deflated, a bit less pleased with himself.
“Good show, Jamie.” The Doctor popped up suddenly at his elbow. “Half past three.” Jamie grinned at him.
“Never mind the bleedin’ clock.” Ben thrust his papers at the Doctor. “We’ve only gone and missed them.”
“So we shall get the next train.” The Doctor snatched the paper booklet as if it personally offended him and folded it into his pocket.
Jamie squinted up at the clock, watching the long hand tick another notch upwards. It was one of those days when he couldn’t quite make sense of what was going on – well, that was most days, really, but today was one of the especially bad ones. Polly’d been spirited away by a group of bad men who wanted her to show them the way to the TARDIS – except they weren’t men, they were aliens who looked like men – except they didn’t actually look like men, they were wearing masks made of coloured light that made they look like men – and they’d taken Polly and to get to the TARDIS faster they’d put her inside a great metal beastie that rolled along on rails and it was ever so urgent they get her back – except now they were at the place where the metal beasties lived they had to wait around and look at lists of figures and generally waste time.
“Well, when’s the next one?” snapped Ben.
“You didn’t look?” The Doctor took the booklet from his pocket and rifled through it. “Three-thirty – thirty-three.”
Jamie peered up at the clock. “It’s three thirty-three now.”
“Yeah, alright, I ‘eard you,” said Ben. “What if the next one don’t stop at –”
“I said, it’s three thirty-three now,” Jamie interrupted.
“Eh?”
Jamie nodded at the clock. “Should we not be goin’ out to where the trains are?”
Ben and the Doctor followed his gaze up to the clock, where the short hand was partway between the three and the four and the long hand was three notches after the six. “Oh, good grief,” said the Doctor, his eyebrows almost shooting off his face in alarm.
As one, the pair of them turned and raced for the doors, leaving Jamie to hasten along in their wake, wondering at their sudden urgency – and when he saw it, at the great metal snake that was the ‘train’. The Doctor and Ben ran straight up to its hissing, steaming body and scrambled through a swinging door into its belly. Jamie hung back on the threshold, not quite daring to climb the step.
The Doctor ducked back out the door and grabbed him by the arm. “Come along, Jamie,” he said, dragging Jamie bodily up the step and into the cramped, trembling interior.
Hours later, safe back in the TARDIS, Polly rescued and the aliens with their light-masks on their way back to beyond the stars, his knees still a touch wobbly from the train, Jamie could almost relax.
He was making for his room for a rest, trying not to get turned around in the web of white passages, when the Doctor called his name.
“Oh, Jamie?” The Doctor was jogging along the corridor towards him. “Glad I caught you.”
“Oh, aye?” said Jamie.
“I’ve got something for you.” The Doctor reached into his coat and brought out a box.
“For me?” Jamie echoed.
The Doctor pressed the box into his hand. “It’s a present.”
“What is it?” Jamie turned the box about in his hands. It was small enough to fit into his palm, but heavier than it looked. The outside was covered in stiff black leather and there was a gold-coloured hinge on one edge.
“It’s a surprise,” the Doctor sniffed, drawing himself up taller. “You shall have to open it and see, shan’t you?”
“Hmm?” Jamie traced the seam with his fingers. “Oh, aye!” Fumbling slightly, he opened the box.
Inside was – actually, he wasn’t sure just what it was. It was sort of like a bracelet, with a black leather strap and a metal clasp. He couldn’t make sense of it till he turned it around and saw the face. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “It’s a wee clock!”
“It’s a watch,” said the Doctor.
“Eh?”
“A wrist watch. Here, I’ll show you.” The Doctor whipped the little clock out of Jamie’s hand and wrapped it around his wrist. “You put it on – like this,” he said, drawing the cool leather tight against Jamie’s skin, “and Bob’s your uncle!”
Jamie inspected his wrist. “Ohh!” he said, a smile spreading across his face as he understood. “I get it.”
“I thought you’d like it.” The Doctor clasped his hands together in delight. “It used to belong to – well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. It’s yours now, if you want it.”
