Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Oh, my Bridgerton!" Ruby squealed as she took in the extravagant ballroom, twirling in her puffy yellow gown. "This is my actual dream!"

"This is brilliant, isn't it?" Fifteen grinned, matching her excitement. "And the dances! Oh-ho, Ruby, the dances!"

As they gawked at all the glittering party guests, they were swiftly interrupted.

"Marvelous!" An elegant woman in a dark gown and matching head-dress approached them, gesturing with an ornate fan. "Well, I thought I knew everyone at my ball, but it appears not! What a delight!"

"Wonderful party, your grace," Fifteen nodded with an air of gentility. In his burgundy waistcoat and gleaming white trousers, he fit right in.

"Some are saying best of the season," the woman leaned in conspiratorially. "A triumph! A new standard set – I, of course, could not comment." She winked at Ruby, who let out a shy little giggle. "But I think the real estimation of an evening is in the matches made. Don't you agree, miss...?"

"Uh, Ruby!" She stammered. "Lady. Ruby. S-sunday. Of the... Notting Hill estate..."

Tilting his head to the side, the Doctor shot her an incredulous look that meant I am so going to tease you about this later before turning back to introduce himself to their hostess.

"I'm the Doctor," Fifteen gave a curt bow. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, your ladyship."

"And," the woman hesitated as she peered over their shoulders. "Your. . .friend?"

Ruby and her Doctor whirled around to find Ten standing a few paces away from them, surveilling the crowd with a blank expression. He sniffed and appeared, to anyone who was paying attention, quite uninterested in the entire affair.

"Oi," Fifteen summoned his younger self, nodding toward their host with a silent you're being disrespectful, stop embarrassing me.

Ten caught their eye and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Oh! Right," Ten joined them, reaching out to take the lady's hand. "Yes. Hello. I'm the Doctor."

Holding her gaze, Ten bent down and softly kissed the back of her hand. With a slight blush, the hostess observed the way his savoy blue waistcoat and black riding trousers hugged his thin frame. His hair was absolutely unruly and yet she could not bring herself to dislike it.

"Two doctors at my ball," the woman eyed him with a flirtatious smile. "I am uncertain as to whether that is a good omen or a bad one."

"A good one," Fifteen grinned just as Ten said, "A bad one."

Annoyed, they shot each other meaningful glances. Fifteen was saying this is why I can't bring you anywhere and Ten was saying I told you I didn't want to come.

Fifteen tilted his head, saying would you please stop flirting with the lady of the house and Ten frowned with a I'm not flirting!

"Well," the lady turned to Ruby, who was already exasperated with both of them. "A young lady needs suitors, not – friends. Come."

Failing to contain her excitement, Ruby squealed with delight and eagerly followed, spinning around just long enough to whisper, "oh, she's so posh, I love her," before disappearing into the crowd.

Soon, both Doctors were standing alone.

With a quiet sigh, Ten observed the crowd; at the high-spirited youths with their whole lives ahead of them, buzzing with the prospect that perhaps they would be the ones to find a match tonight, at the curious glances, the hushed voices, the giggling behind gloved hands.

With something like grief sitting on his heart, he watched them, his mouth pressed in a thin line. Love, what a thing.

When Ten turned back to glance at his older self, Fifteen was staring upwards. Following his gaze, Ten found that he had his eye on a handsome, brooding somebody standing atop a balcony.

Ten eyed Fifteen with an incredulous glare.

"Oh, and I'm the flirt?" Ten quirked an eyebrow.

"Shut up," Fifteen did not look away from the stranger. "Now, you behave."

"Behave?" Ten made a face, turning away. "Just because you're older than me doesn't make you my guardian," he whined. "Behave. As if it's my fault that an outerspace conspiracy crops up everywhere we go–"

When Ten looked back, Fifteen had gone. He peered up and found that the handsome rogue upstairs was now accompanied by his other self who seemed to be competing with increasingly ridiculous brooding poses, not-so-subtly leaning on the railing to get the stranger's attention.

Ten swallowed awkwardly, feeling out of place. This was not his adventure, not really. He had been dragged along to join in the festivities but, in actuality, he just wanted to be left alone.

With a last, fleeting glance up at the balcony, he turned away and strolled out of the large oak doorway, his black knee-high riding boots echoing on the polished, patterned tiles.

Just before he was out of earshot, he heard himself flirting with the handsome gentleman on the second floor.

"Darling, I'm here for fun."

*

With the sound of crickets all around him, Ten stepped out into the midnight air on a large stone terrace, the moon a beautiful, bright crescent in the sky.

Taking a breath of fresh air into his lungs, he found that he felt less restricted out here, less confined by the strict expectations of the time and the overwhelming feeling of joy and yearning that seemed to radiate from every guest.

Even his travelling companions.

Setting his jaw, he looked up at the stars as he tried to decide where he should run off to; which star, which planet, which world would be the one to take away this ever-growing loneliness in his chest. Would his older self even notice he had gone?

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Ten whirled around, eyebrows up. What had he done now?

"This happens to be," a young man approached with a teasing smile, "my designated place for wallowing in sadness."

The man's smile softened as he sidled up next to Ten, looking out onto the lawn with an unreadable expression.

"I apologize," Ten failed to contain his own smile as he glanced sideways at him. "I didn't mean to intrude."

Hesitant, he looked the man up and down, just a tad skeptical. He wore a black waistcoat and trousers with a perfectly-arranged white puffy blouse. Probably not an alien. Well.

"Have you lost your date?" The man asked, sympathetic. "You've got the look of someone who wishes he could run away to the stars." He glanced over at the Doctor. "Could you imagine that?"

"Yeah," Ten smiled softly.

"All of our problems would go away," the man muttered, peering up at the sky. Something unsaid hung in the air between them.

"Have you?" Ten asked. "Lost your date?"

"In a manner of speaking," the man tensed his jaw. "He was never mine in the end."

With a quick glance, the man watched him for an adverse reaction to his confession. It seemed that this man had nothing more to lose; they were in the regency era, 1813's England, and he was not hiding anymore. How brave, the Doctor thought.

"Tell me about him," Ten offered.

With a surprised blink, the man turned away, though there was relief on him.

"He's just like all the others," the man sighed. "He doesn't matter now."

Understanding the man's sorrow perhaps more deeply than he would like to admit, the Doctor's gaze softened.

"I'm sorry." Ten said.

"And you?" The man peered over at him. "Lost yours to the charming gentleman upstairs?"

"Oh," the Doctor blinked. Only then did it dawn on him that his loneliness had been misconstrued as heartbreak. "No that's – we're–"

"There's no need to be coy," the man laughed. "Not with me."

"We're not together," Ten stated firmly. "We're – family."

"Ah," the man's gaze raked up and down Ten's body, somehow making him feel small and wanted all at once. "So, it runs in the family."

"What does?" Ten asked dumbly.

"Our. . . predisposition." The man winked.

Oh. His eyes did have a lovely sparkle, now that he–

"Our–" Ten faltered, his eyes following the man's hand which had come up to play with the hairs above the Doctor's ear. "Uh–"

With a clatter of hurried footsteps, Fifteen came bounding out of the ballroom and out through the main doors to the terrace, dragging along the young rogue. They were running hand in hand, beaming at each other and giggling with mirth.

Seeing Ten with company, Fifteen skidded to a stop.

"Oh," was all Fifteen could say.

Staring back, Ten was speechless, caught. But, as the stranger's hand caressed the shell of his ear, he decided he was much too enthralled to mind.

"Didn't. . . mean to intrude," Fifteen gave his younger self a knowing look before he dragged the handsome rogue away, toward the gardens.

When the sound of their footsteps had dissipated, Ten turned back to his – his – suitor, and was immediately caught in a kiss.

"Mmph!" Ten squeaked in surprise, his hands fluttering at his sides.

Their kiss deepened and the man's strong – strong! – hand came up to gently cup the Doctor's cheek. He was holding him so delicately, keeping all of his broken pieces together.

Ten reached out to fist the man's waistcoat as they parted, their noses still touching. With a sudden shyness, he kept his eyes downcast, a blush blooming on his cheeks.

"What's your name?" Ten whispered, peering up at him.

"Lawrence," he whispered against the Doctor's lips.

"Well," Ten inhaled sharply. "Pleasure to meet you, Lawrence."

They both let out breathy laughs, delightfully awkward in their embrace.

With a twinkle in his eye, Lawrence's fingertips trailed down the little hairs at the back of Ten's neck, making him shiver. Overwhelmed, he shut his eyes.

"Is this too much?" Lawrence asked, with patience and a quick glance toward the doors.

"No, I–" Ten pressed into him – don't go – their foreheads touching. He licked his lips as he focused on what he was trying to say. "It's not enough."

"A name for a name, then," Lawrence smiled big. "Pretty boy."

Ten shook his head and swallowed hard. "Just call me that and I'm yours."

With a cheeky smile, Lawrence angled himself to softly peck the Doctor's lips once, twice, before slotting in perfectly. They kissed, eager and greedy, their hands gripping sleeves and lapels. They were snogging. One of Lawrence's hands came to rest between the Doctor's shoulder blades, keeping him close.

When they pulled apart, they gasped, panting against each other.

"I need–"

"What do you need, pretty boy?" Lawrence smirked.

"Oh–" Ten sighed as the other man pushed his hair behind his ear. "Um–"

"You're so articulate," Lawrence teased.

"I – I usually am quite–" Ten stammered, trying and failing to pull himself together. "–Is the thing."

Lawrence leaned in, slowly kissing the Doctor and his eyes fluttered shut.

"Have I rendered you speechless?" His lips trailed down the side of Ten's neck, smiling against the sensitive skin there.

"Ap–parently," Ten gasped, his fists tightening on Lawrence's shoulders.

"You're very sweet," a nip and another gasp. "A most honourable gentleman suitor. I dare say, the gentlest of men."

"Well–" he pressed himself closer, fisting Lawrence's collar. "I just–"

When Lawrence pulled away, Ten let out a needy whine and fixed him with sad, slanted eyebrows. He received one apologetic peck in response.

Not knowing where to look but into those beautiful eyes, Ten ran a nervous hand through his hair. Standing apart like this, their lips still buzzing, it seemed as if there was suddenly an ocean of distance between them.

"I wish," Lawrence's gaze was full of anguish, "that this evening would never have to come to an end. How cruel, to know that eternity could never look like this."

"One day," Ten promised. "It will."

With a sad smile, Lawrence extended a hand to straighten the Doctor's cravat. With an unspoken grief, Ten observed him. How awful, that Lawrence would never know that, one day, love would win.

"Want to run away to the stars?" Lawrence whispered with a mischievous grin.

"Don't you?" Ten blinked.

"Every day," he admitted.

With a knowing glance and a cocky quirk of the lips, the Doctor clasped both of Lawrence's hands in his own. All at once, he knew exactly which star he would choose tonight.

"Come with me."

Under the moonlight in Bath, in the year 1813, two dapper young men in waistcoats, sleek trousers, and riding boots ran off together, onto the lawn, through the trees, and toward a little blue box.

Chapter Text

"You're completely mad."

Standing just inside the TARDIS, Lawrence had been frozen in place, stunned, for far too long. With a wave of regret, the Doctor had faltered in his excitement to dazzle his gentleman suitor and was now hovering guiltily by the console.

"Ah, yeah," Ten scratched the back of his head, nervous. "Mad man with a box, that's me."

As silence stretched between them, the Doctor observed his guest with growing concern until something creaked deep within the halls of the TARDIS; an eerie indication of just how much bigger it was on the inside.

Unsettled, Lawrence's wide eyes darted toward the sound.

It was all too much for him.

With a stoic expression, the Doctor slowly approached until Lawrence met his gaze.

"You can still go," Ten promised, eyes sad. "It's not too late to change your mind."

It was foolish to expect that this could work, that Lawrence wouldn't be frightened of him and – all this. During this human time period, he reminded himself, people had not yet experienced electric lightbulbs, much less space travel or pocket dimensions.

I've ruined it–

"I don't want to go," Lawrence muttered, holding the Doctor's gaze.

"Oh," the Doctor's voice cracked.

"But," Lawrence hesitated, his eyes flicking to the console with suspicion. "I want to understand. Who are you?"

Ten took another, more confident, step forward, taking Lawrence's hand in his own. Once he had permission, he guided him up the ramp where they sat together with their feet dangling off the edge of the platform.

Sheepishly, the Doctor peered up at his guest.

"I'm a Time Lord," he began. "I'm not – from your world."

Butterflies fluttered anxiously in his stomach. Why was he so nervous? He had had this conversation so many times, with so many different people, under so many different circumstances. But sometimes, he supposed, it mattered. Sometimes, like this time, he needed to do it right.

"I come from a planet called Gallifrey," the Doctor continued. "And this is my ship." He looked up at the big round things. He loved the big round things. "It can take me anywhere in the universe, and it can travel in time. We could pop back to yesterday, if you like. Or tomorrow. Or a thousand, million years in either direction."

Careful.

"Are you telling me you have a time machine?" Lawrence observed him, skeptical.

"Yes," Ten huffed a nervous laugh. "I am. I do." He swallowed, bracing himself for fear, for repulsion, for distrust. "Is that alright?"

Don't go.

"Why," Lawrence frowned and for a moment the Doctor's heart sank, "would you go to a stuffy old ball when you have a time machine?"

"Uh–" Ten blinked, confused. "I was – invited." A beat. "Well. Not invited. Forced. Strung along. Dragged against my will–" A hand clasped his. "Oh."

Ten's gaze fell upon the other man's lips. Without meaning to. Probably.

"What's your name?" Lawrence asked, open and trusting, lacing their fingers together. "Now you must tell me."

"I'm the Doctor," Ten smiled apologetically. Oh, to have a name Lawrence could pronounce, how lovely it would be to hear it on his tongue. "We don't have names in the same way that you do. We have titles, and that's the one I chose."

"Should I call you 'Doctor'?" Lawrence asked.

"If you like," Ten said. "But you don't have to. You can call me anything." His eyes gleamed, a tease on his lips. "You can call me a bastard and I'd still kiss you."

A mischievous smile returned to Lawrence's lips. Oh, to see that smile everyday.

"Now," Lawrence leaned in close, his lips tantalizingly close to the Doctor's slightly parted ones. "Who said I wanted to kiss you?"

Ten let out such an adorably distressed sound that Lawrence took pity on him and captured his lips in a slow, tender kiss. The Doctor's eyelids fluttered blissfully shut.

"I suppose you did," Ten blabbed as they parted. "Say – that."

With a curious tilt of the head, Lawrence hesitated.

"Are you also, actually a doctor?"

"No," Ten laughed, his nose scrunching up. Biting his lip with a cocky flirtation, he added, "but I assure you, I am very clever."

"I think I preferred when you were rendered speechless," Lawrence teased.

"Mm," Ten pursed his lips, challenging him. "How distressing for you that your kisses aren't strong enough to silence – oof!"

In one swift movement, Lawrence had grappled him backwards onto the grate, straddled his hips and pinned his arms above his head.

"How did you do that?" The Doctor's chest heaved as he stared up at his lovely conqueror.

"What, this?" Lawrence blinked innocently. "How distressing for you that your senses are not sharp enough to anticipate me."

Ten's mouth fell open with an incredulous smile, left speechless for only a moment.

"My senses are plenty sharp!"

With a smirk, Lawrence sat up to unbutton the Doctor's waistcoat.

"Oh," the Doctor said, eloquently, as he peered down at Lawrence's nimble fingers.

"You were saying?" Lawrence grinned, and Ten took in a sharp breath.

"Oh, shut up and kiss me."

And so he did, trapping the Doctor's body between himself and the ground as he leaned in. One tortuously slow kiss melted into another until the Doctor was delirious with want, his chin tilting upwards to meet the other's lips. With an unspoken whine on his tongue, not enough, his fingers found their way to Lawrence's own clothes and he tugged weakly against them.

Soon, both waistcoats had been tossed aside, only thin white blouses between them now as they kissed, rapid heartbeats in synch with one another. That is, until one of Lawrence's hands slipped beneath the Doctor's shirt to caress his waist, his stomach, his chest.

With a little gasp, the Doctor arched his back and all at once their kisses became more desperate, their lips much too busy now to continue chiding each other.

Lawrence pulled away to catch his breath, hovering just too far away as he braced himself on either side of the Doctor's head.

"Oh, you pretty boy," he sighed, admiring the Doctor's features as Ten peered shyly up at him. His gaze roamed the Doctor's fluttering lashes, his flushed cheeks, his jaw, his neck, his lips.

Oh so gently, Lawrence began to pepper little kisses on every single one of the Doctor's freckles, strewn across his blushing face.

"Has anyone ever told you," Lawrence muttered between kisses, "that someone has etched the stars in constellations across your cheek?"

"Uh–" Ten lolled his head to the side, a shameless request for more, as his hand grasped at the other man's trouser leg. "N-no?"

"Pity," Lawrence muttered, and continued his ministrations with agonizing slowness.

"You're–" Ten squirmed, shy yet euphoric to be at the mercy of his suitor's gentle hands – and lips. "You're terribly distracting, you know that?"

"Hush," Lawrence whispered into his ear before assailing the Doctor's neck with the most tender affection.

"Uhm–" Ten stammered, his limbs fidgeting as he laid his neck bare. Gasping, his voice came out higher than expected. "Yes. Right. Good. Hushing. Now."

The Doctor let out a yelp as he was nipped for his transgressions, soothed at once with ever so soft brushes from his lover's lips; teasing him, indulging him. Ten's mouth fell open with a delicate moan, brows furrowing, hands tightly fisting the other man's clothes.

With a sigh, Lawrence sat up where he still straddled the Doctor's hips. Their loving gazes met, Ten's chest heaving with want, his mouth still agape. Distracted, Lawrence's sharp wit had been replaced with restraint as he pulled away.

Unsure, the Doctor absentmindedly licked his lips.

"Are you alright, love?" Ten asked, his voice hoarse, reaching up to squeeze Lawrence's arm.

"Fantastic," Lawrence smiled softly. Pursing his lips, the Doctor fought to hide a smile as he noticed Lawrence's eyelids drooping adorably.

"You must be tired," Ten laced their fingers together. "Perhaps it's getting late."

"I'd take you back to mine, but," Lawrence smirked. "Tongues would wag."

"Oh, I bet they would," Ten grinned. "But in any case, we're in the TARDIS, we won't need a place to stay tonight."

"What, you sleep here?" Lawrence frowned, looking around.

"Oi!" Ten lifted his head off the ground. "Don't diss the box!"

"You're ridiculous," Lawrence laughed. "Well, it's not very cozy, is it?"

"I'll show you ridiculous," Ten mumbled.

