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It’s a fine morning. One of these morning when one could have breakfast in a garden, or with one’s windows wide open on one’s garden, with the sun shining, and the birds chirping, and the flowers and the butterflies, and all these small details that makes him adore Earth and its inhabitants so much.
And this house in particular, with its well-curated aspect, white-painted bricks and fixtures of a blue that is really too similar to the colour of the TARDIS to be just a coincidence, with its small flowerbed in front of the front door and the elegant, discreet UNIT car parked in front, and the spacious sunny back garden with its large glass veranda and greenhouse – she is, after all, a keen gardener – and an outstanding bridge player, never play bridge with her, never – causes him immense joy, comparable only to the visits one of his past selves had made to Amy and Rory before the disaster in New York, and the happiness he knows his immediately preceding self feels at Donna Noble's house.
This particular house, for this regeneration, gives him a sense of family, of affection, that he has long lacked and longed for.
And the Doctor knows she would recognise the sound of the materialising TARDIS everywhere. Especially in her living room, near the entrance to the veranda, to make his best possible entrance.
The doors of the TARDIS snap open and smash against something, a loud wooden bang to his left.
“Kate!”
She drops the mug she is holding, thankfully empty, and the Doctor is close enough to bend and catch it before it smashes on the floor. The mug back on the solid wooden surface, a quick look at the table itself and all that is on the top, and the Doctor turns towards her with a bright smile, arms wide open, “Surprise!”
“You almost gave me a heart attack!”
“Ouch, no sorry, no, that was not what I wanted.”
“Doctor, has something happened?”
“No, I just wanted to pop-by and see how my friend Kate is doing in this fine morning,” he hugs her, and she hugs him back, no matter the astonishment etched on her face – it is, after all, the first time he has ever come to visit her at home – but the Doctor has realised this particular reincarnation loves visiting friends, “How is my friend Kate doing?”
“Surprised?”
The Doctor pats her shoulders and let her go, rotating on himself in a half dance step. Happiness. This house brings him happiness.
He stops his spin and smiles at her, but he can see the nervousness well hidden in Kate’s eyes, the way she is trying to adjust the cuff of the white shirt she is wearing – judging by the way it fell to her shoulders, at least a couple of sizes too big, and Kate has never been one to miss those details – the nervous gesture in moving a lock of humid hair behind one ear, the look she casts around the living room, the redness on her cheek when she sees the damp towel abandoned on a chair...
His nods to himself, half-solemn in his pose.
“Is Gordon home?”
“No, he’s living south with his fiancée. And Nicholas is with his father,” she looks at him, somewhat suspicious – it is not that often that he asks about her sons, “Why?”
“The breakfast is laid out for two,” the Doctor smiles, smugly, “Do you have a guest over?”
If possible, her cheeks become even redder, “No.”
“Should I leave?”
“Doctor…”
He knows he should really stops himself, and as well he knows he really cannot, because the idea of Kate Lethbridge-Stewart finally being happy again with someone – never liked her husbands, ugh, small men unable to understand her greatness – is making him feel giddy, a teenager again, “My, is that a love bite?”
Kate’s hand flies to cover the offending part of her neck, her cheeks now literally on fire, and the Doctor’s smile gets impossibly bigger at the thought that she has finally got some well-deserved happiness, with all that she is always going through in her life and at UNIT – often his own fault.
She tried to speak, but had no time or way.
“Liebste, have you seen my –” Colonel Christofer Ibrahim, bare-chested and with a towel wrapped around his waist, his dark hair still wet and dishevelled, a few drops on his shoulders, walks into the living room and stops dead in his tracks, “Shirt.”
The Doctor blinks. Unexpected.
Well, no, non-exactly, if he really has to think about it, and, truth to be told, he doesn’t even have to think about it that much. The Doctor has never been spectacular at understanding human emotions and feeling – some of his incarnations less so than others, oh, the disaster with Martha Jones and the way he’d treated her – but there has been something... subtle, barely hinted at... that, on second thought, he may have picked up on what is going on between Kate and the Colonel, especially after the ordeal with Sutekh.
“Oh.”
“Doctor.”
“Colonel Ibrahim.”
“’morning,” the Colonel turns to Kate, and smiles, “I see you found my shirt.”
Her index finger on her lips as it to restrain herself, eyes closed, cheeks aflame, Kate sighs, utterly defeated, “There is another one in the top drawer next to the mirror.”
“Thank you, Liebste,” Colonel Ibrahim leans towards Kate, one hand lightly resting at her side, and kisses her cheek gently, his eyes fixed on the Doctor as if daring him to say something, "See you in a bit.”
And Kate turns and smiles at him, following him with her eyes as he left the room, before an heavy silence fells into the sitting-room, the mood clashing with the bright day outside. The Doctor looks at her, folding and refolding the cuff of the Colonel’s shirt around her thinner wrist, and she is beyond embarrassed, but in the cutest way he has ever seen anyone embarrassed – for there is really nothing to be that embarrassed about.
He grins.
“Well…”
“Don’t say a word.”
“Not even congratulations?”
“Shut up.”
“Just –”
“For once, Doctor, shut up.”
“I’m sorry?”
Kate sighs again and gestures him to sit at the table, “Not your fault. Would you like something to eat?”
“Are we not waiting for…”
The Doctor leaves the question hanging between them, and just generally moves his hands towards the door and the upper floors – in that awkward gesture that he realises he has inherited from his Eleventh reincarnation.