“Aye, it’s great.” The watch said it was six o’clock, which Jamie supposed didn’t mean much in the TARDIS, but it was nice to know – and nice to be able to read it. “Six o’clock.”
“Oh, very good.” The Doctor tousled his hair. Jamie shrugged him off, but grinned. “Tea time, I think. Come on, let’s see if we’ve got any biscuits.”
2.
“Happy birthday.” The Doctor handed Jamie a box.
“It’s no’ my birthday.” Jamie handed the box straight back.
“Well, these things are relative, you know,” said the Doctor, thrusting the box into his hands.
“They are?” It was a small-ish box, not very heavy, badly wrapped in paper printed with stars. There were sticky patches here and there and a forlorn strand of ribbon knotted around the middle.
“We’re in a time machine,” said the Doctor. “And we are, ah, travelling through time. It can be your birthday whenever you like.”
“It can?” Jamie gave the box a shake. It rattled.
“It’s always your birthday somewhere,” said the Doctor. “Or somewhen, rather.” He clapped his hands. “Go on! Open it.”
Jamie shrugged and prised open the paper. Inside the box was another box, this one made of metal and dark plastic, and he had no idea what it was meant to be. “What’s that, then?” He turned it over in his hands. It had a cloth strap for carrying, several buttons, some panels held on with screws – on one side a dark glass eye gazed at him, which he found it deeply unnerving.
“It’s a camera,” said the Doctor. Jamie stared at it, none the wiser. “It’s – oh, here. I’ll show you, shall I?” He took the box – the camera – turned it about and angled the glass eye at Jamie. “Smile, now!”
“Eh?” The box went click and there was a flash of light that left Jamie blinking spots away. “Hey!”
“Here you are.” The Doctor plucked a square of thick paper from the front of the box, gave it a shake off, and showed Jamie the gradually-forming image.
Jamie peered at it – and to his bemusement, he saw his own face, startled and pasty in the harsh light of the control room. “What in the – what did ye –” It was like looking in a mirror, if the mirror was very small and made of paper. He turned it over, looking for the trick, but there was no trick. The Doctor had used some kind of queer magic.
“Oh, it’s very simple,” said the Doctor, which meant it wouldn’t be simple at all. “You see, the lens – here –” he tapped the glass eye, “focuses the light onto the, ah, photosensitive paper –”
“What’s photosensitive?” Jamie was studying the picture. On closer inspection, it wasn’t like seeing himself in a mirror and he wasn’t sure that he liked it. Seeing his own unmoving face unnerved him – and he didn’t look as he did in a mirror. His face wasn’t quite the right shape.
“Sensitive to light,” said the Doctor. “So you see, when the light strikes the paper –”
“But I’m no’ givin’ off any light,” said Jamie. “I’m no’ a lamp, ye ken.”
“Well, actually –” The Doctor pulled a disgruntled face. “Never mind. When the light you’re reflecting strikes the paper –”
“I’m no’ a mirror neither.” Good God, was that really what his nose looked like?”
“It’s, ah – oh, I’ll explain later.” The Doctor bundled the camera back into his hands. “Take one of me.” He drew himself up taller and gripped his lapels as if he were someone very important.
Jamie hefted the camera, looking through its wee window in confusion. “This button?”
“Just point and click,” said the Doctor. “Couldn’t be easier.” He grinned his toothiest grin.
Jamie fingered the button, but didn’t dare press it at once. It struck him as a very powerful thing, to take a man’s face and print it indelibly on paper. Not something that ought to be taken lightly.
He pressed down the button. There was an unassuming click and a flash of light that left him blinking but didn’t faze the Doctor one whit. The camera went whirrrr and spat the picture from its slit-mouth. Jamie looked at it, looked down at the Doctor, fuzzy and slightly askew. When he peered very close, he could just see tiny dots of ink making up his face.
“Fun isn’t it?” said the Doctor. “Have a play.” With that, he bounded around the console to toy with his switches and levers. With a grumbling, the column began to rise, sending them off to God-alone-knew-where.