"Well," Lawrence gave him a sly look as he slid off the Doctor's hips and reached for the laces of his lover's riding boots. "You'll just have to show me where you keep this bedroom of yours."

"Don't you start getting any ideas," Ten had intended to sound strict, but his mouth had gone dry. Lawrence began to unlace his boots for him, and he sat up. "Don't, I can–"

"I know," Lawrence smirked, pushing him back down with an 'oof!' "You just lay back and look pretty for me."

The Doctor blinked up at him.

"Oh, I see," Ten quirked an eyebrow, preening as he laid a hand by his cheek. "Your passion for altruism is purely selfish, then."

"Of course," Lawrence gave him a sultry look. "What else should one do with such a pretty boy as the one I see before me?"

"Oh, shut up," Ten looked away, blushing.

Once they were both unlaced, Lawrence pulled off the Doctor's boots and stockings, tossing them over the edge of the platform to be forgotten.

With bare feet, the Doctor clambered up to his knees, settling Lawrence's boot between his legs to return the favour.

"What a gentleman," Lawrence sighed. With a big smile, he laid back with his arms folded behind his head, brazenly indulging in being pampered.

With gleaming eyes, the Doctor took in the sight of him.

"You were right," Ten looked down at him, his hands pausing on the laces. "What a lovely view this is."

Locking eyes with nothing but affection, their smiles faded away with the weight of their infatuation. Oh, he was a goner.

The Doctor slipped off the first boot, leaving a trail of kisses down Lawrence's bare calf as he cradled it, ensuring to hold his gaze. The man's breath hitched as he watched. Freeing the second foot – and throwing the boots and stockings over his shoulder with impatience – he repeated the same treatment on his other calf, his bare skin shivering beneath his gentle nips.

"You'll be the death of me," Lawrence threw his arm over his eyes.

"You started it," Ten smirked.

As they padded barefoot toward the first corridor, the Doctor approached the console and pulled down a big lever. With a shudder, the TARDIS creaked with strange outer space noises as it entered the time vortex.

"Come on," Ten was smug as he wiggled his fingers in invitation. Lawrence gave him a curious look before grasping his hand and allowing himself to be led to the bedroom.

Hand in hand, they entered a small amphitheatre – or, a close approximation of one, the round room bordered by gradually raised circular platforms, as if to accommodate an audience. The walls and ceiling curved where they met together to form a globe. In the centre, at the bottom where the stage would be, was a massive and unusually plush cushion of a bed.

The dim amphitheatre flickered in the candlelight.

"Oh, you are such a romantic," Lawrence shook his head with a big, dopey smile, stepping down several platforms toward the round bed. "You are absolutely hopeless."

"It doesn't usually–" Ten peered up at the TARDIS, embarrassed. Really? A love nest? "It – um – changes on its own."

With a groan, Lawrence flopped backwards onto the impossibly doughy cushion, arms splayed out. "Oh, yeah," he sighed. "This is delightful."

"So, you think you'll be able to sleep, then," Ten climbed down to join him. "In my ridiculous time machine?"

Looking down at the beautiful man, the Doctor stood on the last step, hesitating.

"Come here," Lawrence muttered and raised an arm toward the Doctor, reaching out.

Dropping down to his knees, the Doctor shuffled across the bed to him, falling onto his side with a sigh.

Like a water bed, the strangely malleable cushion did not have much structure or spring to it, forming a groove in the centre where they lay. The bed quite literally pushed both boys against each other, enveloping them.

"Mm," Lawrence hummed into the Doctor's neck as they wrapped their arms around each other. Ten's lips pressed softly against his temple.

"Until tomorrow, darling," Ten whispered.

" 'm not tired," Lawrence pouted, betrayed at once by a big yawn.

Hiding a smile against in his lover's hair, the Doctor held him closer.

"Is that so?" Ten teased.

"Mm," Lawrence muttered, then heaved a big sigh. "Tell me a story."

"Oh, I have stories," Ten smiled, recalling the many worlds he carried with him in his hearts; countless stories of good people and kind deeds, of bravery, and triumph, and love.

Raising his head, an idea came to him. The Doctor pulled his sonic screwdriver out from the pocket of his trousers and pointed it straight up, at the ceiling.

Lawrence peered up at the sound of buzzing. Soon, his mouth fell open as the walls and ceiling of the amphitheatre melted away to reveal what lurked on the outside of the spaceship.

Fingers clicked and the candles went out.

They were now enveloped in darkness, floating in undiluted space. All around them swirled a million, billion shimmering stars in a hundred thousand galaxies smeared in streaks across the impossible landscape. It was breathtaking.

Lawrence clutched the Doctor's chest to steady himself.

"It's alright," Ten muttered, stroking a hand down his back. "We're still in the TARDIS. We're safe."

"Wow," Lawrence gasped, taking it all in. His gaze roamed the universe as his eyes shined with unshed tears. "Remarkable."

"It's beautiful isn't it?"

"And you've visited them all?" Lawrence gaped.

"Mm-­no," Ten tilted his head. "Loads. But I doubt I've seen even a quarter of the worlds that are out there, waiting to be discovered. Some worlds die, some disappear, but there are always new worlds coming to life, every single day."

"Do the people from your world travel the stars like you?"

"They do."

"Doctor," Lawrence muttered into Ten's chest, his eyes wandering the many stars before him. "Show me where you come from."

"Uh–" Ten stuck his tongue out as he pondered the galaxies until, at last, he raised his hand to point toward a large collection of nebulas. "About... seven hundred and fifty billion lightyears that way."

With a small smile, Lawrence watched the nebulas shift together as he imagined a world where marvelous things like this were somehow commonplace.

"You're impossibly enigmatic, pretty boy."

"Oh, I'm simple really," Ten shrugged.

"Clever and simple," Lawrence yawned again, nuzzling closer. "Quite the enigma."

"Oh, be quiet," Ten feigned sternness. "Or I'll take you straight home."

"Very menacing, too."

"Oi!"

"Absolutely frightening," Lawrence grinned against Ten's heartbeats.

"Shut up."

"I'm actually shaking."

"You're the worst."

"And you love it."

The Doctor rested his cheek atop the other man's head, staring off into the darkness as Lawrence drifted off to sleep.

"I do."

Chapter Text

"Where are we?"

Two sets of wandering footsteps were scuffling along the uneven stone slabs of what appeared to be a colossal, centuries-old cathedral; it was abandoned, the inside entirely vacant aside from the sturdy stone pillars that lined the walls of the prodigious space, and the eerie echo of their own voices.

As Lawrence peered upwards at the impossibly high ceiling, the Doctor crouched down low. At once intensely focused on his surroundings, he examined the ground and gathered up a handful of stone dust. He inspected the individual grains before letting them sift through his fingers.

"This isn't supposed to be here," Ten muttered to himself, frowning. "I was taking you to–"

Lawrence approached him smugly, hands on his hips.

"Have you gotten us lost already?" he teased.

"No!" Ten grimaced, glancing up. "I never get lost. Just..."

Lawrence raised an eyebrow.

"Just... sidetracked," Ten admitted.

"Of course," Lawrence pursed his lips to hide a smile. He bowed, mocking. "My apologies, oh glorious Lord of Time."

"Oh, shut up," Ten mumbled, but his cheeks were already growing hot.

His thoughts elsewhere, the tips of his fingers brushed distractedly through the thin layer of stone dust on the ground until he felt a strangely-shaped groove carved in the slabs underneath. His eyes widening with intrigue, he began to rapidly brush away as much dust as he could with wide, sweeping motions, until he revealed–

The stone slabs on which they were standing were adorned in patterns of carvings in a language of symbols the Doctor recognized all too well. His hand had frozen in place.

"Doctor?" Lawrence observed him. The playfulness in his voice had vanished, replaced with apprehension.

The Doctor sprang up with a strange look, his gaze sweeping the dark recesses of the cathedral. Slowly, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his sonic screwdriver.

"Darling," Ten muttered; his own voice had gone sober with a sudden gravity. "Don't touch anything."

With a rhythmic buzzing sound, the Doctor scanned the room with his sonic, illuminating the dark space in a faint blue hue. Swiftly bringing the tool up to his ear, he listened for the screwdriver's audible readings. His expression remained neutral, betraying nothing.

"Is there something wrong?" Lawrence asked, unsure. Their steely gazes met.

"We should go," Ten stated.

The TARDIS was just down the corridor to the left. They had time, they would make it. There was nothing to worry about.

Taking charge, the Doctor clasped Lawrence's hand and led him back towards the enormous mahogany doors they had come through just moments before–

SLAM!

All at once, the doors were violently shut by an unseen force and the dim lighting that had been bleeding in from the corridor was extinguished in an instant, leaving them stranded in the dark.

"No, no, no, no, no," Ten ran up to the doors and tugged at the handles. The doors were locked. How could they be locked? He waved his sonic at them but they didn't budge. Doesn't do wood. "Oh, don't do this to me."

"What's wrong?" Lawrence hovered at his heels, his fingers tugging on the Time Lord's big, brown coat as if he had done it hundreds of times before. "Doctor?"

"We need to–" Ten turned to face him and froze, his eyes widening with fear. Behind Lawrence, in the darkness, were several points of blue light, slowly blinking to life. Three, six, eight, ten, twelve of them–

"Eeeeeeeeeeeee–"

An acute wave of dread washed over him in his fright, both of his hearts sinking into the pit of his stomach.

"xteeeeeeeeeeer–"

With a less than steady hand, the Doctor raised his sonic screwdriver toward the enemy, his nostrils flaring with a mixture of indignant rage and abject terror.

"miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii–"

"Get behind me," Ten ordered, and Lawrence did as instructed, pressing himself between the door and his lover, a protective hand winding its way around the Doctor's narrow waist.

With dual racing heartbeats, the Doctor covered Lawrence's hand with his own, intertwined their fingers, and squeezed, hard.

"naaaaaaaaaaate!"

With a gasp, the Doctor's eyes snapped open in the dark.

Scrambling to a sitting position, his wide, frantic gaze darted left and right as he searched the darkened room for signs of imminent danger. Where had they gone? What had they done? Did they take him? Did they hurt him? Did they– As if on instinct, he reached a shaky hand out to feel the bedding around him, searching, seeking, needing, not finding–

"Lawrence?" Ten called out, his voice cracking.

"Yes, love?"

Jerking his head around at the voice, the Doctor saw a silhouette of a man standing in the doorway to the lighted corridor.

He snapped his fingers.

The flickering candlelight in the small amphitheatre-turned-bedroom came to life once more, bathing them both in a warm, orange glow.

The Doctor looked around at the bedroom that he was relieved to recognize from the night before, until at last he looked up and locked eyes with his lover. Lawrence was smiling down at him from atop the theatre steps, his face gently softened with sleep.

Feeling a bit silly, the Doctor's shoulders drooped.

"Hi," Ten blinked up at him.

"Hi," Lawrence grinned, noting the Doctor's adorably disheveled hair, and decided then not to point it out. It would be a shame if he ruined it by neatening it up out of some sort of propriety. "Somehow," he leaned against the doorframe, "I managed to find a lavatory in your mad maze of corridors without getting horribly lost." He smiled coolly. "I even made it back in one piece, though I'm certain that the rooms around me changed on the way back. Did you know that you had a library?"

"The TARDIS likes new people," Ten replied, dumbly.

Lawrence cocked his head at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Did you miss me?" Lawrence teased and, taking pity on the tongue-tied Time Lord, he began to descend the steps toward the bed.

The Doctor's chest was still heaving after his encounter with the Daleks in his dreams – an encounter he now realized he had imagined. He swallowed, embarrassed. In an attempt to reconnect with the present moment, he absentmindedly pawed at the bedclothes just to touch something real.

"Are you alright?" Lawrence's smile faltered. Padding over on bare feet, he joined the Doctor on the enormous puffy cushion.

"Yeah," Ten cleared his throat. "Fine."

"Mmm," Lawrence quirked an eyebrow, shuffling over on hands and knees. "You're a terrible liar."

"No, really, I'm fine," Ten smiled a drowsy, and entirely unconvincing, smile.

"Oh, yes." Lawrence eyed him skeptically, coming ever closer until they were nose to nose. "You're one of those, aren't you?"

"Uh – what?" Ten dithered clumsily as his gaze fell upon his lover's lips, just there, within reach. He yearned to taste them, just one more time. Oh, to have them trailing down on his neck– He shivered, until he was quite literally pulled out of his daydream. "Oh–"

Lawrence was clambering onto his lap and suddenly the Doctor didn't know what do to with his hands as the other man's thighs settled on either side of his waist, pointedly straddling him. The Doctor blinked and froze. Mouth slightly agape, he stared openly at Lawrence's lips.

The Doctor leaned in to close the distance but Lawrence pressed an open palm against his hearts, stopping him short. Eyebrows slanting pitifully, the Doctor let out a soft mewl in disappointment.

Instead, with the ghost of a tease on his lips, Lawrence guided him – rather forcefully, he should reckon – to lean back and lie down on the bed. When the back of the Doctor's head came into contact with the cushion and his lover's body shifted above him to clasp him by the wrists, the Doctor arched his back in protest. But only just.

An exquisitely enticing man was smiling down at him and the Doctor stared openly, mesmerized as Lawrence's beautiful, sleep-tossed locks fell onto his forehead. His eyes were alight with mischief. With a small, self-conscious wriggle, the Doctor found that his wrists were once again caught in Lawrence's grip above his head.

"How do you keep pinning me down–" Ten whined, pulling a little.

"Oh, love," Lawrence taunted him with a smug smile. "It's ever so easy."

With big doe eyes, the Doctor blushed furiously and gulped. He opened his mouth to speak, but his mind came up blank, sputtering in his sudden arousal. Oh, he was so screwed.

Just then, their fingers became intertwined where they were pressed up against the cushion above his head. The Doctor peered up at them curiously.

"Now," Lawrence muttered. "What did you want to tell me?"

The Doctor blinked up at him, innocent.

"Um. Nothing?" he tried.

"Doctor," Lawrence's voice took on an almost stern affect. "There's no hiding anything from me, not when I've got you so entirely at my mercy like this." With a little gasp, the Doctor's legs twitched involuntarily. "And I must warn you, as a gentleman, that I am not above tickling as a means of obtaining the information I require."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed.

"You wouldn't," he challenged.

Lawrence offered him an enormous grin; desire dripped from every word when he spoke. "Could you honestly say that you would decline my affections?"

His mouth falling open, the Doctor stared deep into his lover's eyes, at once desperate with want, and longing, and love – swallowing, he gave in and shook his head.

"No," Ten whispered. "I wouldn't want to, not if it meant you'd stay with me."

A flicker of something unknown flashed across Lawrence's face, stuttering his smile, and he sat up, pulling away.

The mood suddenly shifting, the Doctor followed Lawrence's movement, sitting up on his elbows.

"Wait–" Ten floundered, reaching a hand out to gently touch the other's arm. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Do you expect me to leave you?" Lawrence asked, hurt. "Is that what you think of me? That I'd abandon you after I've taken what I want."

"What?" Ten scrambled up to a sitting position, his hands settling on Lawrence's waist. "No. No, of course not–"

Lawrence pushed back against his chest just enough to keep him at bay, which got his attention. Wide-eyed, the Doctor searched his lover's gaze but came up short for an answer.

"Lawrence?"

"Then why," Lawrence faltered, disheartened. "Why were you so upset?" His big, sad eyes locked with the Doctor's gaze. "When you woke up and I wasn't just there, next to you. You were heartbroken–"

"I–" Ten stammered, wishing he knew how to explain. "It wasn't like that–"

The expression on Lawrence's face silenced him.

"Doctor," Lawrence pleaded gently. "I'm frightened. I don't know where I am, or how to get home – I hardly know how to find the door out of this time machine, so please, at the very least, be honest with me."

The Doctor stared, frozen.

"Don't lie to me," Lawrence whispered, shaking his head.

Bowing his head with the stricken expression of a kicked puppy, the Doctor hesitated as he peered up at Lawrence through his eyelashes, resigned with guilt. Nodding solemnly, the Doctor leaned in and, when he didn't meet any resistance from his lover, he wrapped his arms around Lawrence's waist. Their foreheads met.

"I'm sorry," Ten whispered.

"'s okay," Lawrence whispered back, his fingers anxiously grasping at the Doctor's shoulders. "I've known my fair share of liars, Doctor, but you're not like them. Please don't be like them."

Reaching up, the Doctor clasped the other's hand and brought it up to his lips, tenderly kissing his knuckles.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," Ten said. "You're safe, and I will bring you home the moment you ask me to, I promise." Another delicate kiss to his fingers. "Right now, if you wanted. I swear I will, even though I'd want you to stay."

"Then, tell me," Lawrence implored gently. "Why do you think I'd run off?"

"No, it's not–" Ten shut his eyes, urging himself to find the words. "It's not that."

When the Doctor met Lawrence's worried gaze again, he softened.

"I wasn't afraid that you'd leave me," Ten clarified. His eyes growing sadder, he paused, pressing his mouth into a thin line.

"What is it, then?" Lawrence asked, wary.

"I – I don't sleep very often," Ten admitted shyly. "Because, when I do," he looked down, at their clasped hands. "I tend to have bad dreams."

"You had a nightmare?" Lawrence's voice was soft.

"Yeah."

"About me?"

"Uh," Ten hesitated, embarrassed. "Yeah. Yes." Looking off to the side, the Doctor swallowed. "I dreamed that we were somewhere we weren't supposed to be, and that there were... bad people there. Who wanted to harm you."

A thumb caressed the shell of his ear and the Doctor looked up.

Lawrence was examining him closely, thinking.

"Is that," Ten wavered uncertainly, "entirely too pathetic, or just the right amount to retain my roguish charm?"

Huffing out a laugh, Lawrence's face broke out into a soft smile.

"Please never stop smiling," Ten whispered, his eyebrows slanting.

Leaning in, Lawrence pressed his lips against the Doctor's in a chaste, yet loving, kiss. When he pulled away, the Doctor's eyes fluttered open, unfocused.

"Can we go back to the part," Ten leaned in, chasing his lips, "where you pin me down, and I pretend to be overpowered but actually," he scrunched his nose, "I'm just letting you win because I'm – mmph!"

Lawrence held him fast around the back of his neck as he planted another kiss on him, guiding the Doctor's lips open with a teasing tongue.

"Oh–" Ten gasped, blushing hot.

All at once drunk with desire, their lips met over and over as their hands began to frantically roam in each other's hair, caressing down necks and scratching down backs through their thin blouses, pawing and grasping at each other as they kissed, open-mouthed and hungry for the other.

With a spur of confidence, the Doctor surged forward and deepened the kiss, letting out a needy little moan as his grip tightened where it was tangled in the other man's shirt. Lawrence smiled against his lips, and tugged at his hair as he rolled them over, the Doctor getting the upper hand. For once. Eager to please, he scrambled onto his hands and knees to accommodate their new position and sank down to meet the beautiful human spread out beneath him.

