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Published:
2022-12-25
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2022-12-25
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7/7
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litany for a reunion

Chapter Text

“Goodness me.” The Doctor clicked his tongue disapprovingly, patting the side of the TARDIS as he glanced around them. “They do like to make things difficult, don’t they?”

It was quite ridiculous, after all, to set him down in the middle of a forest, with no sign of sentient life as far as the eye could see, and no instructions beyond travelling to the set coordinates. Perhaps not as bad as the time they had landed him in a fifty-first century city the size of a planet, and sent him off to sniff out a tiny temporal anomaly – but then, at least, he’d had an idea of what he was looking for.

Still, he supposed. If there really wasn’t anything around, an anomaly should be easy to spot.

Tapping the side of the TARDIS again in brisk farewell, he clicked the door shut behind him and strode off into the forest. Straight ahead was as good a direction as any, after all. Drawing in a deep breath, he let the air roll over his tongue, savouring the scent of damp soil, the isotopes in the air, the chill of the time-winds and the physical winds -

“Earth!” he exclaimed at last. “Goodness, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” He patted a tree trunk as he passed, as if it might somehow stand in for the whole planet. “I’d almost forgotten what it tasted like.”

But it was all coming flooding back, now, familiarity settling into his mind again. They were somewhere in Britain, judging by the foliage and the dampness. Early modern period, at a guess, if the lack of industrial pollutants in the air was anything to go off – but then again, he might simply be somewhere remote. And the breeze held a faint trace of autumn, just peeking through the shroud of summer. The first traces of mists, growing strong enough that the sunlight couldn’t quite burn them away.

“Well, this is pleasant,” he declared. “Quite peaceful, by the looks of things – though I suppose you’d say it won’t last,” he added, a little mournfully.

No answer emerged from the rustle of the leaves, and he sighed. Quite a shame, really. Jamie would have enjoyed this place, no doubt. But then – as a psychic imprint he wouldn’t have been able to see it, would he? So perhaps it didn’t make much of a difference, whether he was here or not.

Still, he thought, trudging on through the damp leaves. The fact of the matter was that he was seeing Jamie less and less, these days – and now there wasn’t even a flicker of him. Catching his lower lip between his teeth, he struck the toe of one shoe against the ground. A limp, wet leaf stuck to the spot, and he hobbled along for a few steps, scraping it off against a nearby root with a huff of frustration.

No doubt Jamie’s memories had returned to a point where the link could no longer exert any force to repair itself. And that was a good thing, surely, that Jamie had his memories back. He couldn’t be so selfish as to begrudge him the whole truth about his life, just for the sake of a few moments with a pale echo. And yet – not so long ago, the Doctor couldn’t even remember his face clearly. Now it seemed he was doomed to forget his voice, too. The thought had been clawing away at his chest for days, now, a slow, grinding sort of dread that he could do nothing to shake.

He was coming to the edge of the forest, the land beginning to rise beneath his feet. Pausing on the cusp of the slope, he braced his weight against the closest tree and stared out towards the sky.

“What do you think, hm?” he murmured. “Why haven’t they told us what we’re doing here?”

At least he still had the TARDIS, of course. Her presence was a constant, a warm hum at the back of his mind. He was never alone, not really, not so long as she was in range.

But goodness, was it too much to ask to have both of them? Jamie and the TARDIS, a consciousness on either side of his own, there whenever he turned to them. Two minds he trusted above very nearly all others. Even his own, at times.

Where Jamie might have replied with words, the TARDIS answered with images. A flow of memories, like a film played all out of order, springing feelings into his heart. Other times he’d been sent somewhere without clear instructions – and what had become of them.

“Yes, yes, I know,” he mumbled. “I know why they do it.”

All those other missions. Tasks the CIA knew he couldn’t stomach if they were honest with him from the start. It was just a way of getting him involved, he knew. Once he was far enough in to know what he had to do, of course, there was no getting out. Whereas if they’d told him -

Well, in the case of one or two of them – he might have been straight back on trial for refusing to work.

And yet still he kept following along, even if he didn’t know what awaited him. He’d accepted these new coordinates just as easily as if they’d offered him a clean, simple task. Curiosity killed the cat, as they liked to say on Earth – and it had always been his downfall, too. That had been abundantly clear to him for a very long time now.

So he knew, of course, that he would climb the hill. No matter what lay on the other side.

“Well,” he murmured, bracing one palm against his knee to push himself off and up the slope. “Let’s find out what they have in store for us this time, hm?”

