Chapter Text
Slave pen code: WLG-19
Duration of Training: 1 year 3 months (ongoing)
Training notes:
Food increased just enough to keep the product alive and awake. Back on the obedience training now that it knows what dying truly feels like.
. . .
When he reached the outskirts of the village, Jamie turned and saw he'd beaten the Doctor by a not-insignificant distance. He didn't want to spoil the moment, but it was good to know he could outrun him. He made a mental note in case he ever needed to.
When the Doctor caught up he was laughing, and panting a little. He took his handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopped at his brow. “Oh, oh, that was marvellous, yes. Great fun.”
“Aye,” Jamie agreed. He had just about caught his breath, and took a big huff, tasting the air properly. Fresh. Bracing. Oh wow, he was outside . Had it rained, recently? Jamie didn't know if rain was a universal concept or not; he opened his mouth to ask, but stopped when he saw the Doctor, who was staring intently at something behind Jamie. Without taking his eyes off the scene, he crouched, motioning for Jamie to do the same. Jamie obeyed - only because his own danger sense was suddenly twitching.
They hid behind a stone wall, peeking over the top. Halfway down the field contained within it, a scene was unfolding. A tiny box, not much bigger than the TARDIS and presumably not any bigger on the inside, was parked heavily on the soil. A spaceship? All around it sprouted odd-looking plants that resembled rocks more than any flora Jamie had ever seen. They were angular and flat-edged, each side catching the light in a different way, so that they almost shone like cut crystals. Dotted on all sides were small blobs of differing colours; Jamie couldn’t tell what their texture was, only that they seemed to be growing on the rocky plant like berries.
Four people- four aliens- were also standing in the field. It was clear to Jamie that they weren’t all the same species. Three of them were tall, almost two metres by the look of them, wearing shining full-body suits and helmets which came down over their faces. Each one brandished a weapon; a gun or a sword. The lone other alien was smaller, far smaller, her skin green and dappled like a woodland floor. Her head tapered into what Jamie could only describe as… a plant. It looked like a plant was growing out of her head.
“Look, you know the drill,” said one of the tall spacemen. “This time I think… sixty-five percent?”
The small alien’s face was ashen. “Six- you can’t!” she spluttered. “We’ll face starvation, we’ve barely replenished since the last time you came…”
Jamie glanced at the Doctor, who was frowning deeply, observing the scene like a hawk. Jamie did the same, his eyes wide.
“You want a taste of our persuasive abilities?” the spaceman sneered, raising his gun and pointing it straight at her. She swallowed, and Jamie saw that her legs were shaking. His own hands slowly curled into fists. He didn't understand much of this interaction, but he knew cruelty when he saw it, and Jamie had prided himself on being a defender for as long as he could remember.
A hand on his made him jump. The Doctor, in Jamie’s peripheral vision, shook his head.
Jamie's first instinct was to defy him, of course. He held back only for the small alien's sake: perhaps escalation wasn't the best idea right now. Jamie grit his teeth and stayed hidden.
“Fine. Fine. I- I suppose we’ll make d-”
“Good,” the spaceman interrupted, stowing his gun back by his hip. “We’ll be back. You know the drill by now.”
Weapons lowered, the three spacemen withdrew to their ship, the transaction clearly finalised. The fresh breeze seemed to have soured. As they departed, Jamie looked back to the Doctor, hoping for some sort of direction. The Doctor was nodding to himself, seemingly deep in thought.
“I think I know where we are,” the Doctor announced with a touch of grandeur. He looked perfectly comfortable despite being crouched behind a wall.
“Aye?” Jamie prompted, just about hiding his doubt.
The Doctor nodded vigorously. “Yes, those twin suns and the way they’re going to just skim the surface of the horizon… plus these curious, ah, curious little stems on the head of the native species, and the crops they harvest, hm, yes… yes, Jamie! I’m sure of it. We’re on the planet of Stokkseyri. How lovely.”
One thing at a time . “How do you know the suns will- what was it you said?”
“They’ll barely set. When one goes below the horizon, the other remains, almost all of the time. They very seldom align and set together.”
“Barely any nighttime, then?”
“Exactly, my boy.”