Lawrence grabbed a hold of the Doctor's narrow hips to still him, and with slow movements, he brought his hands up to the Doctor's torso to find the buttons of his cotton shirt.

There was a sudden tugging sensation against his blouse and the Doctor pulled away, bowing his head to watch as Lawrence's nimble fingers began to work his shirt open. The soft brush of fingers raised goosebumps against his flesh.

"Pretty boy," Lawrence whispered, as if to himself.

Going a bit shy, the Doctor's eyes flickered up to him for only a moment, self-conscious, before he returned his gaze to the strong hands that were so gentle with him, tender in their movements.

When Lawrence had loosened a few buttons, he pushed the collar of the blouse to one side to expose the Doctor's bare shoulder. His fingertips lingered on the soft skin there, tracing along the delicate curves of his clavicle.

Still catching his breath with little panting noises, the Doctor shivered.

"Is this alright?" Lawrence checked in with a soft voice, his hand pausing where it caressed the exposed skin.

The boys locked eyes, so entirely enraptured by each other's desire.

"I've never–" Ten whispered.

Lawrence's eyes softened, and he gave the Time Lord a loving smile.

"Let me take care of you?" he offered gently.

His throat bobbing up and down, the Doctor hesitated, and then nodded.

With slow, meticulous movements, Lawrence unbuttoned the blouse until it hung loose and open on the Doctor's slim frame. Sitting up to trail kisses across the skin there, he pushed the shirt over the Doctor's shoulders and down his arms until it was pooled at his wrists and around his hips.

Lawrence held him there for a moment, caught in his own blouse, as his ravenous mouth made the most of its newly unrestricted access to hitherto undiscovered territory; a bare, befreckled shoulder. Soft, and delicate, and warm, and his.

The Doctor tipped his head back and moaned, and Lawrence gladly took his cue to assault the sensitive skin of Doctor's neck with tongue and teeth, eliciting more delicious bitten-off noises from his lover.

Soon, they were flipped over again, the Doctor's torso shoved unceremoniously into the cushion with an oof! as Lawrence climbed on top of him and trailed his lips lower, kissing and nipping down his chest toward his heaving, shivering belly.

Eyebrows slanting pitifully and face scrunching with desperate want, the Doctor's mouth fell open as he tilted his head to one side and gripped hard at his lover's shoulders which settled between his legs.

"Please–" Ten gasped.

Lawrence peered up at him with a mischievous grin.

"As you wish, pretty boy."

Before the Doctor could register the sultry tease in his tone, Lawrence tugged one side of the Doctor's waistband down to expose his hipbone, before sucking it into his mouth, hard.

"Ah," Ten squeaked. Awkwardly bucking his hips, he let out a high-pitched whine and writhed helplessly beneath the gentle ministrations that he was suddenly being made to endure.

"So pretty–" Kiss.

"Unh."

"And such pretty sounds–" Kiss.

"Uh. Ah. Fff. Please–" Ten stammered, his fingers flexing nervously where they gripped at Lawrence's shoulders. "I need–"

"Mmmm?"

"I need–"

"Shhhh," more kisses were peppered onto the sensitive skin of his hips, gentle nips approaching the crook of his groin.

"I need–"

"Hush," Lawrence whispered softly against his skin. "Let me take care of you."

*

Wheeze. Wheeze. Wheeze.

Thud.

Standing at the console with conviction, the Doctor toggled a final set of switches to ground the TARDIS properly while Lawrence ventured curiously out the door to explore their destination.

Smiling over his shoulder toward the door, the Doctor always did enjoy letting humans revel in that singular, perfect moment of discovering a new planet on their own. It was so personal, almost intimate, to become acquainted with the universe for the first time, and he would never dare take away a human's opportunity to be so entirely in awe of her majesty.

"Oh, an old ruin!" he heard Lawrence shout from outside the blue doors, his voice echoing in a foreign place.

The Doctor frowned, remembering something. All at once, his eyes grew wide with panic and he chased after Lawrence, bursting out of the TARDIS doors to find himself in an enormous grand hall – of an old abandoned cathedral.

"Where are we?"

"Lawrence, wait!"

Chapter Text

"I can't believe you," Lawrence chuckled, settling into his seat by the window and stretching out his legs. The Doctor plopped down next to him.

"It was ominous in there and you know it," Ten bickered.

"Ominous?" Lawrence countered with a frown. "It was an old church!"

"It was weird in there," Ten conceded, sinking deep into his seat and crossing his arms. He sniffed petulantly before nodding with an air of authority. "Terrible atmosphere. Totally unsafe. Unearthly, that's what I say."

Lawrence turned to him with a strange look.

"It wasn't on earth, of course it was unearthly!"

"Oh, you know what I mean," Ten made a face.

"What, are you afraid of churches?" Lawrence teased. "Gods? Demons?"

"I will have you know," Ten raised his eyebrows indignantly, "that I have fought gods and demons, thank you very much."

"Have not."

"Have so."

"Have not."

"Have so!"

"Gentlemen," an aging ticket taker in uniform entered their train compartment with the annoyed scowl of a man wholly unprepared to manage unkempt children. Especially when the unkempt children in question looked to be about thirty-five. He drawled, unamused. "Your tickets, I please you."

"Oh. Right. Of course," Ten reached into his breast pocket and pulled out two pieces of waxed paper stamped with the train company's logo; the Caledonian Railway. He offered them up to the stranger. "There you are. Nice and proper. Purchased at the station, thanks to a certain someone."

The Doctor turned a playful glare toward his companion who smirked a silent rebuke. The smug bastard hadn't let him use his psychic paper as he normally would have in these circumstances, whinging about proper social etiquette or some such nonsense. It was embarrassing, really, travelling with such a stickler for the rules.

The elderly gentleman inspected their tickets before punching holes into the corners with a hand-held device. He handed them back to the Time Lord with a strained smile.

"Do enjoy your journey," he said, not meaning it.

As the ticket taker stepped out into the corridor and continued his way down the centre aisle of the train, the Doctor poked his head out of the compartment for a moment to watch him go. Holding in a snort of laughter, he straightened up in his seat as if he hadn't been looking.

"Well, he's nice," Ten deadpanned.

"You're impossible," Lawrence chided him, fighting to hide a smile of his own. "We've got first class tickets, be civilized."

"I thought I was enigmatic."

"You're a great many things, my darling," Lawrence smiled sweetly. "But refined is not one of them."

The Doctor quirked an affronted eyebrow just as a sharp whistle sounded from the station platform; last minute passengers began to hurry down the corridor to find their seats, large boxy suitcases in hand. The Doctor settled deeper into his own seat and rested his head against the backrest, clasping his hands together in his lap in preparation for the long.... long journey ahead.

This time around, they would be travelling the country as humans did. Slowly.

With another whistle, the steam engine began to chug forward with rough jerks, slowly at first, and then gradually faster as the train quickened its pace. Thick puffs of smoke were ejected from the locomotive's smoke stack as it began to pick up speed and, just like in a storybook, the English countryside of 1813 began to pass them by. Their journey had begun.

"You call this refined?" Ten bit back, clearly not letting the matter go just yet. As if to prove his point, their train car began to jostle them from side to side as it crossed onto a different track. "Bumpy, more like," he muttered. "Old-fashioned. Archaic."

"Of course, because the phone box flies ever so smoothly," Lawrence jabbed. "No bumps, no shuddering, no sudden nosedives into collapsing warpstars–"

"That was once–"

"And we would never unintentionally land, say, in the middle of a lake, or a battlefield, or a wedding–" Lawrence listed out. The Doctor's mouth dropped open to argue that it wasn't his fault the wedding had been moved up six months and he hadn't been informed at such short notice but before he could form an argument, Lawrence went on. "A paramount of unimpeded travel, that box is."

"Well," Ten dithered, his mouth opening and closing as he desperately searched for a rebuttal. "It-it doesn't change the fact that if we had taken the TARDIS, as I suggested, we'd be there now. Yesterday, even! But no, we had to take the slow path and miss all the fun, and the trouble, and the hijinks just so we can sit on a train for three days and be miserable." He looked away and pouted. "I like the hijinks."

"We get to take the slow path," Lawrence reminded him. He shot the Doctor a meaningful look. "If one cannot savour the journey toward happier things, can one truly appreciate one's destination?"

"Yes," Ten argued bitterly. "One can."

Lawrence offered his sulking lover a knowing smile and, with a quick glance up toward the open door, he pecked the Doctor's lips as a peace-making gesture. Despite himself, the Time Lord's cheeks went a bit pink.

"You've shown me your world, my dear." Lawrence muttered gently. "Let me show you mine?"

Softening, the Doctor searched his gaze for a moment, and nodded. In apology, he rested his head against Lawrence's shoulder and intertwined their fingers on the armrest between them.

He supposed that there were some nice things about taking the slow path.

His eyelids growing steadily heavier, the Doctor gazed out the window at the old stone houses and at the crooked wooden barns that whooshed by them, off in the distance. He smiled at the sheep and the cattle that were now and again spattered haphazardly across the landscape. For a few tranquil moments, the train car gently rocked them back and forth and it seemed that nothing in the world could go wrong.

"Here we are, Mildred," a gruff man shuffled into their compartment with a wide suitcase and a rather frail-looking wife.

When the mustachioed man's eye caught theirs, Lawrence's hand quickly slipped out of the Doctor's grasp and he pulled away. With a questioning look, the Doctor peered between the man and Lawrence as he awkwardly straightened up in his seat.

The man regarded them with stern disapproval as he sat down across from them, depositing his suitcase at his feet.

With a sudden understanding, the Doctor stared him down, but said nothing. Oh that's right... They were 'refined', and in this time period, maintaining a good reputation meant that, as they were both men, they were restricted in how they could express themselves in public.

How human.

The woman – Mildred – pulled a little book out of her handbag and began to read silently off to one side, her head bowed. She did not greet them, look up, or utter a single word to anyone; she hardly moved a muscle. It was almost as if she didn't truly exist in the public sphere.

Meanwhile, Lawrence was staring out the window, trying not to attract attention to himself; an old habit he only too easily fell back into after decades of hiding who he was from a certain breed of high-class braggarts. Just like the atmosphere in their compartment, he had grown tense.

The Doctor, for his part, continued to lock eyes with the stranger across from Lawrence who was staring back at him, refusing to back down with a masculine kind of stubbornness. It was immediately understood between the two of them that the first to look away was the weaker man, and there was not a chance in hell that the Doctor would ever submit to this bigot or anyone else who made his Lawrence feel ashamed of being in love.

A protective twinge settled in the hinge of the Doctor's jaw.

"Your tickets, I pray you, sir," a voice drawled.

Caught off guard by social custom of all things, the man looked up toward the ticket taker who was lingering by the doorway. In doing so, he broke eye contact with the Time Lord, who smirked a silent victory. Realizing his mistake, the man grumbled a half-hearted response and fished their tickets from his coat pocket.

"I do thank you, sir."

"Right," the man hastily put his tickets away and shot a glare toward the Doctor, who grinned back.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

"I'm the Doctor," Ten leaned forward and held out his hand, another social custom this man was much too well-mannered to ignore.

"Arthur Henry Howard Hughes," the man replied glumly, shaking his hand with a painfully firm grip, though the Doctor didn't let it show on his face.

"Pleasure," Ten asserted, his tone laden with sarcasm, and he sat back in his seat. He smiled benignly, a playful glint in his eye. "And this is Lawrence."

Pulled from his thoughts at the mention of his name, Lawrence tore his gaze away from the scenery outside. His eyes darted between the Doctor and the other man for a beat and then he nodded toward Arthur politely.

"Lawrence Andrew Montgomery, sir," he introduced himself.

Mr. Hughes' eyes grew wider at hearing his surname and his cheeks blanched a shade paler. He bristled uncomfortably. The Doctor's eyebrows shot up with a sudden gleeful realization. Oh, he was outranked.

Montgomery, of the Highclere Montgomeries? As in Highclere Castle? The Doctor pursed his lips and held back about a dozen teasing remarks that he would absolutely save for later. That aristocratic bastard. He never said.

Mr. Hughes was now staring very intently down at his suitcase and avoiding all eye contact with either of them. Although, whether he was doing so out of respect or a keenly felt sense of social embarrassment, one couldn't be sure.

With a renewed smugness, and an urge to cause a bit of trouble, the Doctor shoved his tongue into his cheek and his eyes darted to the woman sat across from him.

"Aren't you going to introduce us to this charming young lady?" Ten asked innocuously.

Taken aback, the man glanced up and hesitated for a moment, confused by the request. He looked between the Doctor and Lawrence as if searching for the correct and proper response.

"Uh, yes," Arthur cleared his throat. "Um. My wife, Mildred Ann Hughes."

The woman startled at being addressed and looked up from the worn pages of her novel. Unsure, she stared at them with big doe eyes.

"Hello," Ten offered her his hand with a genuine smile. "I am ever so pleased to make your acquaintance."

The woman gave him a shy smile and gave his hand a quick shake before pulling away.

"Um. Annie," she corrected him in a little voice. "My friends call me Annie."

The Doctor grinned. That was all he needed.

"Where are you off to, Annie?" Ten settled in his seat and crossed one leg over the other.

Arthur cleared his throat and began to answer on her behalf. "My sister's wedding–"

"Shhhhhhhhh!" Ten shushed him with a harsh frown. Arthur blanched, scandalized at being addressed so rudely, and in public. The Doctor held his gaze with a strict kind of authority. "I'm not talking to you."

After lingering on the other man for a moment, the Doctor returned his attention to Annie, his anger melting away in an instant.

"Do pardon the intrusion," Ten smiled gently."Whereabouts are you travelling to?"

"Arthur's sister is," she looked over at her husband as if asking for permission to speak, "getting married."

"And where's that happening?" Ten inquired curiously, guiding her attention away from her overbearing husband. "Bournemouth?"

Annie's eyes crinkled with laughter. "No, that's south! The Caledonian is heading north from Bristol."

"Oh, right," Ten feigned ignorance, nodding. "So, where is the wedding?"

"Nottingham," she smiled.

"Oh, that's lovely this time of year," Ten scrunched up his nose and Annie giggled along with him. The Doctor turned to the handsome boy sat next to him. "Lawrence and I are headed all the way up to Edinburgh. Not sure why. Just seemed like a good idea. Besides," the Doctor suddenly adopted a Scottish accent. "I do like a wee kilt."

At that, Lawrence turned to him with raised eyebrows and an utterly exasperated expression.

The Doctor caught his eye, his eyes wide and innocent. "Wot?"

"You have not worn a kilt," Lawrence challenged.

"I have!"

"When?"

"Well..." Ten hesitated with a tilt of his head. "Admittedly, it's been a while."

"It is but an impotent man," Arthur spoke up, effectively killing the vibe, as it were, "who would dress himself in such garments. As if he were a woman for god's sake." The man scoffed. "A respectable, virile man wears trousers, though I suspect the concept of virility is altogether foreign to you." Mr. Hughes allowed himself a self-satisfied sneer, pleased with himself for that well-placed jab.

"Well, that's quite the anti-Scottish sentiment," Ten grimaced, annoyed. "What have the Scottish ever done to you?"

"My-my father was a Scotsman," Annie piped up.

"Was he!" Ten beamed. "And a mighty fine man he was, I'm sure."

Annie's eyes lit up with pride.

From his seat by the window, Lawrence watched, amazed, as the young girl came out of her shell, bit by bit, and his heart soared with love for this impossible Doctor. Perhaps it wasn't by accident that they were sharing a compartment with these two souls, of all the passengers on the Caledonian. Perhaps he wasn't the only one who needed a little wonder and inspiration.

It was moments like these when Lawrence was most grateful to be travelling with someone who knew exactly how to approach the lonely and the disenfranchised. With but a few warm words, the Doctor had won Annie over and he knew that it wouldn't be long before the two of them were fast friends. Lawrence could sense it in Annie's smile; the Doctor's kind heart and rambunctious spirit engendered a loyalty like no other.

"Love the Scottish," Ten sniffed and peered up at the ceiling, thinking. "John Logie Baird. Alexander Graham Bell. James McAvoy! And John A. MacDonald, first Prime Minister of Canada–"

The others shared strange looks with each other, not recognizing any of the names he had listed.

"Right, sorry," Ten shook his head. "They come a bit later. Oh, and Robert Burns! Loved that man. Great juggler." The Doctor smiled cheerfully at the assembled humans who regarded him with utter bewilderment. Without missing a beat, he began to recite from memory. "O my Luve is like a red, red rose that’s newly sprung in June; O my Luve is like the melody that’s sweetly played in tune."

Annie hugged her little book to her chest and listened with rapt attention. Beside her, her husband looked on with nothing more than weary displeasure. And yet, undaunted by his cynicism, or rather emboldened by it, the Doctor tilted his head toward Lawrence, and they shared sweet, loving smiles.

"As fair art thou, my bonny lass," Ten's gaze softened. "So deep in luve am I; And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a’ the seas gang dry."

*

"Stop it."

"I'm not–" Ten wavered as he looked down at his elaborate place setting atop a crisp white tablecloth. He whispered urgently, "Why are there so many forks? I've only got two hands!"

"Honestly," Lawrence whined and buried his face in his hands. "Please stop. You're embarrassing me."

"I'm not–!" Ten urged him, "I'm not doing it on purpose, I just– why have they given me seven different forks? And what's that?" He held up a tiny two-pronged utensil that could hardly be of much use for anything.

"Absolutely uncultured," Lawrence muttered as he tipped his chin up and surveilled the room with an air of gentility, if only to mask his amusement. "Can't take you anywhere."

"You can't–" Ten laughed, incredulous. "You can't possibly think any of this makes sense–"

"It makes perfect sense, actually," Lawrence countered. "For us refined folk."

"Oh, really," Ten cocked his head. "Well, it's bloody wasteful is what it is. Can you imagine the washing up–"

From across the room, waiters began carrying in silver trays laden with dishes to serve the tables at the other end of the dining car. The Doctor's eyes widened.

"Please help me."

"What am I supposed to be, your tutor?"

"Yes!" Ten hissed.

"Fine!" Lawrence bit back, and let out a wearied sigh.

"Oh, don't give me the long-suffering–" Ten grimaced.

"They'll serve the soup first," Lawrence interrupted impatiently, folding his napkin neatly on his lap. "So you'll use the soup spoon."

The Doctor peered down at his place setting. There were four spoons. Mouth hanging open, he shot his lover a look of disbelief.

Lawrence snorted.

Waiters suddenly appeared with the aforementioned soup bowls and set them down in front of them; they carried a delightful fragrance of herbs and beef.