“No, he’s getting ready to go to work,” she stops and the Doctor marvels at how redder her cheeks can still go as she speaks about the Colonel, “We were already a bit late.”
“I am really sorry.”
“We will have other breakfasts,” she sits at the table and pushes a cup and small dish towards him, the napkin and cutlery carefully placed on top – the table is lovely, the attention to detail as extreme as one could always expect from her, and the Doctor feels guilty again for interrupting her, their breakfast, "Tea, Doctor?"
“Thank you.”
He ignores the glaring look she gives him at seeing four lumps of sugar plummet one after the other into his cup of tea, and stops himself from making silly quips about the cuteness of the situation. There is something different about her, something he has never seen in the many years he has now known her – a softness, a calmness in her gestures that has never been there on the many occasions he has met her. Then again, when they do meet, it is for work. And when it is for work, it is dangerous, no time for softness. The only time he has met her outside working hours – assuming that they have working hours in their line of business – it was just after her second divorce, when the Doctor was literally the only person who could understand the stress and burden on some relationship of the life they were living and the risks they were taking, and she had called him. Suddenly, the Doctor realises that this is the first time he has ever seen Kate happy. Without worry, completely relaxed, far from UNIT and the risks of their life, with someone she loves.
And he knows he has to ask her.
“Are you happy, Kate?”
Her smiles is small, just a hint, but it’s so sincere he can feel both his hearts swelling with joy for her, “Yes. Yes, I am.”
“I’m glad,” and he truly is. What a remarkable woman she is.
“It’s just… he understands me in ways no one else ever could. The job at UNIT, and all that it entails... the risks and the consequences, even something as ordinary as long nights and not getting home at the scheduled time...” she shrugs, “My previous marriages failed because of the life I chose for myself, you know that. You were there the second time, your Eleventh incarnation. Lots of wine. My parents’ marriage collapsed because of that. With Christofer...” Kate pauses, and smiles to herself, her eyes lowered to the steaming cup of tea she holds in her hands, “It’s different with him. It’s almost easy, no matter the secrecy and everything.”
The Doctor grins, “Are you planning to marry him? Third time the charm?”
Kate stares at him open-mouthed – her cheeks have reached yet another level of red, and he should really create a scale from 0 to Kate-Lethbridge Stewart for cheeks’ redness – before trying to say something, but her voice chokes in her throat and she brings a hand to her neck, surprised, as if to force it out and answer him – yes, that is definitely a love bite.
“I. Am. Kidding.”
“I am honestly too old to cope with the UNIT leadership, aliens threats on a daily basis, and your jokes so early in the morning.”
“You’re not old, silly.”
“Thank you.”
Another sugar cube goes into his mug.
“You look cute together.”
Kate snorts, and looks away, a bit embarrassed, “Hopefully not at work.”
“Nah, you’re both too professional for that.”
“You’ll tell me. Passing by later today?”
“Why not?” the Doctor plops yet another sugar cube into his mug with a smile, “Already ruined your breakfast, why not your lunch, too?”
As she laughs, Colonel Ibrahim’s head pops into the living-room, “Katie, I’m leaving. Doctor, see you around.”
Waving – yet another thing he has inherited from the Eleventh – the Doctor watches the two of them leaving the room, her hand into his as soon as they are close enough, and smiles. Katie. She has only ever allowed her father to call her so, and only after many years of struggling – it hadn’t been the easiest father-daughter relationship, after all.
His smile grows bigger, “Sorry I ruined your breakfast!”
***
“I am sorry, Christofer.”
“What for? It’s not like he phoned to say he was coming, or anything.”
Kate giggles, it is easy with him, and helps him into his jacket, “You’ll miss breakfast.”
“I’ll grab a bite on my way to the office. See you there?”
“Of course.”
He stops, and stares at her for so long that Kate starts to get worried, “What?”
“Is he going to appear in the corridor, too?”
“I dearly hope not, just ignore he is even here.”
“Good.”
She is pinned against the wall on the corridor before she can even realise that – and that is not good, because if her reflexes are so poor, the next time some hostile life form tries to attack her she will not be able to defend herself – but his kiss makes her forget any consideration about her job in an instant.
By now, he knows how to kiss her, and yet, every time he still surprises her. As Kate passes her arms around his neck to keep him as close as possible, she can feel his hands on her waist, strong and stable, and yet extremely gentle, just like him – the person she has discovered exists behind the professional figure of the Colonel Ibrahim everyone at UNIT knows and respects is an ongoing, delightful surprise. Colonel Ibrahim is one thing, Christofer completely another, and only hers.
When he finally moves away from her, it is still too soon.
“Wow.”
“You said to ignore he was here,” Christofer shrugs, and Kate has to admit that his smile is rather distracting, “I am going to spend at least eight hours at your side pretending last night never happened and I missed breakfast. I really needed that kiss,” he kisses her again, lightly, “And also this one.”
“And you will be late if you keep going on like this.”
“Uh, don't want to make my boss angry.”
“Yes, I’ve heard she’s really someone nasty.”
“Just strict, but in a good way,” he lands another kiss on her smiling lips, “See you soon.”
“See me soon, too,” the Doctor’s head pokes out of the sitting-room door, a buttered croissant in his hand, and he waves it at them, “These are delicious. If you provide the same quality of food at UNIT, I will be for sure ruin your lunch.”
“Doctor!"