Jamie could hardly believe his luck. All the sunlight he could have ever dreamed of. Glancing down, he noticed that he had two shadows. “But how could you tell , Doctor?”
“Well, when you’ve visited as many places as I have, you get rather good at calculating orbits and whatnot just from a quick glance. You’ll have to take my word for it.”
“Ach, fine,” Jamie said. That he would, but the Doctor had still explained it all to him. As he always seemed to do. Jamie liked it very much.
“I didn’t like the look of that exchange one bit, mind,” the Doctor rumbled, and Jamie nodded in agreement. “I wonder if we could help them out?”
“Really?”
“It happens more often than you’d think, Jamie. People and civilisations and the rest needing a bit of help. Would you mind joining me for it?”
Jamie looked back out at the scene. The spaceship was now long gone, leaving one forlorn Stokkseyrian alone in her field. She was staring into the middle distance: if Jamie had to guess, trying to figure out how she’d break the news to her village. “Mmhm. I think we’d better help.”
The Doctor smiled warmly and heaved himself up. The Stokkseyrian spotted him in an instant and the Doctor gave her a wave, hopping over the wall and waiting for Jamie to do the same.
“Oh, Jamie,” the Doctor said as they walked over. Jamie nodded for him to continue. “You fought in Culloden, didn’t you?”
“Aye, I did.”
“Well, your scars can be from Culloden. If you want.”
Jamie blinked. Of course. Of course. “Thanks,” he said lamely. He felt at once embarrassed and acutely grateful. The exchange he’d just witnessed and the wonders of visiting a sky world had been so engrossing that, for a little while, he’d managed to forget himself.
“Right, well, once more unto the breach?”
“Oh, aye.” Jamie tried to sound like he understood.
The Stokkseyrian eyed them warily as they approached but, to Jamie's approval, held her ground. By the time they were close enough to hold a conversation, they were towering over her.
Jamie privately enjoyed the moment. Even before two years on his knees, he'd been short in Scotland, accustomed to looking up. In many ways it was a small marvel that for all the alien forms Jamie had seen, the Doctor was almost his exact height. Just a smidge taller. Almost nothing when Jamie had his boots on.
“Who are you?” asked the Stokkseyrian. “Where did you spring from?”
“We're travellers. I'm the Doctor.”
After a nod from the Doctor, Jamie added, “Jamie McCrimmon.”
Oh my god. I'm talking to someone else. Someone who doesn't know what I am. I'm really doing it.
“You’re too late,” she said. “We’ve only thirty-five percent left and you can’t- you can’t take that, too.” She hid it well, but Jamie could see her fear, deepening the lines on her face.
“We’ll do nothing of the sort,” the Doctor said, opening his palms. “On the contrary, we only recently arrived here and saw that terrible display, and we'd like to help.”
Jamie nodded. He expected the Stokkseyrian to scoff, or make them prove it, but her face brightened instantly. Even the stalk atop her head lifted.
“Oh, how wonderful. Thank you! You'll really help us?”
“I think it's just dreadful, coming here and taking your crops you worked so hard growing, don't you Jamie?”
“Aye,” Jamie said forcefully. “There's no honour in that.”
I'm doing it, I'm doing it!
“Well… what can you do?” she asked, very fairly in Jamie’s opinion, but the Doctor immediately began huffing.
“Oh, I haven’t had the time to figure out details yet,” he said as if it were obvious. “How long until those bullies return?”
“They're called Avolans. They’ll be back soon - two or three mealtimes, usually. That was the advanced party, to pretend it's a negotiation rather than a threat. They tell us what’s what, and we make sure everyone’s out of the way and the land is prepped for when they come with their harvester. It's a nasty thing.”
“They’ve certainly got it down to a fine art,” the Doctor said, a little wryly. “I’m sure my companion and I can come up with a plan of action.”
Companion , now that was a new one.
“In that case, I must take you into town and we can get you introduced. Oh- I’m Ketill, also.” She took off at a fierce pace, trotting through the field and not looking back to see if the Doctor and Jamie were following. They dutifully began jogging after her.
“That went rather well,” the Doctor commented soon after, once Ketill had well and truly left them in the dust.
“If all Stokkseyrians are like that lassie, they must be a mighty trusting sort of people.”