There was a slight lurch, not so much in the fabric of the TARDIS as in the air, a sensation of movement that made Jamie’s insides feel funny. A lurching and then a boom like a deep bass bell. Above them, the scanner flickered into life.
The Doctor’s face lit up like a child with a new toy. On a whim, Jamie raised the camera and took another picture; the Doctor, eyes glittering in the coloured lights from the console, face turned up to the heavens.
3.
“Look at all the lights,” said Jamie, marvelling. They were all up and down the darkened street, fixed to the walls and in windows and hanging from glowing archways across the road. Red lights and white lights and green lights, shaped like stars and trees and animals. They were so many and so bright that they all but drowned out the stars in the heavens.
And the people, so many people, hurrying up and down the road, heedless of the cold and the dark. He’d never get used to these future-cities, the height and breadth of them and the sheer number of people they packed in – and the way they were lit up all night, the way you could walk the streets after dark without fear.
“Oh, marvellous!” Beside him, the Doctor was rubbing his hands together in glee.
“Oh, aye?” said Jamie. “What’s marvellous?”
“Well, it’s Christmas,” said the Doctor as if it were obvious. Looking up at the bright, blinking lights, Jamie couldn’t see why. There was something foreign or alien about them. There was nothing about this place to bring to mind any Christmas he’d known – except perhaps the biting cold.
“Mercy.” Victoria came up behind them. “But it can’t be later than July, surely?”
Jamie glanced over his shoulder, checking that she was safely swaddled in her coat and mittens.
“You’re forgetting, Victoria,” said the Doctor, “time is relative in the TARDIS. It can be Christmas whenever we want.”
“Doesn’t that defeat the object of Christmas, rather?”
“Oh, don’t be such a sourpuss.” The Doctor sniffed the air. “Come on! I think I smell chestnuts.”
Along the busy street and around a corner, they found the source of the chestnutty smell, and an awful lot more besides. Hundreds of red and green painted stalls were crowded into the square, covered with greenery and glittering things. It smelled of ginger and sugar and wood, and somewhere more distant of cooked meat.
And the people – they struck Jamie not so much as a crowd as a mob, crammed into the aisles between the stalls, pushing and seething and treading on each other’s toes. Victoria didn’t like crowds, he told himself.
“Aye, well,” rubbing his hands together, Jamie nodded at the nearest cart, “there’s your chestnuts.”
If the Doctor heard the unspoken so let’s get some and go back to the TARDIS, shall we? he didn’t dignify it with a response. “Oh, splendid!” He reached into his furry overcoat and rooted through his pockets. “I wonder if they have hot chocolate.” Smacking his lips, he strode off into the crowd.
Victoria followed after. Jamie hastened to catch her up and take her hand. “Isn’t it lovely?” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the hubbub.
“Aye,” he said, “it’s –”
“Ohh, look over there!” Squeezing his hand, she dragged him over to an elaborate toy house carved from gingerbread.
Jamie tried to keep ahold of her as she darted from stall to stall, but in what felt like moments she’d slipped her hand from his and in the time it took him to turn his head she was away into the crowd. He looked for the Doctor’s furry bulk, but he’d vanished too.
Cold, disgruntled and thoroughly sick of all the people, he made only a half-hearted attempt to find them. When he found instead a warm and reasonably quiet spot beside a stall cooking sausages, he decided to stand in it and let the Doctor come looking for him.
So he stood, stamping his feet against the cold, scanning the crowd for any sign of the Doctor or Victoria, trying not to worry and not to be sullen. It was Christmas, after all. This looked to be a safe and peaceful place for a change – but some days safe and peaceful places were little but background noise.
A hand on his shoulder. “There you are,” said the Doctor as if Jamie were the one wandering off. “Found a warm patch, have you?”
“Aye.” Unless she was hidden behind the Doctor’s furry back – which had been known to happen – Victoria wasn’t with him. “Where’s Victoria?”