"The big one on the right," Lawrence spoke out of the side of his mouth and, with the effect of a man who definitely knew what he was doing, the Doctor was quick to scoop up the appropriate spoon.

With a jerk, the dining car swayed on a bit of uneven track and the soup sloshed up the sides of their bowls.

"Great idea on a train, soup," Ten remarked bluntly.

Lawrence bit the inside of his cheek to hide a smile. His playful gaze flickered up to his lover as he raised his own spoon to his lips. "Must you complain about everything, my dear?"

"Well–" Ten argued, twirling his spoon around. "No, but–"

"You know," Lawrence teased in a low tone. "From the outside, one might think you were in want of attention."

Caught in the headlights of his lover's affections, the Doctor blushed at the tips of his ears and quickly looked away.

"I-I'm not sure I–" Ten stuttered, failing miserably to dismiss the accusation. Suddenly restless, he straightened one of his seven forks.

"Perhaps," Lawrence purred, "a certain kind of attention."

The Doctor's wide eyes snapped up to Lawrence's own mischievous ones.

"What – here?" Ten sputtered, scandalized, and his voice rose in pitch. "What happened to your stifling battle with puritanical gender norms?"

"We have a private room, don't we?" Lawrence pointed out coyly, and raised his napkin to his lips.

The Doctor just stared. The nerve, the cheek of this man to be dining in first class, dressed in his finest attire, and yet he dared to exhibit the gentlemanly air of a man who hadn't just suggested–

Ten shook his head, a smile slowly coming to his lips. "You bawdy villain."

"Hush, now," Lawrence shot him a stern, chastising glare. "Finish your soup."

"Bastard," Ten muttered under his breath.

By the time their empty bowls had been swapped out for appetizers, Lawrence had ceased his teasing altogether, much to the Doctor's rather palpable chagrin. They were dining in the midst of a who's who of nineteenth-century British nobility and so they resumed casual conversation, either with each other or with opulently-dressed patrons at nearby tables, some of whom were also experiencing cross-country train journeys for the first time.

It was a lovely social time; meeting new people, hearing their stories, and getting a feel for the interpersonal dynamics between fathers and sons, husbands and wives, life-long business partners, and 'life-long business partners'. Everyone was nice. Everyone was courteous. And everyone was rich.

It may have been that, once or twice in the hour that followed, the Doctor subtly readjusted the way he was sitting, squirming a little in the aftermath of their previous exchange. His head was full of salacious thoughts and images and he found himself a bit too distracted by the proposition that had been put forth by a certain someone to properly pay attention.

Only once throughout the course of the evening did he accidentally put his elbow in the butter dish.

In between all of the pleasantries and getting-to-know-you's, the waiters plied them with enough wine and gin to put a bull to sleep, and soon enough their main course had arrived; a delicately braised salmon with turnips and lemon.

"Not bad for 1813," Ten remarked, impressed. Eager to dine on, he snatched up one of his many forks, and then made a face. "Would be better with chips, though."

Lawrence raised his wine glass to his lips, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm sure it would, my darling."

As he watched the Doctor tuck into his meal with the fervour of a man who hadn't just enjoyed two other courses, with several glasses of wine in between, Lawrence casually leaned back in his chair, placing his wine glass on the table.

Reaching out, Lawrence's fingertips began to play on the Doctor's thigh under the table. The Doctor looked up, mouth full and eyes wide.

Lawrence just smiled.

Slowing chewing and swallowing his mouthful, the Doctor raised an eyebrow.

"What's this, now?" Ten muttered in a suggestive tone.

Lawrence blinked at him innocently while his palm squeezed halfway up the Doctor's inner thigh.

"I assure you, my lord," Lawrence leaned into his posh accent, "I know not what you mean."

The Doctor's legs dropped open, just so, and Lawrence's hand stilled.

"Is that so?" Ten teased.

They locked eyes, and for a moment neither of them made a move. They were rapidly losing their inhibitions and, soon, one of them would have to be brave enough to do something about it. The Doctor awkwardly licked his lips and Lawrence's gaze dropped down to his mouth.

"You're pretty," Lawrence muttered, and then he blushed at himself, suddenly remembering where he was. Dangerously, or rather fortuitously, the wine had begun to loosen his tongue.

"Am I?" Ten's own cheeks had gone rosy, too. He swallowed. "–thought I was enigmatic."

"Shut up," Lawrence's eyes couldn't leave his lips.

"Make me," Ten smirked.

"Okay."

The Doctor's smile faded with steadily mounting arousal.

"Oh," he said, rather eloquently.

"Coffee, my lord?" A waiter stood promptly at their table with a silver coffee pot in hand.

The Doctor looked up at the waiter with a look of total desperation. "Cheque, please."

Chapter Text

"Mmph!" Ten's back slammed up against the door of their sleeping quarters.

Lawrence's mouth had silenced him the moment the door had shut behind them, cutting them off from the outside world. Any pretense of gentility had disappeared as soon as they had ducked out of the dining room and hurried, like mad lovers, down the corridor to their private chamber.

Snogging frantically now that they were – finally – alone, their hands were everywhere, tugging at clothes and pulling at buttons as the silence in their compartment was broken by little moans and grunts, bumps and breathless gasps. They tasted wine on each other's tongues, both of them tipsy, and wanting, and insatiable, desperate for just a little bit of friction.

Lawrence had the Doctor by his lapels.

"Shhh," Lawrence whispered a teasing smile against his lips. "You'll draw attention to us, darling. They'll hear–"

"Don't care," Ten exhaled against his lips. "Need you– mmph – want you– please – unh – more–"

Leaving a trail of sloppy kisses down the Doctor's jaw, Lawrence attacked his neck with teeth and tongue and, with two firm hands, he pinned the Doctor's hips against the door. He suckled at his neck, hard, and the Time Lord gasped and wriggled against being held down, his hands grasping clumsily at the other man's shoulders for something to hold onto.

"Unh," Ten let out, and bucked at the hips.

Lawrence moaned as he moved in closer and pressed the Doctor against him, snaking a hand around his slender waist and reaching down lower to squeeze his lovely, pert bottom. The Time Lord jerked with a high-pitched whine, but he held him in place.

In their new position, Lawrence mercilessly teased at the sensitive skin just below his lover's ear, and the Doctor threw his head back to gently thud against the door. Baring his neck, his eyes slid blissfully shut.

"Oh," Ten sighed.

Then, without warning, there was a sharp bite.

"Ahh," Ten winced, arching his back and tightening his hold on Lawrence's shoulders. "Can't– nngh – you'll leave marks – unhh – and welts from – ahh." Leaning into the touch despite his objections, he arched a petulant eyebrow. "Oh god, won't that be fun to explain at breakfast tomorrow morning – unhh."

Grinning against his skin, Lawrence chuckled into the crook of his neck and cocked his head to lick a wet stripe behind the Doctor's ear, possessive and a bit drunk with power – and arousal. In response, the Doctor grunted with a poorly-acted pretense of annoyance, but just as he was settling into the light, teasing ministrations that he was so woefully being made to endure, and oh how he adored being at the centre of this man's affections, Lawrence bit him again. Just because.

"Ah!" Ten scrunched up his face. Gritting his teeth, he exhaled an indignant breath. "Bastard."

At that moment, as he blinked his eyes open and the room around them came into focus, the Doctor noticed something over Lawrence's shoulder, and he hesitated. His brows furrowed. "Um."

"Mmm?" Lawrence let out a lazy, questioning sound as he continued to kiss at the quickly reddening skin of the Doctor's neck until it was evident that the other man was too distracted to go on. With a reluctant sigh, he pulled away, and at seeing the Doctor's puzzled expression, he straightened up. "What's wrong?"

Following his gaze, Lawrence turned around.

There were two single-sized cots on either side of their tiny compartment.

"Oh."

The boys looked at each other.

Bursting into fits of giggles at the obvious, and rather awkward, misunderstanding, they held one another, and grasped at each other for support.

One could presume that married couples on the Caledonian were offered regular four-poster beds fit for two in their first-class compartments. Even on a train, exquisitely decorated sleeping cars were to be expected in the regency era, especially considering the aristocracy's love of opulence and excess. But the Doctor and Lawrence weren't married. In 1813, they could only be perceived as friends. Or bothers. Or business partners.

Or... 'business partners'.

Sheepishly, Lawrence pressed his forehead against the Doctor's temple.

"Well," Lawrence huffed his disbelief. "I suppose I don't know what I expected."

The Doctor smirked down at him, his arms winding around Lawrence's waist to pull him closer.

"Two men," Ten teased in a low rumble. "Imagine the scandal if they'd only given us one bed. With one blanket. We would've had to make a formal complaint! I mean – what if your toes touched my ankle in my sleep?"

"My toes are the least of your worries," Lawrence deadpanned. The Doctor blinked and his smile faded, settling on surprised bewilderment. Well, he was very much paying attention now. Lawrence met his eye, and smiled benignly. "What? I snore."

With a swift peck on the lips, Lawrence turned away and headed toward one of the cots, collapsed down onto it, and kicked his feet up.

The Doctor was left standing there, his lips buzzing, in mild shock.

"You can't just–" Ten whined.

Lawrence offered him a sultry look as he rolled over and propped his head up on his hand.

"Are you going to stand there all night?"

Mouth just slightly ajar, the Doctor's fingertips tugged anxiously at the hem of his trousers. As if in awe, his gaze slowly raked down Lawrence's strong, lithe body from his lips to his legs and watched as Lawrence's hand caressed his own thigh in invitation. With an urgent, ravenous need, the Doctor's gaze flicked up to his belt.

"No," Ten muttered quietly. "I think I've got a better idea."

Quickly prying open the buttons of his own waistcoat, he slipped it over his slim shoulders and hung it on a hook by the door.

"Give me your coat," Ten said, stepping up to Lawrence's bed.

With a strange look, Lawrence sat up and undid his buttons before handing it off to be hung alongside the other coat. When the Doctor returned to his bedside, he had a determined look on his face.

"What's on your mind–" Lawrence said. "Oh."

The Doctor had sunk to his knees on the carpet between Lawrence's legs and his fingers were undoing the buttons of the other man's trousers.

"Um."

"Can I–" Ten looked up, his big brown eyes soft and wanting.

"Yes–" Lawrence swallowed. "Yes, yes please."

Lawrence shifted his weight on the bed to give him better access, and when the Doctor took him into his mouth with a long, guttural groan, Lawrence's jaw fell open. He exhaled a ragged breath and his hands buried themselves in the Doctor's unruly brown locks.

"Shit," Lawrence gasped.

As the Doctor's tongue began to do things he had never even thought possible – where had he learned to do this? – Lawrence twitched at the hips and shut his eyes tight, gently rocking in rhythm with his lover's mouth.

"Awhh," Lawrence moaned as he pleasured himself on the Time Lord's tongue with slow, sensual drags, and from between his legs the Doctor hummed his approval.

Tightening his grip on his lover's hair, Lawrence exhaled soft, panting breaths, and bowed his head to peer down at the beautiful man kneeling at his feet; the Doctor's eyes were closed, eyelashes splayed prettily across his cheeks, and his expression was serene, utterly focused on giving pleasure.

Lawrence cupped the side of his face with a shaking hand, his thumb clumsily tracing across a smattering of his freckles. When the Doctor sighed and leaned into his palm, a shameless request for more affection, Lawrence didn't hesitate to give him what he wanted. He tenderly caressed his cheekbone, down his jawline, and up to trace the shell of his ear.

"So good for me," Lawrence muttered.

Spurred on by the praise, the Doctor hollowed his cheeks and Lawrence twitched at the hips with a gasp.

"O-oh–"

Together, their pace accelerated as Lawrence began to chase a cresting wave and before long, his breathy gasps and sighs were replaced with a sudden and uncontrollable rising staccato of little moans as his pleasure began to build. Lawrence's hips stuttered. With a hiss, he spread his legs wider and tugged hard at the Doctor's hair.

"Wait, you – you can't–" Lawrence groaned, weakly pushing against the Doctor's shoulder to slow him down. "I'm–wait, I'm nearly–"

With a reluctant growl, the Doctor pulled him in closer by his hips and redoubled his efforts.

"Oh, fuck–"

Lawrence's vision exploded in a flash of white stars and he tensed in the Doctor's arms, his hips jerking in a slowing, sultry rhythm until he slowly, gradually, came down from his orgasm. Softly moaning from between his legs, the Time Lord swallowed around him with every delicious roll of his hips.

With one last thrust and a breathless sigh, Lawrence was left feeling heavy, and sleepy, and sated, his limbs now entirely comprised of jelly. It took everything in his power not to let himself flop backwards onto the bed and die right there.

The Doctor released him with an obscene pop and pulled away to lick his lips and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. His hair was sticking up in every direction after it had been tugged at and tussled, and he beamed up at his lover with proud grin.

Lawrence leaned back on his hands to catch his breath, his legs still splayed out in lazy invitation, and looked down at the other man with a cocky smile.

"You have absolutely done that before." Lawrence's voice was wrecked.

The Doctor quirked a playful eyebrow as he tucked him back into his trousers. "I don't know what you mean."

Lawrence gave him a dubious look and reached forward to tilt the Time Lord's chin upwards to meet his gaze. When they locked eyes, his thumb swiped across his bottom lip and tugged it down with a sudden possessiveness.

Going a bit shy, the Doctor peered up with big, innocent eyes.

"Yes, you do," Lawrence whispered.

The Doctor swallowed. "Yes, I do," he whispered, relenting.

Lawrence smiled, and looked him up and down. "Take off your clothes."

At that, the Doctor shivered before he reached for the buttons of his cotton blouse with shaky fingers, ducking his head to hide the blush that was rapidly warming his cheeks and down the back of his neck.

Getting up from the cot, Lawrence pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it onto the second bed. He unlaced his boots, kicked them off into a corner, and removed his trousers and everything else before tossing them onto the bed, too.

When Lawrence turned around, they were both nude. Neither of them said anything, standing awkwardly at opposite ends of the compartment as they admired each other's naked bodies from afar. The Doctor stared and then lowered his gaze, his fingers suddenly restless at his sides.

Without his blouse to cover him up, Lawrence could see just how flushed the Doctor truly was; a pinkish blush had mingled with the smattering of hair and birthmarks on his breast, far past his sternum. His narrow waist and long, slim legs appeared to be almost delicate, strong and lean, but to be treated with nothing but tenderness.

"You are," Lawrence whispered, "exquisite."

The Doctor looked down at himself curiously.

"If you like," Ten shrugged. "I've been told I'm quite skinny."

"I think you're beautiful."

Their gazes met and the Doctor watched the other man with a fragile wariness that Lawrence had yet to observe in him; a tiny fragment of vulnerability was peeking through his otherwise pretentious façade. "You do?"

Lawrence offered him a gentle smile. "I do."

As they stood face to face, several feet apart, it was quite clear that only one of them had been tended to and the other was still very much aroused, having been been left entirely untouched. With a burning desire to touch, and taste, and please, Lawrence closed the distance between them and brought their foreheads together, wrapping his arms around his lover's ridiculously tiny waist.

"Hi," Lawrence whispered.

"Hi," Ten's breath hitched.

"You get so shy, pretty boy."

"Do I?" Ten's voice came out a bit higher than intended.

"Mmm," Lawrence asserted. "My sweet, gentle boy. So good at giving me what I need, but I'd rather like to make you feel good," he sighed into the Doctor's ear and kissed him there. "I want to touch you everywhere and gently take you apart. Would you like that?"

In lieu of a response, the Doctor let out a soft whine.

"Shall I tease you, my love?" Lawrence purred, covering the Doctor's bruised neck with featherlight kisses. Not enough. "Make you writhe, and keen, and beg for me to touch you where you want it most?"

The Doctor was holding fast around Lawrence's shoulders and he whimpered, his hips snapping forward to rut pitifully against his lover's thigh.

"Please–"

"Shhh," Lawrence stilled him with a firm hand on his hip. "You can be patient, can't you?"

"No–" Ten huffed out a laugh.

"You can," Lawrence kissed his temple, "and you will."

The Doctor's hearts sank as Lawrence's hands disappeared from around his waist and he pulled away, leaving the Doctor standing alone, untouched and unsatisfied.

"Wait–" Ten watched Lawrence climb onto the bed without him. "I–"

As soon as Lawrence had settled comfortably with his back against the headboard, propping up a pillow behind him, he looked up. Quirking an exasperated smile, he reached a hand out toward his lover.

"Come here," Lawrence laughed.

Not needing to be told twice, the Doctor clambered onto the bed with an eagerness to please and a yearning be wanted and welcomed into Lawrence's bed. As he scrabbled forward on hands and knees to get closer, the train clipped a bump in the track, the whole car shuddered, and the Doctor fell into Lawrence's lap.

"Oh–"

"Oof–"

"Ow–"

"Here–" Lawrence grabbed the Doctor by the waist and helped him straighten up. "There you are. Are you alright?"

"Bloody trains," Ten grumbled.

Lawrence grinned.

"You won't fool me with your gripes, my darling," Lawrence smirked. "You seem to be quite happy where you are."

The Doctor looked down; he had one knee planted on either side of Lawrence's hips and he was sitting quite comfortably atop his sturdy thighs. Both of his hands were anchored on Lawrence's shoulders and the man was smiling up at him with gorgeous, and rather devilish, eyes. He was right. There was nowhere else in the universe he'd rather be right now.

"Um. Yes. Well," Ten tilted his head to the side.

"You sweet boy," Lawrence smiled softly, his hand coming up to push the Doctor's fringe away from his face. "So gentle, hm? So lovely."

"Shut up," Ten looked down.

"Will not," Lawrence murmured as his fingertips trailed lightly down the Doctor's jaw, neck and chest, making him arch into the touch. "Such a needy little one." The Doctor let out a little indignant sound of protest. "So pretty, and gentle, and all mine."

"I–" Ten bowed his head, bashful, and Lawrence left a lingering kiss on his temple.

The man's strong hands roamed down his back, around the curve of his arse to his thighs, his thumbs digging into the supple flesh there, tantalizingly close to where he wanted to be touched. His cock twitched at the thought.

"Lawrence," Ten locked eyes with him, eyebrows slanted. "Please."

Lawrence leaned in and kissed him, surprising himself with a moan when he tasted himself on the Time Lord's dexterous tongue. While they snogged, he ran a hand up Doctor's thigh, teasing at the skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

"Mmph–!" Ten jerked at the hips when Lawrence's fist wrapped around his shaft and began to stroke along the length of him. The Doctor broke the kiss. "Could've warned me–"

"Hush," Lawrence loosened his grip and the Doctor wriggled at the hips, objecting at the sudden loss of pleasure.

"Hey–" Ten whined.