* * *

Straightening up, Jamie pressed one hand against the small of his back, wiping the other over his brow. Autumn was beginning to bite into the afternoons, drawing the evenings closer – but there was still a bit of fight left in summer’s warmth.

“There ye go,” he said, tossing his whittling knife onto the table before him and tipping the wooden beastie into Sorcha’s chubby, grasping hands. “There’s your toy.”

She turned it over, her face splitting into a grin so wide he could count all her missing teeth. “What is it?” she asked happily.

This was always the hard part. He knew, of course, that it was a Trydorian mammoth, and that it’s six tusks were far more intimidating in reality than they seemed on a wee wooden toy – but sculpting it was one thing. Telling people about it was quite another.

Maybe he’d be better off sculpting real creatures, of course. But whittling out the little details had always helped to fix the images in his mind, winding them around muscle memory so they didn’t slip away with the flow of time. And once one of the children had one – well, they’d all wanted a strange creature of their own. He’d offered Sorcha a deer, but she’d looked at him with such pleading eyes and asked for one of his faerie beasties.

How had he been meant to resist?

“It’s an elephant,” he said. “Like they have in Africa. But a magical one, see? With wool like a sheep, an’ horns like a ram. An elephant from the Otherworld.”

Sorcha chewed on the edge of her lip, one finger tracing out the shape of the mammoth’s horn. “Did ye see an elephant?” she asked. “When ye were away?”

Of course he had. More than once, on more planets than he’d ever expected, strangely enough – but today he was thinking of Zoe, pressed up against the fence at a zoo to get a better look, marvelling at how big the elephants really were. She’d seen them in old holograms, she’d said, but never in real life. One of the beasts had wandered towards them, its great ears flapping idly, and she’d gasped at the sight of it, as enthralled as Sorcha was now. There had always been something small about her, a little bit of childishness that she’d pushed down for too long, never letting it grow up.

She’d been sent back, just as he had. He knew that now. All the way to her home, where people laughed and prodded and pried, and she turned away. That bit of childishness would be pushed down again, stowed away far from the sunlight.

Was she really alright, out there on her own?

“No,” he said, fixing an easy grin over his face. “No, not then. Maybe if we’d made it to London.”

This was his life now. He had to keep repeating that to himself, like a litany, a prayer, a plea that one day it might sink in. Nobody could know the truth. So he had to lie, to twist his words and his smile, contort himself into shapes that no longer fitted. Like Zoe must be doing, back home – and maybe like the Doctor, wherever he was. That was simply how it had to be, and no amount of wishing could change that.

He might have borne it better, if the Doctor’s ghost was still there to keep him company, sitting at the back of his mind. He’d carried the weight with a little more grace, back when he could slip away for an hour or two and give voice to all the thoughts he kept locked away. But he’d always been able to look after himself. That was what he’d told the Doctor, after all, so many years ago, when he’d thought only of stowing away in a little rowboat to head back home.

Sorcha was watching him, her head tilted to one side, her gaze pinning him down like an insect.

“Get on with ye, now,” he said gently, tapping at Sorcha’s shoulder. “Go an’ play with it, go on.”

“Thank you!” she chirruped, darting away as cheerfully as ever, and he shook his head fondly. That was wee children for you, he supposed. Seeing through to the truth of things, and then turning as merry as if they’d seen nothing at all.

Stretching his legs out in front of him, he laced his fingers together behind his head, peering up at the sky from beneath the shed’s roof. Chatter filled the air like smoke from the chimneys, drifting over from the rigs. Women’s voices were raised towards the sky, lilting back and forth in the steady rhythm of a waulking song. The clinking of metal on metal was rising from the smithy, a beat almost in time with the song and the murmur of conversation. The rest of the village was throwing themselves into the last of the summer weeks, eager for a good harvest after the torched fields of last autumn. He should be with them, out beneath the sky.

But here he was, cloistered away under the shadow of the barn’s roof, squinting out into the light. His throat was tightening, slowly but as surely as if he’d been shoved into a tight room, and the door shut behind him. Drawing a deep breath in and out, he fixed his eyes on the sky, the wheeling curves and contours of its clouds. That sky had been so open, once, a stretch of limitless possibility, a gateway to absolutely everywhere. But now -

Now it was too far away to touch.

Springing to his feet, he pressed his closed fist down against the table, blowing another breath out through his nose. Guilt twisted around his lungs, just as tight as the panic around his throat. He gritted his teeth, sweeping his gaze across the village, watching the bustle of it until his fingers had caught the rhythm, snapping open and closed against his palm. This world was big enough for him. More than big enough.