“Hmm? Oh, I, er, left her looking at the Christmas ornaments,” said the Doctor. “We may have to find her a tree.”
Jamie’d seen decorated trees around the market. They puzzled him. He could understand bringing greenery in for decoration, but a while tree was surely a bit much. And if they bought one, they were sure to make him lug it back to the TARDIS.
But then again, if Victoria wanted a tree, he could probably grow to like it. “Aye. If you say so.”
“Oh, do lighten up,” said the Doctor. “It’s Christmas.”
“I’m just cold,” said Jamie, affronted that the Doctor had noticed his sour mood. “Anyway, Christmas is for Englishmen.”
“Really, now –” The Doctor patted his cheek in contemplation. “Oh, I suppose it is. More of a Hogmanay person, are you?”
“Aye.” Jamie hunched into his coat.
Maybe he was homesick. It’d been a while since he’d been homesick – he’d all but forgotten what it felt like. Perhaps that was the trouble with safe, quiet places. They gave him time to miss home, to miss the turn of the seasons and the steady onward motion of time instead of this – this darting about.
“Well, as it happens,” the Doctor went on, “I believe we’re somewhere in Germany. Here you are.” From his coat pocket he brought something wrapped in waxed paper.
“What’s that?” Jamie wavered. His hands were tucked under his arms, nice and warm.
“Christmas present for you.” The Doctor proffered his little bundle. “To eat.”
That settled it. Jamie slipped his hands out into the cold air and took the parcel. Peeling back a corner of the paper, he straight away smelled fruit cake. He unwrapped the paper further. The cake inside was pale and funny-shaped, coated in sugar like snow.
“Stollen,” said the Doctor.
“Eh? What’s stolen?”
“That’s what it’s called,” said the Doctor. “Try it.”
Jamie was already digging in. It was different from what he was used to, lighter, not so wet, less heavily spiced, but still the taste brought back memories of home. “Mmm.”
“Good?” said the Doctor. Jamie nodded, his mouth full of candied fruit. “You know,” the Doctor twiddled his thumbs anxiously, “it can only be a week or so until New Year. We could –”
Jamie swallowed and shook his head. “Thank-you,” he said, nodding at his cake.
The Doctor beamed at him. “You’ve got sugar on your nose.” He whipped out a handkerchief and dabbed at Jamie’s face. “Here –”
“Och, don’t.” Jamie batted him away.
“No, no, I have it –” Jamie swatted the Doctor’s hand and wiped his own nose, spreading the powdery sugar all over his coat sleeve. “Oh, dear,” said the Doctor, dabbing and dabbing. “Oh, dear dear dear –”
“Will ye let me eat me cake?” Jamie pointedly took another bite.
The Doctor gave him a look – and thrust his handkerchief into Jamie’s coat pocket. “There,” he said as if he’d make a decisive move. “Now, shall we find a tree for Victoria?”
4.
It was truly a perfect day. The sky was a flawless crystal-clear blue, the white puffs of cloud perfectly-formed. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves and dusted the grass, keeping the air cool without causing a chill. Flowers of every colour were blooming here and there in carefully tended beds.
When you walked through the landscape, it might fool you. But from his vantage point on the viewing platform Jamie could see the seams. He’d come here every day since they’d landed and always it was perfect. The sun always shone. Rain fell only at night. The pattern of clouds in the domed sky, he’d learned through prolonged viewing, went around and around. The trees were planted in too-neat rows, the flowers and bushes evenly spaced between them. And when he closed his eyes and breathed in, he could smell recycled air beneath the scent of the foliage.
If all else failed, the metal walls that rose up around the forest gave away it wasn’t real. They called it the Arcadian Chamber and it was too crisp, too clean. But then, that was the point. Everything had to be kept perfect, frozen in a single moment, so that one day it could be returned, unchanged, to the earth.
Resting his elbows on the metal rail, Jamie closed his eyes and breathed in. Aye. Recycled air. No matter where you went in time and space, no matter if they were built by humans or bug-eyed beasties with six heads, all space ships smelled the same.