Lawrence held him down firmly by the hips, halting his movement. "I've had quite enough of your whinging today." 

The Doctor peered up at him, surprised.

There was an awkward, drawn-out pause as the Time Lord tried to figure out what he'd done wrong.

"Would you like me to continue?"

The Doctor blinked. "Yes."

"Are you sure?"

The Doctor's eyes darted between Lawrence's stern ones, feeling at once starkly reprimanded.

With a gulp, he nodded.

"Good," Lawrence muttered. "Let me take care of you." This time, it was not a request.

"O-okay," Ten stuttered when Lawrence's grip suddenly tightened and he began stroking him with a renewed fervour. Wincing a little, the Doctor spread his knees further apart, huffing out little panting breaths as he adjusted to the already too-much sensation.

"You can be good when you want to be," Lawrence remarked, flicking his thumb across his slit.

"Ahh," the Doctor hissed, stiffening his hold on the other man's shoulders.

"But then again, you've done this before, haven't you?" Lawrence teased with a wry smile. "Are you always this mouthy when men fuck you?"

The Doctor looked up, open-mouthed, with those big, innocent eyes. Innocent was perhaps not the right word.

"Is that why you prefer to have a cock in your mouth, darling?" Lawrence purred, and the Doctor stared, licking at his lips without meaning to. "Mmm. You do, don't you? A mouthful of cock to keep you good and quiet," he muttered, flicking his wrist. "I must say, you really do put that tongue to excellent use."

"Lawrence–" Ten gasped. The pace quickened another tick.

"Tell me," Lawrence murmured, pumping in earnest. "How it feels, having me touch you like this."

"Good. Fuck."

"Are you close?"

"Yes–" Ten's hips rolled forward, groaning as he chased his peak.

"Shall I stop, then?" Lawrence teased.

The Doctor's gaze snapped up.

"Shall I tease you instead?"

"Unhh–" Ten moaned.

"I do love to hear the pretty boy beg."

"Lawrence, please–"

But it was too late. In a blink of an eye, all touch and sensation was gone and every ounce of pleasure had been snuffed out in an instant. Lawrence pulled away with a playful twinkle, leaving the Doctor on the absolute precipice of his orgasm.

"Nooooo," Ten whined and flopped face-first onto Lawrence's shoulder. "Iwassoclose."

"Were you? Oh, how inconsiderate of me," Lawrence chuckled, caressing the Doctor's flanks in apology. "Forgive me, my darling, but I just couldn't resist. It was so tempting."

"Bastard," came a muffled voice.

"You are so incredibly sweet when you're flustered." Lawrence carded his fingers through the Doctor's hair, who grumbled irritably at the compliment, and then caressed down the bare skin of his back. "And I felt it was only fair considering the recent advent of abhorrent behaviour that I've had to endure from a certain disgruntled alien–"

"Abhorrent?"

"Well, childish is what it was."

"Childish?" Ten pulled away, offended.

"Yes, but only when it counts, darling," Lawrence leaned in to give the Doctor's frowning lips a quick peck. "May you always be as stubborn and as opinionated as you have been today, for it seems the balance in the universe may well depend on it. My patience, however–"

"Just because I'm right," Ten furrowed his eyebrows, "doesn't mean that I'm childish."

Lawrence pursed his lips with a knowing smile and chose not to argue, appeasing him instead with a series of kisses to his cheeks and his nose. "I'm only teasing."

The Doctor stuck out his bottom lip in a bitter pout.

"Oh, darling." Lawrence cupped his cheek. "Was I too harsh?"

In little increments, the Doctor's irritated scowl softened to a more genuine sadness.

"No," Ten relented, a bit embarrassed as his fingertips traced Lawrence's collarbone. "No. I just–"

"Don't fret, my love," Lawrence whispered. Ten peered up at him through his eyelashes. "I am far from finished with you tonight. You sweet man, did you really think that was all I had in store for you?"

The Doctor stared with sad eyes, betraying his apprehension.

"Sweetheart," Lawrence cooed, "there are so many places on your body that I have yet to taste. So many sighs I've yet to hear." He brushed the Doctor's hair behind his ear in a tender show of affection. "I promise I shan't withhold any more of your pleasure. It is mine to give, freely and wholeheartedly, and I would love nothing more than to take my time with you."

Chapter Text

"Anhh," Ten's mouth fell open, his fingers scrabbling clumsily at the back of Lawrence's neck. He squeezed his eyes shut and hissed. "Shit."

"Feel good, hmm?" Lawrence spoke softly, working him through one gradually-building wave of pleasure after the other and guiding him toward a thorough and much-deserved release into oblivion.

The Doctor could be many things, but looked after didn't seem to be at the top of the priority list. Despite his outwardly gentle air and deeply kind hearts, he could be hardened and cynical on the surface and reluctant to find the same kindness for himself that he would often afford to other people. The result of a lifetime of hardships and heartbreak.

When Lawrence had started pleasuring him again, this time with a determination to truly look after the poor sod – trembling from the cold in his lap – the Doctor had seemed unable to let go, unwilling to relax and surrender to the sensations he was being made to feel. To indulge in sensuality, to enjoy it, to disappear into it, as if he didn't truly believe he deserved to be offered it. But it seemed that he was coming around to the idea, one cut-off moan at a time.

"Mmph–"

Lawrence was determined to drag more of those beautiful noises out of him. He kept his pace steady, his firm grip passing over him in long, drawn-out strokes.

"Take it, darling," Lawrence whispered. "It's yours. It's all yours."

With a particularly good stroke, the Doctor's nose scrunched up.

Gazing tenderly at his lover, Lawrence watched him melt under his touch, shy and awkward, scarcely able to make eye contact and shifting restlessly on his knees atop the other man's lap as if he didn't know where to put himself. And yet he was so brazenly needy when he stopped thinking and allowed himself to get properly lost in the here and now.

Lawrence mouthed at his neck, teasing at the sensitive skin of his bite marks, and the Doctor tilted his head back, his breathing coming out in sharp little pants.

"So good," Lawrence whispered into the crook of his neck. "So good for me."

"Nyuh," Ten bared his teeth, chasing a peak that was so tantalizingly close. "Please don't stop–"

"Promise," Lawrence whispered. "Promise I won't. It's yours. Come for me, darling."

Tipping forward, the Doctor tonked his forehead against Lawrence's and he grasped at his broad shoulders with tense fingers.

"I've got you."

With a colliding combination of emotion, and arousal, and mounting, unwavering sensation saturating his mind and body, the Doctor let go of self-restraint and began to succumb to an old, long-forgotten impulse, raw and instinctive.

In his mind, there came flashes of light and booming sound, colours combining to paint a mural of lust and desire; Lawrence's smile with the stars as a backdrop. His hands, strong yet gentle on his hips. His mouth, exactly where the Doctor needs it most.

"Oh–" Lawrence gasped, stuttering his movement.

Snapping his eyes open, the Doctor realized that the visceral, erotic imagery in his head was being transferred to Lawrence's mind without his knowledge.

"Te-telepathic–" Ten choked out. "-communication."

"No way," Lawrence huffed out a laugh.

"Sorry," Ten swallowed when Lawrence regained his pace, trying desperately to pull back his telepathy with a furrowed brow. "Sh-should have said–"

Huffing out little pants, the Doctor pulled away.

"Shh, shh, shh, it's alright," Lawrence brought their foreheads back together with a gentle hand at the back of the Doctor's head and he shut his eyes; it couldn't be too difficult. Opening up his mind, he focused on sending back a certain variety of sultry thoughts. "Just... feel."

"Oh–" Ten's face scrunched up at the images and his hips bucked forward. "Oh–"

"You like that?" Lawrence smirked.

"Ye-yes. Yes." Ten's body tensed up, his nails digging into Lawrence's shoulders. He was relentless – his long, firm strokes suddenly quickened in pace. "Ah! Fuck!"

In both of their minds, there was an explosion like a supernova, sharp and blinding, and their ears rang with the blood-rushing force of complete and total gravitational collapse. For a moment, both of them literally saw stars.

The Doctor's body went limp and he slumped into Lawrence's arms.

Face down and thoroughly boneless, he let out a long, guttural groan.

"Fuck," Lawrence exclaimed once his ears had finally stopped ringing. He shook off the impact of the sonic boom and blinked his eyes several times, trying to get his bearings. "Wow."

The Time Lord gave no response.

Lawrence exhaled a surprised laugh. "Bit of a show-off, are we?"

An indignant growl.

Lawrence looked down at him, pursing his lips at the puddle of a Time Lord in his lap. He rubbed circles on his back as the Doctor settled more comfortably in his arms, his cheek smushed against Lawrence's shoulder. After a few beats, the Doctor sighed, deep and content.

"Big sigh," Lawrence cooed, his nails lightly scritching up and down the bare skin of his back. "How are you feeling, darling? Are you alright?"

"Mmmm," Ten grumbled happily, like a long lanky housecat who's only just found his new favourite napping spot: on top of Lawrence – nude. Without even opening his eyes, the Doctor raised his head to kiss Lawrence's shoulder, and then he settled right back in again with a soft exhale.

"Good, then?" Lawrence smiled.

"Mm."

"Are Time Lords always this chatty after the fact?"

"Mm."

Lawrence snorted.

"Alright, well before you fall asleep–" another argumentative groan, but Lawrence was undeterred. "We should wash up and get ready for bed, get you nice and comfortable–"

"Mmmmalready comfortable," Ten mumbled.

"Oh, he speaks," Lawrence teased, and squeezed affectionately at his waist. "Come on. Up. Up. Up." He heaved against the dead weight splayed across his torso, until at last the Doctor got the message and reluctantly clambered off of his lap, over the side of the bed, and got to his feet on rather wobbly legs.

*

"What are you playing at?"

The Doctor peered up, surprised, from his spot in bed where he had just settled in for the night. Having been freshly bathed with a shallow basin of warm water, he was in nothing but a white cotton blouse and dark blue underpants, tucked cozily under the covers of the second little cot.

Head resting on his duck feather pillow, the Doctor looked over to the side, at the other bed.

Offering his lover heart eyes from across the aisle, Lawrence reached over towards the Doctor and, returning his smile, they held hands across the gap.

Lawrence chuckled impatiently. "Come here."

The Doctor grinned and threw his blanket aside, hopping into bed with Lawrence instead.

"Just because we have a second bed, doesn't mean that we have to use it," Lawrence argued, and at the welcome intrusion, he shuffled to the side to make room for the giddy alien. They snuggled up close to keep warm.

From out in the corridor, some of the other travelers began trundling by the door as they made their way to their own sleeping quarters after a long night of eating, drinking, and gambling. The sound of their chattering and loud guffaws could be heard as they passed by in high spirits.

Lying facing each other, the Doctor and Lawrence were sharing the same pillow and their noses touched. They exchanged warmhearted smiles.

"Hi," Ten muttered, his eyes soft and warm.

"Hi," a smile grew on Lawrence's lips, and he reached a hand out to play with his lover's hair at his temples, the Doctor's eyes following his movements. Then Lawrence caressed the curve of his ear, and down his neck–

Lawrence's fingers stilled and he tilted his head to get a better look.

"Oh, darling," he grimaced apologetically. "There are quite a few marks here, you're all red and swollen. I'm sorry, it looks rather painful."

"S'okay," Ten smirked. "Like 'em."

"Do you?"

"Mmm," Ten hummed. "I do."

"I didn't want you to have to explain them away."

"Agh, it's alright," Ten shrugged, casual. "I've had worse."

Lawrence gave him a skeptical look. "Worse than blotches and bruises on display at breakfast with stuffy nineteenth-century imperialists?"

Ten hesitated. "Well..."

"You're unbelievable."

"I do what I can," Ten purred cockily.

"Time Lord braggart."

The Doctor let his mouth fall open with an incredulous smile. "For days, I've had all this teasing from you about being a Lord of Time," Ten squinted playfully, "and you're the Lord of Gloucestershire."

"And you," Lawrence retorted quickly. "A kilt?"

"There's loads you don't know about me."

"When am I going to get to see that?"

"Oi, don't get any ideas."

"Oh I already have," Lawrence grinned. "Pretty boy in a kilt."

"Be quiet."

"Make me," Lawrence waggled his eyebrows.

"Anything you say, your Lordship–"

"Shhhhh, not so loud," Lawrence whispered a nervous laugh and pressed a fingertip to the Doctor's lips. "I don't like people knowing."

"Why?" Ten muttered gently, lips moving up against a finger.

"Because..." Lawrence wavered and sighed, and looked off to the side. Restless, he squirmed a little. "Oh, I don't know, because it's not my title. It's my family's title and I just..."

The Doctor's patient gaze bore into him.

"I just want to be me?" Lawrence admitted quietly.

The Doctor's eyebrows slanted gently.

"Oh, darling," Ten muttered. "You are."

"Am I?" Lawrence asked. "I wanted–" he peered over his shoulder at the door, unsettled by the noises on the other side. "I wanted to show you where I'm from and... I'm not even sure who I am when I'm here."

"You're exactly who you are," Ten urged gently, "in a world that just doesn't understand you yet." Pressing his lips together in thought, he swallowed on a far-off sadness. "And that's not fair. But it will understand people like you. One day."

"Long after I'm gone," Lawrence smiled sadly.

Soft eyes, a hand squeezed.

"Do your parents know?"

Lawrence scoffed. "No," he shook his head. "No. I mean. I think they know – I think they know that something isn't quite right."

The Doctor frowned.

"That I have a kind of... deep-seated melancholy about me, always have." Lawrence continued. "An anger that is more sadness than it is rage."

"Grief," Ten offered.

"Yeah," Lawrence's eyes shifted uncertainly between the Doctor's, finding a similar heaviness in his own gaze. "Yeah. Grief. For a life not lived."

"You're living it now," Ten pointed out.

"With you," Lawrence's hand came up to anxiously straighten the Doctor's collar. A sudden sombre shadow passed across his face and his expression crumpled into sorrow. "Do I have to go back?"

"Back where?" Ten's brows furrowed.

"Home," Lawrence whispered sadly. "To my old life. To feeling like no one around me will ever see me properly or get to know me– Is there a moment when you leave us behind and we have to go back–"

"Hey, hey, hey," Ten pulled him closer and tenderly kissed his temple. Lawrence wiped at his eyes. "Shh, shh, shh. No." Ten whispered against his skin. "No, I won't ever send you away. Don't you dare, for a second, think that I'd ever do that to you."

Lawrence sniffled.

"If you go back to your old life," Ten held his gaze, eyebrows rising gently, "it will be because you asked me to bring you home. If you don't want to go back, the TARDIS will be your home for as long as you want it to be." The sleeping car shuddered and Ten peered up at the ceiling. "The TARDIS, or incredibly outdated trains."

Lawrence huffed out a laugh into his neck, and held on tighter.

"I'm sorry this journey has upset you," Ten muttered. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, or put you in situations that made you feel frightened. Have I pushed too hard with the other guests? Should I act more courteous with them to help you feel safer?" Lawrence shook his head. "I do get a bit competitive when there are bigots about."

"No," Lawrence caressed his cheek, thumbing at his stubble. "I don't ever want to silence your bravery."

"It's not bravery–"

"It is," Lawrence argued with another sniffle. "It is to me. To Annie. To Mister Arthur Henry Howard Hughes–"

"An awful name," Ten quipped.

"It is to us," Lawrence emphasized. "Because we don't have anyone speaking up for us in our world, not yet. We are – we are a silent people."

The Doctor looked on, eyes sad.

"Being who I am," Lawrence whispered ever so softly, at once terrified of being overheard. "Is illegal."

"I know," Ten muttered.

"I could go to prison–"

"I know," Ten bowed his head.

"I don't want to keep fighting to live in a world that doesn't even want me."

The Doctor interlaced their fingers. "They just don't see how brilliant you are."

"Don't you ever stop speaking up for us, Doctor," Lawrence said. "Challenge them. Make them doubt. Make them uncomfortable in their bigotry. Don't ever let them believe that they've won. We need you."

"You have me," Ten kissed his knuckles. "All of you, all together, you have me."

"Thank you," Lawrence held the Doctor's gaze, with meaning, before he leaned in to peck his lips.

With a forlorn sigh, the Doctor rolled onto his back, an arm wrapped protectively around his lover to keep him close. Lawrence tugged the sheet up to his shoulders and rested his head on the Doctor's chest, which rose and fell with slow, calming breaths. They closed their eyes and Lawrence listened, for a while, to the four-beat rhythm of the Doctor's hearts.

There was a prolonged silence as they lay together in the dark, before the Doctor spoke up in a sleepy mumble.

"Still don't like trains."

Lawrence rolled his eyes. So the argument had yet to be settled.

"If I were to continue to... persuade you to think otherwise," Lawrence suggested, not-so-subtly referring to their thoroughly sated bodies, intertwined beneath the covers, "would you relent on that point?"

"Eh," Ten shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I'm open to the idea."

Lawrence snorted. "Alright, Time Lord."

"Shh, I'm sleeping," Ten mumbled.

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not–"

"Yes I am!" a high-pitched whinging. "Time Lords. We sleep and talk at the same time," Ten lied, sarcastic. "See? Another thing you don't know about me."

"My god, you're impossible."

"I know," Ten said, and then raised his eyebrows. "And–"

"And enigmatic, yes I know, darling."

*

"Next stop, Cheltenham!"

Shocked out of sleep, the Doctor's head shot up from where it had been resting on his pillow, moisture dribbling from his chin. Blinking through squinted eyes, and confused, he heard the announcement repeated; they were shouting it up and down the corridor.

With a groan, he reached for the little brass clock on the bedside table and squinted at it.

"We missed breakfast," Ten mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, and he looked over his shoulder at Lawrence.

He was still fast asleep. The man's arm was wrapped tightly around the Doctor's middle and his forehead was pressed up against the back of his shoulder. He was snoring, softly.

The Doctor smiled sleepily.

"No, you're right," Ten nodded to no one in particular, and sank back down onto his pillow with eyes closed. "Who needs breakfast?"

Chapter Text

"Wait for me!"

Lawrence barked out a laugh as he sprinted down the carpeted corridor, looking over his shoulder with a grin. Skillfully, he ducked and weaved through the crowd, making his way toward the door at the end of the train compartment.

"Oi!" Ten shouted as he hurried after him, dressed in his usual pinstripes and long brown coat, but he wasn't so lucky with his own attempts at dodging human obstacles. "Sorry. Sorry. My apologies–" a woman shrieked, "sorry!"

Until suddenly an elderly countess exited her compartment just as the Doctor was running past–

"Oh!"

"Oof!"

Stopping on a dime, the Doctor grasped her around the shoulders to keep her upright.

"Sor–" Ten began.

Scandalized by this strange man who was being much too forward, the woman gasped and swatted at him with an old antique fan – well, not yet an antique.