“Are ye alright?” It was Eòghann, ducking out of the smithy, tugging a glove from his hand. No doubt Sorcha had gone toddling inside, waving her new toy happily towards her father. He frowned, trotting down towards Jamie. “Ye seem a wee bit -”

“I’m fine,” Jamie interrupted, just a little too shortly. “I’ve just – got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

There wasn’t anything strange about that, was there? Who didn’t have a lot on their mind, these days?”

But Eòghann was still frowning, paused mid-step. “Are ye alright?” he repeated. “You’ve seemed a bit -” Shrugging, he gestured vaguely at Jamie. “You’ve not been yourself, lately,” he finished at last, a little awkwardly.

He was too much himself, these days. That was the problem.

“I’m fine,” he insisted.

“Hm.” Eòghann watched him for a moment longer, a touch of suspicion flickering over his face – but then he shrugged, turning away to trudge back towards the smithy. “Ye ought tae keep your feet on the ground,” he called over his shoulder. “That’s all I’m sayin’.”

“Aye,” Jamie agreed absently. “I will.”

How could he do that, when his fingers were itching to reach up and touch the sky?

Brushing his hands across his plaid, he hefted its fold higher over his shoulder and set off at a brisk walk. Something was tugging in his chest, an unease greater than any he had felt for a while. If only the Doctor were there, he thought to himself. Then he might be able to rid himself of the feeling. It had been so long since he’d seen him, after all. He’d been too busy to go to the willow tree, too caught up in the rhythm and beat of summer, too far away at the shieling house. Their secluded little spot by the river had been out of reach for too long.

He’d whittled more than ever, these past few months, spinning his memories into something he could clutch in his hands. And yet the Doctor had faded from him, somehow, his voice growing more distant, his visits growing further and further apart.

But summer was ending, now. He could be spared for an hour. And if he went to the willow tree – maybe the Doctor would be there, and he could figure out what was bothering him so much.

Winding his way through the houses, he quickened his gait as he broke out onto the moors, hurrying towards the forest.

* * *

The hill had been steeper than the Doctor expected, the climb sucking all the breath out of him – but now he was at the summit, the view was quite the reward in its own right. A serene patchwork of fields stretched out towards the horizon, broken here and there by copses of trees and the stout shapes of thatched houses. And behind was a river, burbling merrily along its ancient course, carving its way deeper into the rock beneath with every twist and turn. They were such splendid things, rivers. The flow of time turned physical, wearing away something as constant as stone, atom by atom. One had to admire their determination.

Jamie had spoken of a river, sometimes. A riverbank that he loved, even when the waters tumbled along quickly enough to sweep a grown man off his feet.

“Was it anything like this?” he murmured. “The place where you grew up?”

How splendid it would be, he thought, to see that place. Whatever hills and moors Jamie had rambled across, the winds and waters that had shaped him as surely as they had shaped the landscape.

But Jamie didn’t reply. He was gone, as ever.

“No,” he murmured to himself. “No, of course not.”

Even in Jamie’s absence, though, the silence was filled with chatter. Barely a few hundred metres away, the largest cluster of thatched rooves was humming with activity, people scuttling between stone walls like ants. They must be happy, the Doctor supposed – and a smile ghosted across his mouth at the thought. How delightful, to be so happily rooted to a place, anchored so firmly to its shapes. Not tied down, as he was these days, straining at the leash, but moored. Bobbing gently with the tide, and always returning home.

Still, he couldn’t quite envy them. Any mooring might turn to shackles, if left for long enough.

Turning on his heel, he shielded his eyes with one hand, squinting back at the river. The leaves were beginning to turn, their tips fading and curling into yellow and orange – and in amongst them was a lone shape, different to all the others. A willow, its bowed branches sweeping low over the ground. Weeping, where all the other trees stood tall and proud in their cloaks and crests of green. Even at this distance, he could see it swaying, ever restless.

In truth, he could feel no anomalies here. Not yet, at least. All was as it should be, a perfectly ordinary stretch of countryside. But a willow tree, all on its own, the only tree of its kind in the forest -

Well, it was a start, wasn’t it?

* * *

Brushing aside a handful of branches, Jamie ducked into the willow tree’s cradle. The shadow beneath enveloped him, even under the grey clouds blooming across the sky, the afternoon’s chill nipping a little more at his cheeks in the dampness of the forest. The canopy might be too small to hold entire worlds, these days, but it still felt far from the village.