“Ah, so this is where you’ve been hiding, is it?” Footsteps traipsed across the platform.
“I’m no’ hidin’.” Jamie opened his eyes. “I’m sittin’.” He looked up at the Doctor, shadowy above him in the bright light from the dome. He couldn’t see the look on the Doctor’s face, but he didn’t need to. It was his oh, Jamie look, exasperation mixed with concern with just a smidge of condescension.
Hitching up his checked trouser-legs, the Doctor plopped himself down beside Jamie. “Touch of melancholy?”
“No’ really,” said Jamie. “Just been thinkin’.”
“Oh, dear,” sighed the Doctor. “It doesn’t suit you, you know.”
The pretend sky was turning pink around the edges. In a few minutes the pretend sun would set and the real stars would come out. The sunset was the same every day, but the speed the ship was moving, the stars sometimes shifted.
The Doctor’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t fret,” he said. “This isn’t the end, you know.”
“Eh?” said Jamie.
“This isn’t humanity’s first ark and it certainly won’t be the last,” said Doctor went on. “It’ll be a long while yet before the earth truly dies. Tens, oh, hundreds of millions of years. Plague, asteroids, solar flares, invasions – you’d be amazed at what one species can survive, with a little, ah, ingenuity.”
“What year’s it again?” asked Jamie.
“Ah, hmm.” The Doctor tapped his fingers upon the rail. “Eight hundred thousand and something – and it’s a Thursday.”
“Thursday, aye,” said Jamie. Eight hundred thousand; he was glad they were so far in the future. It meant he couldn’t do the maths and work out just how long it’d been since they’d left Victoria. But the knowledge that she’d have lived her whole life and been long forgotten by now sat heavily on his shoulders.
He was glad he didn’t often have the time to sit and think about things.
The Doctor was babbling away about the ark. “Although, if I remember rightly, this ship never will make it back to earth,” he said. “In a few years there’ll be a catastrophic engine failure – the entire population’ll toddle off to the nearest inhabitable planet and that’ll be that. They’ll build a new civilisation from next to nothing and then perhaps in a few thousand years they’ll make contact with other humans, and then – but I’m getting ahead of myself.” He patted Jamie’s shoulder. “My point is, Jamie, that every ending is a new beginning. So really, there’s no call to be down in the dumps.”
“Mmm.” The pretend sun was setting, the sky streaked with pink and orange, almost like a real sunset – except the real sun didn’t set so perfectly every day.
Tracing patterns on the metal bar with his fingertips, Jamie tried several times to speak. “I was just thinkin’,” he said, “Victoria would’ve liked it here.”
The first time he’d walked through the Arcadian Chamber he’d seen all the flowers and had a sudden impulse to pick some for her – before he remembered.
“Yes, I suppose she would.” The Doctor’s hand, still resting on his shoulder, squeezed gently.
There was a lot more that he’d been thinking, but he didn’t know how to say it aloud and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Instead he sat watching the dome gradually turn see-through, the Doctor silent and contemplative at his side.
At length, the Doctor slipped an arm around his shoulders and patted his upper arm. “Hmm?”
“I’m fine,” said Jamie.
“I know you are.”
“I dinnae want coddlin’.”
“Of course you don’t.” The Doctor stroked his arm, soothing, and Jamie squashed in closer. Through the dome, he could see the brightest of the stars.
“I don’t suppose you ever think of it?” said the Doctor, a funny sort of catch in his voice that made Jamie twist around to look him in the eye before answering.
“Eh? Think of what?”
“Settling down.”
“Och, no.” The answer came automatically, before he’d even thought through his reasons. He didn’t think he could go home, at least not yet. To look up at the stars every night and know he’d walked amongst them, and know that he was alone in the world – he didn’t think he could stand it. But after his time, in the future, he wouldn’t ever fit. There was no room for him in this world with its spaceships and computers and robots to do the dirty work. “I’m happy with you.”