"Ow!" Ten flinched, raising his arms to use as a shield. But then, he caught himself: he flashed her a big smile and turned on the charm. With big brown doe eyes, he reached for her white gloved hand and bowed low in apology. "I do apologize, my lady. 'Twas ever so rude of me."

But before he could kiss the back of her hand, the old woman yanked her hand away, leaving his puckered lips hovering in the air. She harrumphed, smacked him over the head with the fan again for good measure, and walked away without so much as a 'good day'.

The Doctor watched her go in bemusement, biting his lip with a sudden twinge of guilt. Oops. Another awkward conversation for later, then.

Sighing, he looked down the corridor. Lawrence was nowhere to be found.

"Where have you got to, then?" Ten muttered, and made his way to the door.

A loud rushing of air greeted him when he opened the door between compartments, and he grasped at the handrails as soon as the door behind him had shut. Squinting, he looked out at the quickly-moving landscape.

Below his feet, the rusty iron rails rushed by at an alarming rate and the grinding and thundering of metal on metal threw sparks up into the air. The whole railcar swayed from side to side and the Doctor's grip tightened.

Treading carefully, he crossed to the next compartment.

As soon as he opened the door, he was hit with a thick, nauseating cloud of tobacco smoke.

"Ugh–" Ten grimaced. He swatted at the air in front of his face but it did little to dispel the stench.

In his search for Lawrence, he had instead found the men's private gambling parlour, and much to his discomfort, every head had turned to look at the newcomer in disapproving silence. No longer dressed in period clothing, the Doctor stood out like a sore thumb. Or, a common thumb.

"Uh," Ten gestured vaguely to the other side of the room. "Has anyone, by any chance," a sea of angry mustachioed faces stared him down. "–seen a man run through here just now?"

All thirty-five men pointed to the door at the other end.

Nodding, the Doctor cleared his throat. "Yup. Thanks."

Feeling too closely observed, and more than a little judged by a room full of wealthy, cynical windbags, he kept his head down and quickly shuffled along in the direction indicated by the parlour patrons. Soon, they would travel somewhere a tad less... grumpy.

He had almost crossed the room when a grisly voice broke the otherwise tense silence.

"You better keep an eye on that boy," it drawled.

Taken by surprise, the Doctor swivelled around to look toward the voice.

A stern man with sharp eyes and a face full of beard was holding up a smoldering cigar. He spoke with a rugged American accent.

"Say that again," Ten faltered.

The man quirked a wry smile and flicked the cigar, but he did not break eye contact.

"Just you make sure he doesn't run into any trouble," the man taunted in a low rumble. "Wouldn't want him getting hurt, now. You never know what could be lurkin' 'round the corner."

It only took him a moment to put together what was being said.

The Doctor set his jaw, tight.

With slow, purposeful steps, the Doctor approached the man's table. The two of them had everyone's attention; you might have been able to hear a pin drop it was so silent. The awful man leaned back in his chair and grinned a yellowed set of teeth at him. He was daring him to defend himself in a room full of people who would never take his side. That smarmy arsehole.

The Doctor leaned a hip against the table and placed his palm down on it, near the man's hand of cards; two pairs splayed out in a firm grip. With nothing but disgust, the Time Lord stared deep into his beady eyes.

"If I ever," Ten spoke quietly, but his voice positively dripped with ire. "Ever, see you, or any of your friends, near him – if you so much as look at him," the Doctor's other hand slipped into his coat pocket surreptitiously, "I will find you, I will tear off your bollocks with my bare hands," he bared his teeth and in his eyes there flashed the inhuman fury of a vengeful immortal, "and I will shove them down your throat, is that understood?"

At that moment, the burning end of the man's cigar erupted with an impossibly massive flame and the men around the table shouted out in alarm. Frightened at the sudden blazing heat emanating from between his fingers, the sneering man jerked his hand away and dropped the cigar onto the table.

The parlour staff panicked and went into a frenzy, running for buckets of water to put out the flames while the gamblers watched, petrified, as the unruly cigar rolled along the tabletop, spitting embers out toward the onlookers and their highly-flammable facial hair.

In the midst of the chaos, the Doctor watched, unmoved. But once he felt that his point had been made, and before anything could properly catch fire, he scooped up the cigar and dropped it with a plunk into the American's drink. The flames died out with a hiss.

Unfortunately for the men sat around the table, it was then that the waiters arrived with buckets of water, and all at once, every one of the patrons was thoroughly drenched in cold water. The playing cards on the table quickly turned to mulch.

Shocked to his senses and beard dribbling onto his lap, the American sputtered through a face full of water and looked up.

The Doctor was staring him down with the brutal glare of a man who had committed more murders than could ever be counted in a single lifetime.

"I said," Ten took a step forward to hover over the man, who shrank into his chair with big, frightened eyes. "Is that," he made a tense fist on the table, "understood?"

Silent, frantic nodding.

The Doctor's ruthless gaze swept across the parlour, daring anyone of them to speak up. A room full of speechless men in coattails and top hats. One man's jaw had dropped open and his own cigar toppled out of his mouth.

From inside his pocket, the Doctor released his grip on his sonic screwdriver and he gave a curt nod to the other men.

"As you were."

No one said a word, and aside from the sound of his own retreating footsteps, the room was left in stunned silence when the Doctor slipped out the door.

Loud, wailing wind. Another chasm to cross. Another cautious look over the edge toward the tracks, this time with a clenched jaw.

The door clicked shut. Blissful silence.

In the dim lighting, the Doctor found himself surrounded by rows upon rows of luggage stacked to the ceiling in big, towering piles, held in place with ropes and netting.

"Lawrence?" Ten asked, hesitant.

The room did not answer back.

The Doctor exhaled a breath. "Where are you?" he muttered. Though he was loathe to admit it, he was getting a bit nervous now.

Regardless, he went on, winding his way through the maze of suitcases, trunks, crates, bird cages, tables, desks, armoires, chairs, vases – vases?? On a train?? – and one very large wooden horse with genuinely upsetting red eyes. The Doctor made a face at it.

He ducked under a loose bit of netting as he neared the end of the luggage car, and as he straightened up, he smiled toward a familiar blue box sitting idly in the corner. She was as stoic and imposing as ever, despite being held in place with straps and buckles. An old relic, surrounded by old relics.

His smile fading a tick, he could feel that she was angry – or rather, that she was utterly displeased at being transported through space as if she was a common police box, mindless and wooden – as if she was incapable of travelling the world herself. Transported by a prehistoric rail car, of all things. The indignity.

Oh, he would never hear the end of this one.

With an apologetic glance and a telepathic promise to make it up to her – oh, you will, time boy – he made his way out the door.

He was immediately blinded by the sunlight and he raised a hand to shield his eyes; he had found the end of the train. It ended abruptly with a tiny platform only big enough for two. The perfect place for illicit meetings. Or romantic encounters.

Lawrence was leaning on the railing, and he looked up with a smile.

"Ah, there we are. I knew you'd find your way eventually," Lawrence teased. "What took you so long?"

"Oh, um," Ten pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "Uh. Nothing."

"Did the countess forgive you?" Lawrence grimaced.

"Absolutely not."

"Oh," Lawrence winced. "I'm sorry, it was my fault," he gestured for the Doctor to join him. "I can apologize to her at supper."

"Yeah, well," Ten scratched the back of his head. "I wish you the best of luck, I tried to apologize and she hit me with her–" the Doctor mimed a fan.

"Yes, I know," Lawrence chuckled, caressing the Doctor's pouting cheeks. "I stayed long enough to see her get properly angry, and then I ran." He cringed. "Sorry. But, in my defense, she was really scary."

"Slippery bastard," Ten snaked a hand around Lawrence's waist and pulled him close, nosing at his temple. "I'm going to have to put you on a lead just to keep an eye on you."

"That would never work," Lawrence rolled his eyes. "I'm much too cunning, and if I batted my eyes in just the right way, you would release me before I could even say 'please'."

"Ugh, I know," Ten dropped his head onto Lawrence's shoulder, hating – and loving – that his shortcomings were becoming so transparent when it came to a certain posh boy with stupid floppy hair. Sighing, he untangled himself from their embrace. "It's a losing battle from the off, with you. You're a real troublemaker, you know that?"

"I couldn't possibly comment."

"No, of course not," Ten held back a smile and turned toward the horizon. "But even still, there must be something I can do, some weakness of yours I can exploit for my own benefit." He looked sideways at him, and then bit his lip, thinking. "I'll have to give it more thought. But, in the meantime, if you think of something–"

"You will be the first to know, darling."

"Thanks," Ten mumbled. As he looked out onto the rural landscape, he cocked an eyebrow. "Might just sell you to the circus."

"Oh, that's low."

"No, you're right," Ten let out a big sigh. "They'd never agree to take you."

"Oi!"

"Can you juggle?" Ten frowned.

"No, I can't juggle," Lawrence gawked. "What, you think my family sent me to a private tutor so I could learn Latin, arithmetic, and the art of juggling?"

"I can juggle," Ten boasted quietly.

"Of course you can juggle," Lawrence deadpanned. "You're ridiculous. You can probably do magic tricks, too." The Doctor thought better than to confirm that theory, so he stayed quiet. "Well, it seems to me that the only proper solution is that I sell you to the circus–"

"I'd be quite a good juggler," Ten sniffed.

"And I'd come visit you everyday and feed you peanuts through the bars of your enclosure."

"Why would I be in a cage?" Ten frowned, confused.

"Well, clearly, you'd be a juggling monkey."

"Why would I be a monkey?"

"I'm not certain," Lawrence leaned in to inspect the Doctor's features more closely, and he blinked under the man's scrutiny. "But I'd say that there's something of the ape about you."

"Me??" Ten argued, offended. "I'm not even of this planet! You're the one who's literally related to apes!"

"What?" Lawrence burst out a laugh. "That's absurd!"

"Yes! Darwin–" Ten stopped short. Slowly, he tilted his head up in understanding. "Oh. 1813."

"Right..." Lawrence squinted, trying to follow his train of thought.

"Hasn't happened yet," Ten mumbled to himself.

Lawrence offered him an incredulous look.

With a sharp inhale, the Doctor pulled himself together. "No. Not going there. Right! So," he threw an arm over his lover's shoulders. "All that running. Why exactly have you brought us here, darling?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"That we would," Ten had a puzzled expression, "harass half the passengers on board just to pat ourselves on the back for finding the tail end of an old train?"

Lawrence ignored him, and smiled at the rolling hills that seemed to go on forever in the distance. "It's beautiful."

The Doctor's eyes darted out toward the pastoral region they were passing through, woods and farmland combining to form a village that was so perfectly English.

"And peaceful," Lawrence muttered.

Examining his lover's far-off expression, the Doctor's eyes softened.

Just then, the train's whistle shrilled as it approached the next station and the brakes screeched unbearably against the iron rails. The Doctor and Lawrence jerked forward, gripping at the railing for support, and the whole thing shuddered when the locomotive at the front of the train finally came to a stop.

The Doctor opened his mouth–

Lawrence raised a solitary finger. "Don't."

Guilty, the Doctor snapped his mouth shut.

The Caledonian had stopped on the outskirts of a small village, which bustled with activity. There were merchants and travelers mingling along the high street to buy and sell goods, horse and buggies click-clacking up and down the cobblestones, and newspaper boys shouting at passersby. A small group of peasant children ran up to the railcar, waving excitedly at the passengers. The Doctor waved back, and they all giggled.

Lawrence watched as the Time Lord seemed to get an idea. He reached into his coat pocket and crouched down behind the railing, beckoning them closer with a crook of his finger. While they seemed to want to come closer, the children were too shy and intimidated by the huge, noisy train, and they stayed back, watching nervously.

The Doctor straightened up like a shot.

"Back in a tick," Ten grinned at Lawrence and hopped over the railing.

Curious, Lawrence leaned on his elbows and watched as his sweetheart of an alien slowly approached the throng of children gathered near the train tracks.

"Hello everyone," Ten smiled, and crouched down to their level. There was about eight of them. "I wonder, do you lot believe in magic?"

The littlest of the children, a girl who couldn't be older than four, smiled and nodded, swaying from side to side in a little white dress.

The Doctor sat on his knees in the dirt and showed them a single silver penny in his open palm.

"Do you think," Ten muttered conspiratorially, "I can make this disappear?"

Giggling, the children all shook their heads.

"No?" Ten squawked, his jaw dropping open. "What do you mean, no?"

The children giggled even more.

"Alright. Tough crowd," Ten squared his shoulders. "Watch closely."

Slowly, he closed his palm around the coin.

"Here," Ten held out his clenched fist toward an older boy. "Blow on it."

The boy did, half-heartedly.

"Not like that," Ten frowned. "Blow as hard as you can. Go on."

Pursing his lips at the challenge, the boy inhaled a lung full of air and blew really hard.

The Doctor opened his hand. Gone.

The children gasped and squealed, hopping up and down as they shouted to anyone that would listen about the genuine magic that had just occurred before their eyes.

"Where has it gone?" Ten asked, pretending to be just as surprised.

"It's magic!"

"It's invisible!"

"It's in your pocket!"

"In my pocket?" Ten frowned, patting his pockets. "No, not there. Wait!"

He raised his hands, index fingers pointing at the sky, and they all froze.

The Doctor eyed the little girl. "It's behind your ear."

"What!"

"No, it's not!"

The little girl shook her head.

"Yes. Wait. Hold on." Ten made a show of reaching behind the girl's left ear, and pulled a shining silver penny out of thin air.

The little girl's eyes grew as wide as saucers.

"It's magic!"

"It's real magic!"

"You're magic, Lizzie!"

"Me next, me next!"

Beaming at the cacophony of youthful excitement, the Doctor placed the penny in the girl's hand and her little fingers clutched onto it.

"Keep it," Ten whispered, and winked.

The train whistle sounded. A loud hiss of steam.

"Doctor!"

The Doctor looked over his shoulder. Lawrence was standing on a train that had begun to pull away.

"Oh!" Ten scrabbled onto his feet and kicked up a dust cloud as he chased after the train, the children running behind him, laughing and cheering him on.

The Doctor sprinted as fast as he could, his long coat flapping behind him, until he managed to grasp the railing with one hand, Lawrence's outstretched hand with the other, and hauled himself up onto the platform.

With a clumsy flurry of limbs, he heaved himself over the railing and toppled onto the floor in a heap. In the fading distance, little voices cheered his victory.

"You are something else," Lawrence shook his head fondly.

"Oof," Ten got to his feet, out of breath, and brushed dirt from his trouser legs. "Agh," he made a noncommittal sound. "It's worth it to see their little faces light up."

"Are you alright?" Lawrence smirked and dusted off his jacket.

"Yeah, I'm fantastic," Ten grinned.

"Come on, you," Lawrence pushed him toward the door as the railcar hurtled through a wide-open expanse of farmland. "It's nearly time for tea."

"Ooo," Ten's eyes lit up as he passed into the luggage car, "I do love a tiny sandwich."

"Of course you do," Lawrence smiled knowingly. Going ahead of him, he tugged the Doctor by the hand as they made their way along the winding maze of trunks and crates, his fingers squeezing affectionately. Without his knowledge, the Doctor was watching him with love in his smile and the biggest, softest heart eyes he had ever made.

That is, until something above his head caught his attention and he looked up just in time to see what appeared to be a human foot disappear into the rafters.

The Doctor stopped.

Lawrence jerked to a stop, too, when the Doctor didn't follow. "Something wrong?"

"I thought–" Ten paused, unsure. His gaze searched the wooden beams of the ceiling, but he couldn't see if anything was amiss. As far as he could tell, there were no signs of life.

Had he imagined it?

Lawrence was looking up, too.

"Um," Ten furrowed his brow. "No, it was nothing."

"Are you sure?" Lawrence asked.

"Um..."

There was a long, drawn-out pause as the Doctor thought it over, his eyes darting around at the rafters, trying to see something, anything. There was no sound. No movement. No reason to believe he had seen anything at all. If someone was hiding in here, who were they? What were they? And what did they want? His expression went stern and he exhaled a nervous breath. Don't do this to me.

"Darling?"

Pulled from his contemplation, the Doctor locked eyes with Lawrence.

"I'm sure it was nothing," Ten forced a smile, lying. "Let's go have tea."

Chapter Text

"Earth to pretty boy."

Caught off guard, the Doctor tore his gaze away from the window and looked up at the man sitting across the table from him. Blinking, he suddenly remembered where he was.

In the dining room, having tea.

"Sorry?"

"I said," Lawrence smiled gently, "are you still thinking about what you saw in the luggage compartment?"

The Doctor gave him an inquisitive look. "No," he lied.

With a quirk of his eyebrow, Lawrence brought a teacup to his lips to hide his smirk. "I see. My mistake."

All at once, they fell back into the same uncomfortable silence and it wasn't long before the alien at the table resumed what he had been doing since they had sat down: nervously bouncing his leg to repress his urgent need to investigate. He was strung tight, distracted by a thousand potential invasion scenarios all competing in his head for legitimacy. A right bundle of nerves, he was, as he stared out the window, elbow on the table, and a hand covering his mouth in thought.

On the table, his sandwiches had remained untouched.

After a moment of watching the gears turn in his head, Lawrence took pity on him and reached out to pull his hand away from his face.

"Darling," Lawrence muttered quietly. "Whatever it was, I'm sure it was fine."

"Yeah," Ten answered automatically.

He didn't appear to be convinced, staring out the window with a far-off expression, but he did squeeze his lover's hand in half-hearted concession.

Releasing a big sigh, the Doctor slumped down into his chair and let the back of his head rest against the cushion.

"Why am I in another Agatha Christie novel?" Ten mumbled grumpily into the ether.

"I'm sorry?" Lawrence frowned. He waited patiently for an explanation, but it didn't come, so he scooped another dollop of marmalade onto his scone and took the time to butter it properly. Eventually, the Time Lord couldn't help but go on.

"Wasn't there one about trains...?" Ten muttered to himself. "I'm sure there was."

"My dear," Lawrence side-eyed him. "I'm beginning to think you'd rather have a conversation all by yourself. Am I interrupting you?"

Inhaling sharply, the Doctor sat up straight and reached for his tea. "Sorry."

Lawrence changed the subject with a cheeky smile, and a desire to shift the mood toward something more lighthearted.

"You're rather good with children," Lawrence watched him, his gaze soft. "Have you looked after many little ones?"

The Doctor shrugged, busy buttering his toast. "Sure, sometimes. Kids are fun. And quite cute when they're tiny. They're very bright, much more so than you adults give them credit for. They're at that great age when they haven't lost their sense of wonder just yet, right before it's stamped out of them by you lot." Ten bit into his toast. "Remarkably imaginative, kids."