Doctor,” he hissed cautiously. “Doctor, are ye there?”

No reply murmured out from the whisper of the trees.

But there was something, a twinge at the back of his mind, like whatever trail led from him to the Doctor was still there – and it was twisted. He only had to untangle it, somehow, and then the floodgates would open.

Or maybe the twist was all that was holding it together, and untangling it would break the link for good. How could he know?

Clapping his palm against the willow’s trunk, he paced a circle around its width once, twice, three times. Like there was some sort of ritual that would bring the Doctor back.

Jamie didn’t believe in that sort of thing. He hadn’t for a very long time, now. But it was worth trying, just for the sake of hoping that he might see the Doctor again. Turning on his heel, he swapped hands against the tree and began to pace back in the opposite direction. Maybe this was how he untangled the link, he thought. By unwinding it from the place he’d always returned to, the anchor he’d fixed them by. If he unwound it, he might be setting the Doctor free from his tether.

“Doctor?” he called out, more loudly this time. Loud enough that someone might hear it from outside the willow curtain, maybe – but he was tired of hiding. Tired of keeping all this pressed into his chest. “Doctor, where are ye?”

Stumbling to a halting stop, he rubbed his free hand over his face. The Doctor wasn’t coming. He had known that. Silly of him, really, to hope.

God, he was so tired.

Beyond the willow tree, something snapped, like a fallen branch too brittle to bear the weight of a man. The sound caught Jamie’s breath in his throat, thrumming with the weight of his heartbeat, and he snapped his head up, glancing around for its source.

“Hello?” he said warily. “Is someone there?”

* * *

That had been a voice. Calling out from ahead of him, by the willow tree.

And not just any voice, the Doctor’s mind shouted at him. A voice so familiar it resonated in his hearts, echoing back and forth between the two of them. The recognition of it struck him square in the chest, winding him as neatly as a physical blow might have done, and he stumbled back a step.

That had been Jamie’s voice, calling out to him. Jamie was somewhere here.

Swivelling around, he stared frantically out at the forest – but there was no sign of him. Not even a shape in the corner of his eye.

“Jamie?” he called back cautiously. “Are you – are you there?”

There was some sort of tug on the psychic link, he was sure of it. A pull drawing him closer, down towards the willow tree, like he was being led along blindfolded. In all these years they’d been apart – he’d never felt a pull like this before. This wasn’t a muffled call, a distant tug on along fishing line. This was here. A short, sharp snatch in the bottom of his stomach.

Earth. Britain. Early modern. A village of thatched rooves, and a forest on a riverbank.

He started to run.

“Jamie,” he called again, “Jamie, are you there -”

And then he was bursting through the willow’s branches, skidding to a halt in a swirl of leaves, and there was Jamie, standing right in front of him, bending the universe around him like real matter should, bending the Doctor’s universe around him like he always had -

All the Doctor could do was fling himself forward, wrapping his arms around Jamie as tightly as he could, burying himself in the link, the joyous thrill of a wall in his mind crumbling to dust.

* * *

The gap was closing, the call forwards fading away, the tug snapping like string stretched too taut and flicking back into place. There was nothing but the willow tree – and even that was faint, foggy, distant, a vague sphere enclosing them. Reality was very far away, now, shoved to the side by the rushing of the psychic link.

It was like drowning, the Doctor thought, being pulled over and tumbled over, lost amongst the spray and the foam and the surge of the current – but no, Jamie thought, it was like breathing after being suffocated, breaking out into the fresh air and hauling in great, wheezing gasps until your lungs burned with it.

And then they laughed, each laughing at the other’s giddy amusement until they weren’t quite sure who had first started it. Oh, one of them – both of them – thought, how they’d missed this, the rapid back-and-forth of thoughts, faster than words could hope for. One of the Doctor’s hands was cupping the back of Jamie’s neck, Jamie’s hands pushing up beneath the Doctor’s shirt, each of them seeking the press of skin against skin to strengthen the link. The bond was very nearly singing, now, burbling along like a river with all the thoughts flowing between them.

I missed you. I missed you. It’s been so long. Too long. Even longer.

I forgot what this was like. I could never forget, not really.

Words were loose, here, untethered, rolling in and out like a tide until they couldn’t tell one’s thought from the other – but there were times when words were better. Like the act of saying them aloud fixed the thought in place more firmly.