“Well, good.” The Doctor gave his arm one last pat and released him. “Oh, before I forget. I’ve got something for you.”
“Oh, aye?” said Jamie as the Doctor rummaged around in his coat.
“Aye,” said the Doctor. “I mean, yes,” he corrected as Jamie’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “Ah! Here we are.” He brought out something wrapped in rumpled tartan paper. “Present for you.”
Jamie took it, the paper crinkling beneath his fingertips. “What for?”
“Well, for being your delightful self,” said the Doctor as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Go on. Open it.”
Jamie untwisted the paper, which was coiled tight around the box like a snake. When at last he won the battle and tore it off, he took one look at the contents – and broke down into laughter. “Where’d you get that?”
“I found him in the junk shop,” said the Doctor. “Cute, isn’t he?”
“Aye, it’s very –” said Jamie, still chuckling. It was certainly very something. In the little box, beneath a layer of thin clear plastic, was a three-inch tall piper, complete with tiny pipes and wee kilt. On the back of the box he sounded out Made in Edinburgh. “Where d’ye find these things?”
“You don’t like it.”
Jamie looked up at the Doctor and saw that his face had crumpled. “No, I do, I – och, don’t make that face. C’mere, you old softie.” Wrapping an arm around the Doctor’s shoulders, he reeled him in and squeezed tight.
The Doctor let out a squeak at being hugged so abruptly, and said, “you’re quite welcome,” into Jamie’s shoulder. “It’s a little you, you see.”
“Aye,” said Jamie. “I saw.” He broke down again, shoulders quaking with laughter.
When at length he recovered, there they sat, legs dangling into the Arcadian Chamber, looking quietly up at the stars through the dome.
With a sigh, the Doctor said, “I think perhaps we ought to be moving on in the morning.”
“Is Zoe finished in that records room?”
“Probably not,” said the Doctor. “But I can always put my foot down.” He propped his head on Jamie’s shoulder. “This place is getting rather tiresome, don’t you think?”
“Aye,” said Jamie. “Best be movin’ on.”
5.
Someone was shaking him gently awake. Jamie squeezed his eyes tighter shut and refused to co-operate.
The shaking became a little less gentle. “Jamie?” A hand patted his face. “Look alive, now.”
“Mmph?” Jamie opened his eyes and for a moment wondered what the Doctor was doing in his room. Then he realised he wasn’t in his room. He wasn’t even in a bed. He was curled in an armchair in the control room, a blanket draped over him and something lumpy pillowing his head. “Oh.” He rubbed his eyes. “Is it tomorrow?”
He remembered staggering back to the TARDIS. He remembered sitting down to rest as they dematerialised. He remembered the Doctor saying something about – about Venusian scouts and what dreadful aim they had. And – he didn’t remember much else. He must’ve fallen asleep in the chair. He didn’t remember putting a blanket over himself, so the Doctor must’ve done that. He’d not realised he was so tired.
“I’ve no idea,” said the Doctor. “But you’ve been asleep for a good few hours and I’d, ah, like my coat back.”
“You should’ve woken me,” said Jamie, still blinking sleep away.
“My coat,” said the Doctor in his shirt sleeves.
“You coat?” Jamie shifted, and realised what his head had been resting on. “Oh, your coat!” He clambered out of the chair.
The Doctor shrugged his coat back on. “Thank you,” he said, adjusting his lapels.
“Have we landed?” Jamie scrubbed a hand over his face and looked at the console. The central column was rising and falling at a gentle pace. At a guess he’d say they were moving, but not very fast.
“No, no,” said the Doctor. “No. We’re in stasis flight for the time being. I’ve spoken to the powers that be, you know, and we’re taking a little break.”
Relief swept through him. Lord, but they’d been on their feet for – it felt like weeks, at least. “Oh, thank God,” he said. “We goin’ somewhere nice?”
“Ah, regrettably no.” The Doctor went to the console and poked at a dial. “Or not yet, anyway. Officially we’re, ah, taking some time for maintenance.”