"Yes, I think you're right," Lawrence mused. "Wonder is difficult to hold onto after a while. It's beaten out of us, I think, by the time we're old enough to really need it."

Shyly, the Doctor gazed over at Lawrence and understood his meaning a little too well.

But Lawrence's mind was on other things, and he scrunched up his nose with a smile.

"Did you see those pompous gents on our way back through the parlour?" Lawrence laughed, gesturing with his scone. "When I came through the first time, they were as loud and as boisterous as anything, barely able to sit still, and we go back in a few minutes later and it's as silent and as stiff as a tomb in there. Absolutely lifeless. Do you think something happened?"

Perfectly nonchalant, the Doctor reached for the fruit bowl. "I have no idea," he muttered, and popped a grape into his mouth.

*

The Doctor's head was resting on his pillow when his eyes snapped open in the dark.

It was only later that night, once Lawrence had fallen asleep and the little brass clock's hand had moved long past midnight, that the Doctor chose to carefully disentangle himself from their embrace. He slid out of bed, tip-toed to the door, and threw his long brown coat on, over his sleeping clothes.

Hand on the doorknob, he peeked over his shoulder. With one last look at Lawrence's still-sleeping form, he silently snuck out of the bedroom.

He shut the door ever-so-gently with an almost imperceptible click and, bare feet soundless on the carpet, he padded down the empty hallway. On his face was an air of grim suspicion.

And yet, by a rather timely stroke of luck, he didn't come across any railway staff members or guests on his way to his destination. Everyone was sound asleep, lulled into their dreams by the gentle rocking of the train car and the white noise of the engine chugging them along. It was the middle of the night, and the Doctor crept from train car to train car in the dark, crossing through the now deserted parlour to the luggage car.

He wound his way through a maze of other people's belongings and returned to the very same spot where he had been standing when he'd seen something out of the corner of his eye. He was certain of it; a humanoid foot had disappeared up into the rafters. Humanoid was good. It narrowed things down.

Reaching into his coat pocket, the Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and began to haphazardly scan bits of the ceiling, but there were no significant readings. Life? Maybe. In full voice, he spoke up toward the rafters.

"It's alright, I won't hurt you." Ten's eyes darted from side to side. "I just wanted to make sure that you were okay," he added, but there was no response. "I'm the Doctor."

The Doctor's gaze swept the wooden boards of the ceiling as he approached a precariously-stacked mountain of luggage. Examining it, he considered climbing up onto it towards where he had seen the disembodied foot disappear, but without realizing, he stepped into a trap – his ankle was caught and tugged and before he knew it, he was being yanked upwards, upside down.

"No no no no!" In a panic, he flailed his arms and lost his grip on his sonic, which clattered to the ground and rolled off into the shadows to be forgotten.

Hanging upside down, his big brown coat flapped downward over his head and blinded him for a moment, until he batted it away. Disoriented, he panted quick breaths and turned to look in every direction, anticipating danger. But there was none.

He was hanging a few feet off the ground in a darkened compartment with nothing for company but a creepy wooden horse and a sulking time machine to judge him from the sidelines. Determined to get free, the Doctor bared his teeth as he tried to bend at the waist and reach the knot around his ankle, but gravity pulled him down and he found that he couldn't fold himself far enough, or even come close to reaching the rope. Defeated, he let himself flop back down, out of breath.

"Shit," Ten whispered.

Lawrence didn't know where he was. He wouldn't come looking for him until morning, and even then he wouldn't know where to look. There were a limited number of train cars, but even then – he would be hanging upside down for several hours before anyone even knew he was missing.

"I promise I don't want to harm you," Ten spoke to the empty air. There was no answer. He swung gently at the end of the rope. "Alright, maybe it wasn't my best idea, coming here."

Undeterred by the silence, the Doctor went on talking to himself in the dark.

"Should've checked the area for traps at any rate..."

There came a sudden sound of shuffling from above.

The Doctor's eyes darted toward the sound. He smiled. Aha... so he wasn't alone, after all.

"Well, you seem to be stuck with me now," Ten pointed out. "We might as well have a chat."

He listened hard for a response, but there was only silence.

"Oh, come on," Ten egged them on. "I won't bite. Probably."

As the train swayed on its tracks, so did he.

"Come onnnn," Ten tried again. "Are you really going to make me dangle here in silence? I can sing, if you like." He sniffed. "I'm not a singer, but I can still bang out a tune."

He cleared his throat.

"Please sir, you must keep quiet," a young voice whispered urgently.

"Ah, there you are," Ten smiled victoriously. "And who am I speaking with?"

More silence.

"Oh, no, no, no, no," Ten argued. "If I'm going to keep quiet, you're going to answer my questions. I'm not the one laying traps. Who are you?"

After a prolonged silence, there was movement from above and suddenly a rope ladder was tossed over the edge of a wooden beam and it unfurled toward the ground. A small someone slowly climbed down from the shadows, wary of their unexpected guest.

"It's alright," Ten blinked up at them, upside down. He held up both hands in surrender. "I promise I mean no harm."

"What are you doing here, monsieur?" the young girl asked nervously, setting foot on the ground. "It's the middle of the night."

"Monsieur?" Ten raised his eyebrows. "Are you French?"

The girl shyly crossed her arms, and nodded.

"Oh, lovely," Ten smiled. "Um. Well. Mademoiselle, would it be at all possible for you to let me down? I've gone a bit dizzy."

"If I let you down, you're going to go tell the others about me."

"No, no," Ten urged her. "I wouldn't do that. I swear. Those people, they're a bit... stodgy, and I'm not quite fond of them myself, to be honest. Terrible century, this one. Loads of nice gardens, though. If you like that sort of thing."

"You're a bit strange," the girl pointed out.

"A bit strange?" Ten refuted. "I'm a lot strange, thank you very much."

The little French girl chuckled. The Doctor grinned.

"What's your name?" Ten asked.

"Juliette," she said.

"Juliet?" Ten smiled. "How Shakespearean."

"Not Juliet," she pronounced in a harsh English. "Juliette."

"Right. Sorry," Ten cleared his throat to correct himself. "Juliette. I'm the Doctor."

The girl squinted suspiciously. "Doctor who?"

"Uh, well," Ten raised his eyebrows. "I suppose ask myself that same question."

"What do you want?"

"Well, at the moment," Ten peered around at the room. "I'd quite like to be let down."

The girl considered him, unsure as to whether he could be trusted. "You promise you won't alert the authorities about me?"

The Doctor laid a hand on his breast. "Cross my hearts."

With one last wary glance, the girl tugged at a bit of rope and the Doctor let out a surprised sound as he crashed to the ground in a heap, all limbs and loose flaps of his coat.

Springing to his feet, he straightened himself out and dusted himself off with a smile. Barefoot and wearing pajamas underneath a trench coat, he did look awfully strange.

"Well," Ten beamed. "That was fun."

The young French girl, dressed in peasant boy's clothes and a flat cap, was even more nervous now that he was on his feet and at liberty to use his strength. She observed him from a distance as he began to search for something on the ground.

"So," Ten lifted nearby nets and things, looking under them as he spoke. "Juliette, how old are you– aha!"

With a grin, he scooped up his sonic screwdriver and plonked it back into his inner coat pocket.

"Fourteen," she said, hesitating.

The Doctor turned to face her and she took a prudent step back.

"What's a fourteen-year-old girl doing alone on a cross-country train journey? Wait. No!" Ten raised a hand, ogle-eyed, and Juliette jumped. "Not alone on a train. Hiding away."

The girl stared, unsure as to whether she was in trouble, but the Doctor's eyes were sparkling with a mischievous kind of pride.

"You're a stowaway," Ten smiled conspiratorially. "You hopped on during the last stop, didn't you? Hid yourself away in the caboose to avoid detection. Would have," he made a face, "if it wasn't for me nosing around."

The girl did not confirm or deny his story, but she was clearly annoyed that her perfect plan had already been exposed.

"I mean," Ten beamed. "Absolutely brilliant."

Juliette frowned, confused.

"So, tell me," Ten crossed his arms and perched himself on the edge of a wooden crate. "Fourteen years old. On your own. Hiding away." He tilted his chin up with smug understanding. "What are you running from?"

"I don't know what you mean." The girl blushed with indignation.

The Doctor quirked a brow. "Oh, really?"

"Monsieur," the girl clenched her fists. "If you are going to call for the police, then just do it. This is not funny."

The Doctor's smile faded. "No, I–" Ten looked a bit lost. She was frightened and he was being unkind. "I won't. I have nothing to tell them. And anyway, I don't think that's fair, considering I'm basically a stowaway on this planet. Illegal alien, and all that."

"But you are," Juliette gestured with her hand impatiently, "a man. A figure of authority. It's what you do, monsieur."

The corner of his mouth turned upwards. "I'm really not, you know."

"Well, then you are the first."

"Might be," Ten quipped. "I rather know that you're alright. That you're safe."

"I'm fine."

For a moment, the Doctor observed her with the patient look of a worried father. He wondered where her father was now, and whether he knew where she was, that she was hiding away up in the rafters of an old train, on her own, without someone to look after her. He wondered if her father was worried, too.

"Are you hungry?" Ten asked, gently.

"I have enough," Juliette said, unrelenting with fierce independence.

"You're clever," Ten appeased her, eyebrows rising gently. "I know that you can take care of yourself, and I won't stop you from running away from whatever it is you need to run away from. But," he grasped the edges of the crate and peered at her from under his eyelashes, "if you need something, I can help."

The girl gave him a dubious look.

"I ran away once," Ten said.

"From what?" Juliette asked before she could stop herself.

"Everything."

The Doctor's expression betrayed nothing, but she knew that his story was genuine. Stepping closer, Juliette looked him up and down.

"Is it because you're in love with that man?"

"Very good," the Doctor smirked. "You're quite perceptive."

"I won't tell anyone," Juliette promised, and they shared artful smiles.

"So. You know my secret," Ten's eyes twinkled. "Do I get to know yours?"

The girl chewed her lip as she considered telling him. He hadn't betrayed her yet. Maybe she could have an ally in this mad world that was so entirely out of her control.

"Oh, go on," Ten smiled.

"It's not a nice story."

"That's okay," Ten muttered gently. "Not all of them are."

Juliette wrung her hands together nervously, hesitating. "I had to run away because I didn't have a choice."

"I'm sure you didn't," Ten responded soberly.

"I'm – supposed to get married tomorrow," Juliette looked down at her feet.

The Doctor went still, eyes soft. Oh.

"I don't like him," Juliette scuffed her bare foot against the wooden planks. "He's mean, and old, and touches me when I don't want him to. My father says I don't have a choice."

"You're fourteen," Ten lamented.

"Yes, I know, monsieur," Juliette frowned. "My father says I shouldn't be a spinster."

"A spin–!" Ten got to his feet in anger, and Juliette backed away, eyes wide. The Doctor froze and raised his hands in apology. "Sorry! I'm sorry," he took a calming breath, which did little to ease his rage. "But... that is absolutely ridiculous. A spinster! You're a child! And regardless of your age, if anyone were to put their hands on you without your permission, it should be a crime!" The Doctor was pacing, hands raking through his hair. "Oh, 1813, you drive me mad."

He stopped abruptly and turned to face the girl.

"Where is your father?" Ten asked, jaw clenched. "I'd like to have a word with him."

"Paris," Juliette muttered shyly.

"Bit far," Ten grimaced, and then his gaze snapped to the corner of the room, to the phone box. "Unless–"

"Monsieur, you can't, my father would have you arrested."

"Arrested for having a chat?" Ten craned his neck to gawk at her, nose scrunching up with incredulity.

"You would be arrested before you even made it into the palace, monsieur, by les gendarmes."

"The palace?" Ten froze, eyes going wide. Something slotted into place in his head. "Hold on," he raised a finger. "Hold on. Wait a minute– 1813."

The Doctor stared at Juliette, and she winced. She had said too much.

"Juliette," Ten said. "Juliette Marie-Louise Bonaparte, long lost daughter of none other than the Emperor of the French Napoleon Bonaparte?"

The Doctor's mouth was hanging open. No way.

"Are you angry, monsieur?" Juliette ventured cautiously. Her father tended not to be popular with Englishmen.

"Angry?" Ten laughed. "No! I'm – I'm – I'm flabbergasted!"

The girl kept a close eye on him as he started pacing again.

"I'm baffled! I'm astonished!" Ten spun in a circle. "I mean of all the people in the world to run into in 1813 you might be the most incredible! Even the history books don't know about you! You're a mystery! A footnote! Completely lost to time!"

"Well, good," Juliette nodded. "I don't want anyone to know about me. I want to disappear."

The Doctor spun to face her.

"And you did," Ten stared in disbelief. "That's what happened in 1813. You ran off and hid yourself away – in England – and no one ever found you. You succeeded. You went against everything you were told to accept, and you disappeared."

Unsure, Juliette waited for him to go on.

"I mean," Ten shook his head with the biggest smile on his face. "What a story."

"I suppose so," she shrugged. "If it works."

"Oh, it will," Ten held her gaze. "It already has, even without me, but now that I've stuck my nose in it, I'll make sure that you do. I won't let anyone get in the way of your freedom, not ever, not for the pride of any man, not even your father. You will succeed."

Touched, Juliette nodded.

The train whistle sounded from a distance as they approached another station. It was just before daybreak. The Doctor looked over his shoulder toward the door.

"I should go."

"Okay," Juliette hesitated. "Be safe, monsieur."

"Hide," Ten turned to her. "Don't come down for anything, or anyone, and keep quiet. I'll bring you something to eat in the morning."

"You don't have to," Juliette tried to dismiss his kindness. "I have plenty."

"You have enough," Ten peered down at her; a father worried for someone else's child. "But I'll make sure that you have more than enough to last to the end of your journey."

"I'm–I'm going to jump off at Leeds," she said. "I have a friend there, waiting for me."

"Then we'll make sure you get off safely," Ten promised.

Juliette shifted her weight awkwardly. In her eyes there was fear of the unknown ahead, fear of everything going wrong; the eyes of a child doing the impossible, on her own. But now, she had an ally. "Thank you."

The Doctor smiled.

Brakes screeching, both of them lost their balance, grabbing onto netting to stay upright, and they swayed on their feet as the train stopped. The railway staff would soon be coming to gather up people's belongings.

"Quick," Ten urged her, holding the rope ladder in place for her to climb. "Up you get. Allons-y!"

The Doctor watched as Juliette climbed all the way to the top and, once hidden away in the rafters, she pulled the ladder up behind her. From where he was standing, no one would ever know she was there.

With a proud smirk of approval, the Doctor turned on his heel and headed back to his Lawrence.

Chapter Text

"And, where have you been?"

The Doctor's hand froze on the doorknob to their sleeping compartment.

Having just silently slinked into the room without so much as making a sound, his eyes now grew comically wide as he only just came to realize that he may have been away for longer than he thought.

The bedside oil lamp came on with a click.

Anticipating the worst, the Doctor looked over his shoulder, locked eyes with his lover, and said, eloquently: "Uhhhh..."

Lawrence was sitting up in bed, a mixture of impatience and amusement on his face. He crossed his arms expectantly.

"Well?"

"Uhh– I – uh–" Ten stammered, "may have... um." He was pointing vaguely over his shoulder. "I may have gone out to, uh–"

"To the luggage car?" Lawrence accused, knowing him far too well. And in so little time.

Ten hesitated, but he knew better than to lie.

"...Yeah."

"To investigate."

"Y-yeah..." Ten relented.

"Did you, perhaps, get yourself into any kind of trouble?" With a saucy quirk of an eyebrow, it was clear that Lawrence already knew the answer to that. That smug bastard.

"Well... yeah," Ten scratched the back of his head, caught. "But it–it was okay in the end, I–" Lawrence gave him a look and he deflated at once. Looking rather sheepish now, the Doctor peered up at the other man with big, bashful eyes. "Are you... are you cross with me?"

Lawrence tilted his chin up, and his teasing smile disappeared.

"I want you to think," Lawrence posed carefully, and the Doctor gave a nervous gulp, "really think, how you would have felt if you'd have woken up in the middle of the night and I was gone."

Stunned into silence, the Doctor had gone a bit timid.

"If I had vanished," Lawrence went on, "mere hours after you had witnessed what we considered to be suspicious activity on board the very train from which I so suddenly disappeared. Suspicious activity, which you vehemently denied was of any danger to us."

The Doctor winced, recognizing his rather obvious mistake.

"Yeah, I..." Ten pulled at his ear. He was looking anywhere but at Lawrence. "I know."

"Do you?"

"Yes. I do," Ten admitted, soberly chastised. "I'm sorry, I know better." Embarrassed, he gazed up at the ceiling. "Rule one: don't wander off. I always tell them."

"Yes, I've heard the speech myself," Lawrence cocked his head. "And what did you do?"

"I..." Ten shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I wandered off."

"You wandered off," Lawrence echoed.

"Sorry," Ten muttered, still avoiding eye contact. "I should have told you, I'm sorry."

Despite the Doctor's most sincere apologies, Lawrence wasn't letting him off the hook just yet. He had been rather frightened in the interim between his lover's disappearance and his return and, while he was certainly relieved to have been correct about the Time Lord's character, he had yet to put him out of his misery. He was miffed, and his lover would hear about it now that he had been found safe and sound.

In the centre of the room, the Doctor stood there, waiting awkwardly. He was expecting another tongue lashing, but it never came. Instead, Lawrence just observed him in stern silence, looking particularly upset. He may not have been angry, but he was definitely disappointed.

Oh, he was in so much trouble.

After a beat of loaded silence between the two of them, the Doctor's anxious gaze snapped to the second little bed. "Are you... are you going to make me sleep on my own tonight?"

"Tonight?" Lawrence raised his eyebrows in surprise. "It's morning, darling. I'm quite well-rested, aren't you?"

The Doctor bit his lip, hating the predicament he'd put himself in. He didn't really need to sleep, per se, but he would still miss cuddling up to a certain snuggly bedfellow, all warm and soft and pliant in his arms, snoring softly against his chest. He would miss hearing his sighs and kissing his skin and inhaling his scent all night long– or morning, rather.

It was still early though! They had plenty of time to get some sleep. Together. In each other's arms. With kisses.

The Doctor gazed at Lawrence with big sad eyes. Had he lost his place in Lawrence's bed?

The man in the bed tilted his head with a playful obstinacy, thoroughly enjoying the wide range of emotions that were flashing across the Time Lord's guilty face. He was standing there, worrying, catastrophizing, and looking awfully pitiful for it.

"Please," Ten almost whispered.

When Lawrence's smile returned, the Doctor's own lips pursed in shy, yet eager, excitement. Lawrence could practically see his tail wagging.