* * *

That was what Jamie had always thought, anyway, that some things needed to be said aloud – like singing a song or repeating a rhyme to remember something better. That had been his thought, he realised idly, definitely not the Doctor’s.

He surfaced with a gasp, like he really was breaking through water, striving for the surface. “I couldnae really forget,” he whispered breathlessly. “Not even at the start, I knew there was somethin’ -”

The Doctor said nothing, just leant forward and pressed his forehead against Jamie’s, his chest heaving. He wasn’t quite ready to emerge from the link, Jamie knew, and the flood of thoughts that thundered towards him were enough of an answer. I know, I know, I know, I know. I never doubted it for a moment.

For another few seconds, he lingered, his fingers tracing whorls on the back of Jamie’s neck, circling around the bone at the top of his spine – and then he opened his eyes with a gasp just a violent as Jamie’s, half-toppling backwards until Jamie caught him and hauled him upright.

“I know,” he murmured. “I know.”

Swallowing, Jamie let himself stumble back a bit, clapping the Doctor bracingly on the shoulders and letting his hands trail down his arms. They were both out of breath, as if they’d run a mile – and the Doctor had already run half the way here. He’d felt the memory of every shaky step. And yet he’d never felt so alive. Not even when they’d forged the bond for the first time, when he’d done it by accident, running on nothing more than desperation and adrenaline. This was pure joy, singing through his veins in time with the humming from the psychic link. Even now he could feel it with every brush of his skin against the Doctor’s, a constant melody in the back of his mind.

The link was back where it should be. In all the time it was gone – how had he never noticed what a gaping hole it left behind?

“Are ye real?” he gasped out, curling his fingers more firmly into the Doctor’s sleeves. The Doctor’s hand tightened against the back of his neck, tugging gently at his hair. “Actually real, this time?”

The Doctor let out a low chuckle, and Jamie couldn’t help but grin. It might have been the link, bleeding the Doctor’s amusement into his own – or it might just have been the sheer exhilaration of everything, of holding the Doctor, after all this time. He didn’t think it mattered, really.

“I, ah – I might ask you the same question,” the Doctor prodded in return. But his face split into a wide smile, his eyes sparkling with delight and disbelief. “Yes,” he said, his voice a little distant, full of wonder, like he hadn’t quite realised that what he was saying was the truth. “Yes, I do believe I’m real.”

As if he hadn’t felt real, in all the time they’d been apart. The thought drifted across from the Doctor’s mind, tumbling between them like it was caught on the breeze.

Instinct nearly sent Jamie toppling forward again, throwing himself head-first into the link. But they needed words for this part, he knew. Real, solid words spoken aloud into the air, with the sort of certainty that all the link’s shifting and flowing could never quite capture.

“I thought you’d never come back,” he said softly. Leaning over to one side, he tipped his head forward, pressing his forehead against the Doctor’s shoulder like he could speak in vibrations through his bones rather than in words. “Or – not that, exactly, but I thought -” He swallowed. “I knew there must’ve been somethin’ stopping ye. Some reason why ye couldnae come back to me. But I still – I did wonder, sometimes. If I might never see ye again.”

“Here – Jamie -” The Doctor was stepping back, his hands reaching up to cup Jamie’s cheeks and lift his head until he could look him in the eye. “Jamie,” he said again, the word more of a sigh than anything. “Of course I was coming back. No matter what happened, or – or how long it took -” He tapped his fingers briskly against Jamie’s cheeks. “I was always going to come and find you.”

There were explanations sitting on his tongue. Jamie could feel the weight of them, swirling together in his mind, like raindrops forming a cloud around a speck of dust.

But now wasn’t the time. They both knew that, really. There were a thousand things they needed to say to each other, a thousand stories to tell, a thousand explanations to give – but all of that could wait. Everything important had already passed between them, anyway, in those moments of swirling thought. A vague picture sat in his mind of what the Doctor wanted to say, its shape pressed into his memory even if he didn’t know the words – and the Doctor would be thinking the same about him, no doubt. The weight was lifted from their shoulders. The details could wait.

“Don’t say it now,” he murmured. A little uselessly, maybe, seeing as the Doctor must already have known what he was going to say. “Tell me later. When you’re ready.”

Somewhere, there was relief. He wasn’t sure if it was his or the Doctor’s.

Reaching up one hand, he brushed his thumb beneath the Doctor’s eye, tracing out the lines there. He’d looked so tired, when they’d last seen each other, the weight of all their time apart pressing down on him. The traces of that weight were still there now, etched into him like frost biting through stone. But there was something light radiating out from him, too, a delight that he hadn’t seen from the Doctor since they’d been pulled apart.