“Oh, aye. And unofficially?”
“Oh, we do need maintenance,” said the Doctor.
“Don’t we always?”
The Doctor ignored him. “It shouldn’t take too long – with any luck we might be able to make a stop somewhere before they bother us again.” He adjusted a few knobs and pulled out a lever that went clunk. A whole slice of TARDIS console went dark. “The tachyon matrix reversal circuits need stripping down.” He dropped to his knees and unfastened the panel.
“Oh, aye.” Jamie leaned upon the console. “That’s what you’re doin’ today is it?”
“No,” said the Doctor, voice echoing inside the console. “That’s what you’re going to do today.”
The TARDIS hummed steadily. Jamie stared at his crouching back, dumbstruck. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Only take an hour or two,” said the Doctor brightly.
Jamie dropped into a crouch beside him. “But I dinnae ken a thing about it!”
“Well, it’s about time you learnt, isn’t it?” The Doctor emerged from the console clutching a metallic block that trailed wires like long spider’s legs. Taking in Jamie’s aghast expression he said, “now, really. How long have you been travelling with me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Exactly,” said the Doctor. “And how much do you know about the inner workings of the TARDIS? Or the outer workings, for that matter.”
“No’ a thing,” said Jamie.
“Precisely,” said the Doctor. “Don’t you think it’s about time we did something about that?”
“No,” said Jamie steadfastly.
“Oh, really,” said the Doctor. “What if something happened to me – and it was just you and the TARDIS. What would you do then?”
Jamie shrugged his shoulders. “Die?”
“I was being serious, Jamie.”
“So was I!” Jamie protested. “Ach, is this some sort of a joke? Cause it’s nae funny, Doctor.”
“Of course it’s not a joke,” said the Doctor. “Why would it be a joke?”
“Cause I’m no’ clever enough for all this,” Jamie stabbed a finger at the tacky-whatever it was, “and you know it.”
“Oh, nonsense.”
“I don’t even know what a tacky-own matrix re – re-versal circuit is,” Jamie persisted.
“It’s a circuit for reversing the tachyon matrix,” said the Doctor, smiling at him patiently.
“I’ll break it,” said Jamie.
It was his trump card, and the Doctor just brushed it aside. “Well, you certainly shall with that attitude,” he said. “Come on, now. I’ll talk you through it. It’s very simple.” He plonked the still-warm box into Jamie’s hands and from his pocket produced his sonic screwdriver. “Now, first thing’s first.”
Two hours later, Jamie had burnt his fingers twice, been brought close to tears at least three times, acquired numerous tiny cuts on sensitive parts of his hands, and he was still wrist-deep in wires and intricate circuit boards, almost too scared to move lest he dislodge something that wasn’t meant to be dislodged.
“Now, cut through the blue wires,” said the Doctor. “Carefully, now!”
“I don’t even understand what I’m doin’,” said Jamie, long since past the point of frustration and now into full-on dejection and despair.
“It’s alright,” said the Doctor, adjusting Jamie’s grip on the wire cutters. “You’re doing splendidly. Careful! Not that wire.”
“But it’s blue!” Jamie protested.
“It’s cyan,” said the Doctor.
Jamie stared at the wire and at the Doctor, appalled. “That’s a kind of blue!” he wailed. Thrusting the mass of wires at the Doctor, he said, “och, will you no’ just take over?”
“You’re nearly done.” The Doctor passed it gently back to him.
“I’m scared I’m gonnae cut through the wrong thing and the whole TARDIS’ll go up.”
“Don’t be absurd,” said the Doctor. “Worst case scenario, we’ll have to avoid reversing the tachyon matrix for a little while. I’d hardly have started you off on anything that important, would I?”
“Well, now ye tell me!” Jamie snapped.
“You’re very nearly finished.” The Doctor patted his hand. “Once you have those wires re-connected, it’s just a matter of putting it all back together again.”