"Oh, come here," Lawrence rolled his eyes, but he couldn't hide the smirk that curled around his mouth. As the alien charged forward with immense relief, Lawrence frowned and held up his hand to stop him. "Wait."

The Doctor stopped mid-stride.

"Wot?"

"No," Lawrence shook his head, unimpressed. "Take that off." He glared at the long brown coat with more than a little disdain.

"What's wrong with it?" Ten looked down. Then, more indignantly, "It's cool!"

"Not in my bed, it isn't," Lawrence deadpanned.

Huffing his annoyance, the Doctor made a show of taking it off and hanging it up by the door before stomping his way back to the bed.

"Happy?" Ten held his arms out.

"Not quite," Lawrence teased. His gaze lingered on the Doctor's striped pajamas and he cocked an eyebrow with a silent request.

"Oh, you can't be serious."

"Well, you're welcome to sleep all by yourself–" Lawrence began to say, feigning disinterest, but the Doctor was already throwing his clothes onto the floor while protesting the slanted ethics of bedroom injustices.

Pointedly ignoring his objections, Lawrence leaned back and watched his lover undress for him.

"Absolutely ridiculous," Ten was saying as his shirt flopped onto the carpet, and then he shoved his sleeping trousers down to his ankles and stepped out of them.

In a flash, the Doctor leapt onto the bed in nothing but a pair of underpants and a wide grin. He landed on top of the covers and sat on his knees for appraisal.

"Do you approve, my lord?" Ten's voice was laden with sarcasm, and just a little bit of flaunting.

Lawrence's eyes went soft with desire and his fingers caressed down his bare chest from his clavicle to his perfect, shivering belly.

"Yes, I rather think so," Lawrence muttered.

The Doctor had an impish gleam in his eye and, emboldened by the praise, he wasted no time in straddling the other man. In response, Lawrence laid back against the pillows, enticing his lover to follow.

Hovering over Lawrence, head bowed low toward his lover's lips, the Doctor braced his weight on his hands, jutted out his shoulders, and suddenly his bare biceps were on display. Strong, and lean, and lithe.

Lawrence caressed them with light touches.

"Beautiful," Lawrence whispered.

With a needy sigh, the Doctor sank deep into the crook of Lawrence's neck, kissing and mouthing and raising goosebumps with his lips and his tongue. Lawrence held on tight to his shoulders, his body tensing under tantalizing teases of his skillful ministrations.

"I missed you," Lawrence gasped, breath hitching. "Today– you were gone. All day, you were gone, up in your head," another gasp. "–Distracted."

"'m sorry," Ten mumbled, pressing himself closer.

"Wanted you to kiss me," Lawrence whispered. "Wanted you to touch me, just like this. Just... you and me, somewhere quiet. Alone. Somewhere that's ours."

Touched by the admission, the Doctor pulled away just enough for them to lock eyes, big and full of feelings. "I'm just here," Ten said, gentle. With his thumb, he caressed Lawrence's cheek. "I'm all yours."

"Are you?" Lawrence whispered.

"Yeah," Ten's brows slanted with concern. "Of course I am."

When Lawrence hesitated, the Doctor's stomach went funny with the sudden fear that he had somehow gone too far.

"Lawrence?" Ten muttered, trying really hard not to panic.

"Sometimes," Lawrence reached a hand up to touch the Doctor's drooping fringe, doing little to soothe his worries. "Sometimes, I fear that you don't trust me."

The Doctor frowned, defensive.

"Sometimes," Lawrence pressed on before he could be interrupted, "it feels as if you're making decisions that are meant to protect me," he smiled a little, "which I do appreciate, of course, darling. But," his smile faded away. "You make these rather impactful choices for me without trusting me to understand – or at times, even be aware of what's going on around me."

The Doctor watched him carefully, wary of where this was going.

"And then I worry because," Lawrence softened, "you won't tell me anything and I don't know if that means that whatever it is you're worried about is good, or bad, or really bad, and what that means about our safety, and then I think, if I knew what was going on maybe I could help, or maybe I could feel like I was prepared and ready for it and not just left in the dark about what was coming, if anything was coming at all, and I–"

The Doctor had pulled away. He sat back on his heels. "Oh," Ten said, eyes sad.

Lawrence followed him; he sat up and reached for his hand.

"Darling," Lawrence said, gently. "I'm not upset with you," he squeezed the Doctor's hand to reassure him. "I'm not cross. But I do want to feel like I know and understand what's happening around us. I need to feel confident, and steady, when I move through the world. I want to be informed."

The Doctor looked away.

"I mean," Lawrence tried to reel him back in, "isn't that how you feel when you just have to go and investigate something so that you can get to the truth of it? So that you know what it is, and how to face it?"

"Yeah," the Doctor met his eye, guilt-stricken.

"My darling," Lawrence cooed. "I know that you just want to keep me safe, but I don't need you to take care of me, sweetheart," Lawrence smiled softly, reaching up to tenderly caress his lover's cheek. "I need us to face the world together. As one." His eyes darted between the Time Lord's. "I need you to let me stand with you, not behind you. I promise you, I'm very brave."

Eyes downcast, the Doctor chewed his lip nervously.

"Does it frighten you?" Lawrence asked, gently. "Letting me in on the secrets of the universe? Does it make you worry that I'd get hurt?" He tilted his head, failing to meet the Doctor's eye. "Because if there was danger out there, I don't think I would be any more protected by not knowing it was there."

"No, I–" Ten wavered, "I know. I do. I just–"

Lawrence took both of his hands, carefully dragged them into his lap, and cradled them so preciously as if he was the most treasured relic in the world. Well. In a way, he was.

"Tell me," Lawrence whispered.

The Doctor swallowed, reluctant. He looked off to the side.

"Is it," Lawrence grew a bit sad, "that you just don't want to tell me?"

"I want to tell you everything," Ten lamented, meeting his eye. "Everything. I want to tell you about every single wonderful person I've ever met, and loved, and lost–"

"You won't lose me–" Lawrence argued.

"You don't know that!" Ten shot back, eyes big and wet. "I never know when I'll lose you, or how I'll lose you, I just know that one day, I will and there's nothing I can do about that – I just, I just can't – and if we just – if we just avoid all the bad things for long enough, stay far away from them in some safe, secluded corner of the universe somewhere, then maybe we can– maybe we can–"

"Shhh," Lawrence ran a hand through his hair and the Doctor sniffled, wiping at his eyes with a bitter pout and hating that he had allowed himself to cry. "Oh darling, I'm so sorry."

"'m fine," Ten muttered stubbornly.

Lawrence offered him a concerned glance but refrained from pushing the point. They both knew it was a lie, albeit a lie meant to protect him from the heartache that threatened to burst from the seams of his grief.

This one marvelous, lonely alien, standing at the centre of the universe, was really just a man under all those false layers of conceit. And like a man, he was abysmal when it came to admitting that he needed to talk about his feelings, or to admitting that he was irrevocably wounded in places unseen.

He was kind and brittle just like any other man, and he was facing the world alone.

"Come here," Lawrence whispered, tugging at his wrist and moving the blankets aside to coax the Doctor up and over them. Soon, there was a Time Lord clinging to his chest with earnest, his nest of unruly hair tucked under his chin, and Lawrence maneuvered them until they were both sufficiently warm and settled in bed.

Muttering little words of comfort and affirmation, Lawrence's hand rubbed up and down his back, soothing him.

Tucked in close, the Doctor heaved a sigh against Lawrence's heart and for a moment he listened to the tell-tale pitter-patter of a healthy human life beating away one impossible heartbeat at a time. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. One day, this heart would stop beating altogether, and he didn't know what he would do when that happened.

The Doctor swallowed, his throat tightening.

"Why do you think you'll lose me?" came a mumble from above his head.

The motionless lump of alien didn't respond to him at first.

As Lawrence waited, he made slow circles between the Doctor's shoulder blades, both of them warmly illuminated by the orange glow from the oil lamp which flickered shadows on the walls of the tiny compartment. There was an intimacy, and a safety, under that warm glow. But regardless, some things were just hard to say.

"I may have... left some things out," Ten spoke carefully, wary of putting himself back in his lover's disfavour. "Um," he cleared his throat nervously. "We, um... My people, we tend to live quite a bit longer than the average human lifespan. So," Ten wavered with a nervous energy, nuzzling the soft cotton of Lawrence's blouse. "When I say that I don't want to lose you, I don't necessarily mean that I think someone might harm you."

After a beat, the Doctor looked up and their gazes met.

"What I mean is," Ten specified, eyebrows slanted, "that no matter how careful we are, or how well I manage to protect you, it won't matter." His eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I will lose you to time. I always do."

Lawrence's thumb was stroking his shoulder, but he had gone a bit blank behind the eyes. He was trying to wrap his head around not only the concept of significantly longer lifespans, but also the grim revelation that he would almost certainly be outlived; while he could spend the rest of his life with the Doctor, the Doctor couldn't spend the rest of his life with him.

This lonely boy would walk the universe alone even after he'd gone.

"How long is a Time Lord's lifespan?" Lawrence asked.

"Thousands of years," Ten shrugged, "if not more."

"Thousands of years," Lawrence repeated, in awe.

He couldn't even begin to imagine what that would look like, not for an empire and certainly not for a person living life day to day, slogging from one thing to the next. It suddenly dawned on him why this Doctor was so compelled to run from one adventure to the next. He wasn't running out of time, he was desperate to discover new ways to fall in love with his own existence.

"Darling," Lawrence squeezed his shoulder, "I don't mean to pry, but–" he hesitated. "How old are you now?"

The Doctor was holding his gaze, his eyes wearied by an impossibly long life.

"Nine hundred and three," Ten admitted quietly.

Lawrence stared into his eyes, searching for any signs of a lie, or a farce, but there was none. This man was nearly a thousand years old.

"Wow," Lawrence breathed, and they both sat up in bed to give each other some space.

"Is... is that a problem?" Ten muttered, fragile. "Maybe I should have said–"

"No, no," Lawrence cut him off, shaking his head. "No, it's fine. I just. Give me a minute to process all of this."

"Okay," Ten looked on, patient.

"Um," Lawrence furrowed his brows as he tried to put things together. "Okay. Okay, first question."

"Sure."

"For Time Lords," Lawrence asked, "what is the age of consent?"

The corner of the Doctor's mouth quirked up in a small smile. "About one hundred and twenty. I think we're safe." He smiled softly, touched that he would worry about his ability to consent. It was very sweet. "Thank you for asking."

"Okay," Lawrence nodded thoughtfully. "Alright. Second question."

"Yeah."

"Do you age really slowly, or do you always look about thirty-five?" Lawrence eyed him, a tad suspicious.

The Doctor caught on immediately. "Do I detect jealousy?" Ten raised his eyebrows with a big dopey smile.

"Not in the slightest," Lawrence tilted his chin up and proceeded to protest too much, methinks. "I am merely formulating the guidelines of what needs to be understood between a man and an alien who are seeking courtship, not helped by the fact that you seem determined to withhold certain vital pieces of information."

"Enigmatic," Ten teased.

"Shut up," Lawrence clapped back impatiently. "So, what is it? Slow aging or no aging?"

"Um," Ten was suddenly caught off guard by the question. Oh, there was so much he hadn't said. "Uhh..."

"There's more isn't there?" Lawrence deadpanned.

"Tiny bit," Ten winced.

Lawrence sighed. This man. "Alright. Go on."

"Um," Ten waffled. "Well. Uh. So. Death."

"Right..." Lawrence urged him to continue. "I do know what that is, darling."

"Well. We don't really have it."

"What, never?" Lawrence balked.

"Well," Ten looked up at the ceiling, "not never, just–"

"Absolutely not," Lawrence shook his head. "You're not skipping ahead. Explain. All of it. Now."

A series of stuttering sounds were expelled from the Doctor's mouth as he tried to piece together an explanation. "We don't die, well we do, it's just–" Ten dithered clumsily. "When I die," Ten gestured to himself, "my body has a way of repairing itself. Sort of like cheating death."

Lawrence observed him, confused.

"Okay," Ten began again, more clearly this time. "When I die, every cell in my body regenerates and my body, and my mind... change. They become new again, and I become an entirely new person, but with the same memories, the same history, except for a few new... personality traits. The Time Lords call it regeneration."

"You become a new person?"

"Yyyyyeah, basically," Ten held his breath. "The same, but different."

"That's ridiculous," Lawrence laughed, "and amazing."

"And strangely itchy," Ten grimaced.

"So– you've died before, then?" Lawrence frowned.

"Oh, yeah," Ten scrunched up his nose. "Loads of times," he looked down at his bare chest. "This body is number ten."

"What were your other personalities like?" Lawrence tilted his head.

"Oh, let's not," Ten made a face. "They're all insufferable, mad old gits."

"Are any of them prettier than you?" Lawrence tried to hide a smile.

The Doctor narrowed his eyes. "No," he said, defensively, "that's just me."

"Bit vain, this regeneration," Lawrence teased.

"Oh, be quiet," Ten griped. "You like me. You know you do."

Lawrence smiled and, reaching out to place a hand on each cheek, he soothed the Doctor's indignation with a tender kiss. The Doctor's temper was mollified in an instant and his cheeks went a bit pink.

"Thank you for telling me," Lawrence assured him, grateful to be privy to the Doctor's secret life. "I want to know every bit of you, no matter how ridiculous you are."

"You're ridiculous," Ten muttered half-heartedly.

"Alright, darling, shall we get some rest?" Lawrence kissed his shoulder.

The Doctor nodded sleepily, and they put their heads down on the shared pillow and resumed their prior cuddle with contented sighs.

"Unless you have something else to share," Lawrence added, holding the Doctor tightly against his chest.

There was a beat.

"Well, if we're telling secrets," Ten looked askance, nervous again. "Um. There was an awful American gentleman in the parlour the other day, when I was looking for you and, um, he may have made some distasteful remarks about you so I may have gotten a bit angry and – and – and ruined his life."

Lawrence tensed, unsure. "What do you mean, ruined his life?"

"Scared him," Ten mumbled against the man's chest. "Lots."

Lawrence frowned. "How did you frighten him?"

"Well, I may have toyed with certain thermogenic qualities in the air and amplified the particles of oxidization around a primary source of combustion to produce heightened levels of excitation and subsequent and explosive discharge in an otherwise perfectly ordinary chemical reaction. It was nothing..."

Lawrence's eyes were darting left and right, trying to understand.

"You–" Lawrence furrowed his brows, suspicious. "Doctor... What did you do to him?"

"I may have..." Ten wiped a hand down his face, embarrassed, "blown up his cigar."

"Blown–" Lawrence stared, dumbfounded.

"He's fine," Ten grimaced, trying to get away from the subject now that he had brought it up. "He was completely unharmed! ...Unfortunately," he added bitterly.

"Wait, so you–"

"I made him believe that I could harness the elements, okay?" Ten explained defensively, an embarrassed smile peeking from the corner of his mouth. "I frightened him with science disguised as occult sorcery! I wanted him to believe that I was ominous and dangerous and– and– not to be trifled with–"

"Darling," Lawrence interrupted his fast-talking confession. "So, you're telling me," a proud smile lit up his face, "that one man made an unsavoury comment about me," his smile got bigger, "and you decided to terrify the living daylights out of him with pyrotechnics??"

"Great big ball of fire," Ten admitted quietly. "Everyone in that room must have been traumatized."

"Oh, my god," Lawrence laughed, snorting into his palm.

"I mean, I completely shattered their Judeo-Christian worldview."

Lawrence giggled even harder.

"I might be quite a vengeful person," Ten quipped with a lighthearted frown. "And I certainly ruined their lovely train journey. Hadn't thought about that..."

Stifling his giggles, Lawrence rolled them over to leave a sloppy, wet kiss on the Doctor's collarbone before pulling away to grin right at him.

"Oh, you great big lovefool," Lawrence teased.

The Doctor pursed his lips, shy yet infatuated. "Oh, shut up."

"You're smitten."

"No, I–"

"I think," Lawrence preened, hovering over him, "perhaps, you may be in love with me, pretty boy," and he grinned like the bastard he was.

"m'not," Ten tried to hide his smile.

"I think you are," Lawrence sing-songed. "A big, strong man performing vindictive acts of witchcraft to protect my honour? How romantic–"

"Shut uuuup," Ten threw his head to the side and tried to roll away, trapped in the arms of his lover.

"Oh, Doctor, however shall I thank you–"

"Stop it, I mean it–" more indignant wriggling in an attempt to get away.

"My hero, my champion," Lawrence had him by the wrists, halting his efforts to bat him away, "my knight in shining armour–"

"Seriously, I'm going to leave–"

"Taking on a sea of cantankerous old bores single-handed, with nothing but a pretty face and your wits–"

"Fuck off."

"You big, old softie."

"I–" Ten let out a small huff of frustration, arcing his back to lean away, but Lawrence followed his movement, kissing big smiles along the Time Lord's neck.

"You love me," Lawrence accused playfully.

"I rescind everything," Ten argued bitterly, "I don't want anything to do with– mmph!"

Lawrence kissed him slowly, savouring every curve and twitch of the Doctor's lips beneath his, and just because he could, he squeezed his little waist.

"I love you," Lawrence murmured as they pulled apart, nose to nose.

Big, soft eyes met his, touched at the declaration. The Doctor's mouth fell open, but he was lost for words, taken aback by the confession.

Lawrence leaned in and brushed their noses together, whispering conspiratorially, "I think this is the bit where you say it back."

The Doctor snorted, blushing at his own inaction and, frankly, poor manners.

"Um," Ten looked down, shyly. When he glanced back up, he hesitated as if asking for permission. He swallowed nervously. "I am utterly in love with you."

Lawrence's smile grew wider.

"Is that a bit twee?" Ten cringed.

"Yes," Lawrence grinned. "My sweet, gentle, romantic alien–"

"Stoooooop," Ten groaned.

"Never," Lawrence taunted playfully, and the Doctor flopped back onto his pillow with a sigh, giving in.

Freeing his wrists in consolation, Lawrence allowed the Doctor's long arms to wrap themselves around his waist and pull him closer. When they looked deep into each other's eyes, they both went soft.

"I love you," Ten muttered, acutely vulnerable.

"I know," Lawrence pursed his lips. "You sentimental sap."

Thus, together, under the light of a single oil lamp, they melted with sighs and slow, tender kisses until they both began to yawn and the sun began to peek through the curtains that hung along the small compartment window. Ready at last to get some sleep, in each other's arms, of course, Lawrence settled onto his back and tucked the ever-clingy Time Lord into his side, his long, lanky alien arm wrapped tightly around his middle.

Before either of them could fall asleep, the Doctor rolled his head on Lawrence's chest, frowning.

"Oh, I should probably tell you," Ten muttered sleepily. "We've got a stowaway on board, and she's Napoleon's daughter."

"What?"