“But I do expect ye tae tell me,” he added. “When you’re ready. I need ye tae tell me what’s happened – an’ I need ye to listen tae me, too, when it’s my turn.”

The Doctor nodded, chewing on the corner of his lower lip. He opened his mouth again, his breath poised – and when Jamie slipped his hand down to press his palm over his lips, the Doctor batted it gently away.

“No, Jamie,” he murmured. “You’re, ah – you’re quite right, everything else can wait – but not this. This is important.”

This was something different. Something not even the psychic link had let Jamie peer into. Lowering his hand, he tilted his head to one side. “Go on.”

“Things are, ah – different,” the Doctor began haltingly. “I – I have been travelling – but it’s not like it was before. I simply don’t have the freedom I once did. It’s the Time Lords, I – they -” He swallowed. Drew a deep breath in and out. “Ah – I would quite understand if that – changed things for you. But -”

His hand slipped away from the back of Jamie’s neck, his fingers lacing together, his thumbs toying against each other idly. Jamie settled his own hands over the Doctor’s shoulders, gripping onto him like he might drift away.

“Would you come with me, Jamie?” the Doctor asked. “To, ah – to travel?”

God, how long had he been waiting to hear those words?

Not nearly so long, he knew, as the Doctor had been waiting to ask them.

And all he could do was wheeze out a long breath of laughter and relief, tossing his head back and breathing it up towards the fragments of open sky. Every shackle that had held him down these past two years was breaking, shattering beneath the weight of the Doctor’s soft, tentative request. His shoulders rolled back, and he pushed himself up a little taller, like he’d been holding himself hunched over for all this time.

Looking up at the willow tree now – its great dome seemed to hold the whole sky, like it was some kind of observatory. Not the universe itself, but a place to see it from.

“Aye,” he said, the word fighting its way out past his breathless smile. “Aye, ‘course I will.”

And then the Doctor was laughing, just as breathless as Jamie was – and Jamie could feel him settling, anchoring, letting himself be drawn back into orbit, finding his way to safe harbour. Dampness sprang to his eyes unbidden.

“What’re we waitin’ for, then?” he asked. “If we’re gonnae go – let’s just go now.”

“But, ah -” The Doctor glanced over his shoulder, peering through the branches of the willow. Out towards the real world. “Your home – shouldn’t you -”

Of course he should. Reason dictated that he should go back to the village, say his farewells, invent another half-truth to explain it all away. It would be easy enough, after all. He’d had so much practice.

But he’d had enough of secrecy, and lying. And if he waited for just a single moment longer – how did he know that this impossible, ridiculous chance wouldn’t slip through his fingers?

Cupping the Doctor’s cheeks in his hands, he kissed him, soft and slow enough to steal the breath from him. The Doctor swayed in place for a moment, his hands fumbling at his sides – and then he was kissing back, almost reverently, like Jamie was something divine. His hands settled over Jamie’s, fingertips dipping in between Jamie’s knuckles.

One thought slipped between them. Jamie couldn’t tell which one of them it had come from – but it spread through every nerve, every vein, every bone in his body, filling him up until his chest ached with it. I love you.

He pulled back, just an inch or so, close enough to let the Doctor lean forward and kiss him again. “Aye,” he murmured, smiling against the Doctor’s mouth. “My home. I’m ready tae go home. Back tae the TARDIS.”

“Well, then.” They were too close for him to see the Doctor smiling – but it was written plainly enough in his eyes, leaping along the link between them. “What are we waiting for?”

One hand dropped back to his side. The wound the other around one of Jamie’s, lacing their fingers together and pulling it away from his cheek. They stood there for a moment, their hands clasped between them, one fist against each of their hearts, beating as frantically as if they'd already started running. The Doctor’s double heartbeat thrummed through Jamie’s own chest, the vibration of it so visceral that Jamie didn’t know whether the feeling was the Doctor’s or his own. Something was glinting in the Doctor’s smile, a spark of mischief that he hadn’t seen since they’d been parted, a joy at the whole universe that Jamie had never seen anyone else wear - and then the Doctor was dashing away, pulling Jamie along with him, the pair of them splitting the air with their laughter.

Ducking beneath the branches of the willow tree, they burst back into the world, racing towards the horizon.

Notes:

this'll be the last fic of the year for me!! it's been a fun one. if you've folowed along for any time at all then hey, thanks for being here, hope you enjoyed as much as I did <3