Jamie stared at the tangled wires in his hands, vision blurring as he tried to remember what they’d looked like when he’d started. “Is this a punishment?” he said. “Are ye punishing me? Because whatever it is I did, I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be silly,” said the Doctor, tone aggravatingly soothing. “You’re doing very well. Here.” He guided Jamie’s hands to the right blue wires, which were not the only blue wires. He wondered if the Doctor understood how colours worked.
The connection made, he battled with putting the damn thing back together, the Doctor chipping in with encouraging comments all the while. The circuit boards were wafer-thin and some were sharp as knives around the edges and he came close to slicing his hand open more than once – and no matter how many times the Doctor told him to ‘just coil the wires up nicely, now’ they would not stay coiled nicely and by the end he was certain he was just stacking bits and pieces at random, but then at last – at very long last – all that was left to do was hold it together and seal the casing.
“Don’t you dare blame me if this thing doesnae work now,” said Jamie.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” The Doctor handed him a long screw.
Jamie slotted the screw into place, took the sonic screwdriver from his mouth, and fiddled with the buttons. He’d learned the hard way that if you pressed too hard everything in the room would start to come unfastened. He’d probably be the one stuck putting the chair back together, even though it was all the Doctor’s fault for not warning him.
The screws went back in, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and he was sure one or two were at funny angles but he’d been past caring about neatness over an hour ago. He thrust the box at the Doctor and said, “here. Is that done now? Please say that’s done now.”
“Hmmm.” The Doctor inspected the box, peering at the underside, tugging experimentally on the dangling wires that connected it to the console. “Yes. Nicely done.”
“Really?” Jamie’s heart leapt. “It’s alright?”
“I couldn’t have done it much better myself.” The Doctor crawled back into the console.
Well, Jamie didn’t think that was true, but he’d take it. He stood, dusted himself down, and said, “never make me do that again, aye?”
“I shall make no such promise.” The Doctor popped out of the console, hair sticking up anywhichway, and replaced the panel.
“Right,” said Jamie. “I’m gonnae –” He glanced across the control room and saw his armchair in bits. “I’m gonnae have a lie down,” he amended. He made a move for the door and realised he was still holding the sonic screwdriver. “Oh. Here.” He held it out.
The Doctor wrapped his hand around the screwdriver and pushed it back. “You keep it.”
Jamie looked at the Doctor’s inscrutable face, trying to work out if he was joking. He looked at the sonic screwdriver clasped in his hand, silvery casing scratched and weathered. “Really?”
The Doctor plucked the screwdriver from Jamie’s hand and tucked it into his top pocket. “It’s yours now.”
Jamie stared at the sonic screwdriver in his pocket, not quite believing it. “Really? You’re just givin’ it tae me?”
“Well, why not?” said the Doctor. “I’ve got another one, you know.”
“Aye, well,” said Jamie, “thanks.” Which wasn’t even half what he wanted to say, but he was too tired to go on. “I’m still gonnae have a lie down, though.”
“Oh, yes,” said the Doctor, fiddling with the controls. “You have a rest.”
“And I meant it about never doin’ that again!” Jamie called from the doorway.
“If you say so,” said the Doctor, grinning at him, a wicked gleam in his eye.
Jamie rolled his eyes and pulled the door to behind him.
In his room, between kicking off his shoes and lying down, he toyed with the screwdriver. He really ought not play around with it, but, well – just once, before his nap. He cast about the room and settled on the metal knob upon the nearest bedpost. Aiming the sonic screwdriver, he thumbed the button.
There was a whirring – and then a rattling – and then an almighty crash as his bed fell apart at the seams.
Jamie jumped back to avoid tumbling bits of wood and metal. A bed knob rolled past him and clanged against the wall. He looked at the sonic screwdriver in his hand, slightly in awe of the mess he’d made.
“Jamie?” called the Doctor from the control room. “Everything alright?”
Jamie looked at the remains of his bed and inwardly shrugged. “Aye,” he called back. “Everything’s fine.” He perched on the edge of his now rather unsteady mattress and ran his thumb over the button. “I’ll get it,” he said to himself.