The Doctor hummed, low and thoughtful. “Yes. Good, Jamie. Hang onto that thought, why don’t you?”
Before Jamie could query that, or think too hard about how the small praise made him feel, they had arrived into the village. Ketill was waiting patiently for them.
The heart of the village was like an extension of the lush green surroundings, as if it had grown naturally rather than been built by hand; every winding street followed the curve of the earth, rising and falling to accommodate tree roots and streams, and homes were nestled atop one another as the village itself climbed the hill to overlook the valley, where the rocky crops grew. Everyone would see when the Avolans returned, Jamie realised. They’d all have to watch.
The buildings were part brick and part grove; all shapes and sizes to accommodate the trees that grew freely around and among them, and in every direction Jamie looked there were the twin shadows, the soft sunlight streaming through leaves and making each mossy rooftop glitter with dew. It must have rained. There were still puddles dotted about, draining back into the ground.
Ketill had roused quite a crowd, and once she saw that the Doctor and Jamie had made it without getting lost, the now sizeable troupe made their way to a community hall. It looked strangely familiar, in terms of the essentials. Jamie could see a small stage at the back end, but the rest of the space was open and unimpeded, perfect for dances, and the walls were bursting with childlike drawings, pictures and notices.
Stools and chairs were hastily retrieved and Ketill set the scene with the grim resilience of someone who had delivered this news many times before. She stood on top of a stool to address the crowd, while all else sat down, the Doctor included. Jamie hesitated, but a spark of his old bravery flashed through him. No, he wanted to stay standing, and he did so, just behind the Doctor’s chair. The Doctor glanced up and, rather than tell him off, gave Jamie a reassuring smile.
Ketill soon had the crowd of Stokkseyrians well and truly rattled by the Avolans’ latest demand.
“We can't!” someone shouted, aghast. Jamie's breath caught at the sudden noise.
“How could they do this to us?” another fumed. The Doctor cleared his throat and pulled himself to his full height, holding up his hands peacefully.
“Now now, please don't shout,” he began. A few Stokkseyrians narrowed their eyes at him. Jamie couldn't help but think - there were so many of them, and only two of himself and the Doctor, surely they wouldn't, they wouldn't…?
“Why not? After what Ketill has just told us?”
Because my pet here is very damaged and gets scared of loud noises, isn't that funny?
“Because you won't have to give up anything. Not one singular percentage point. I promise.”
That caught their attention. Jamie watched on in quiet awe as the Doctor managed to avoid their, again, very fair questions of how exactly he would do this and who the hell he even was. What mattered was the warmth and sincerity with which he said he would help. That was all, really, and it worked. It gave Jamie… pause, but he didn’t have much time to think while the two of them were being welcomed as guests. One Stokkseyrian scuttled off to secure them room and board, while another promised to get them fed. “Lovely hospitality,” the Doctor murmured to Jamie as their new hosts hurried away in all different directions. Once a few of them had left, the rest soon followed, needing to return to their day jobs or relay the news about the Avolans and the new arrivals. The Doctor wandered over to one of the walls, admiring the art. Jamie stayed in the centre, looking up at the sky through a window.
Very, very trusting people indeed. It made Jamie feel a little sorry for them, but also bitter, that their existence had clearly been so undisturbed before the Avolans that they still saw no reason to avoid strangers from space.
"I say, Jamie.” Without looking at him, the Doctor beckoned him over with one of his clumsy, hand-flapping motions. "I reckon you could read this."
Hatred instinctively boiled up. The Doctor was trying to humiliate him in front of- well- Jamie glanced around and realised they had been left quite alone. For his own satisfaction, then. Jamie pushed the red mist back down and went over to stand beside the Doctor, allowing himself a closer look. Looking at the words, he conceded they were all very short, and apparently in English. Perhaps he could. Wouldn't that be something?
The text was large, and bold; instead of regular written script, it was as if the paper itself had been cut to form the letters. They were pinned to a flat board, with flowers growing along the edges.
Jamie lifted a finger and traced the words very slowly. The first word was a little trickier, so he started with the second.
"Yuh, ah, nuh... yan? Of the... yan of the day?"
The Doctor nodded, palming his hands together happily. "Uh-huh. And what's that first word?"
Jamie folded his arms and leaned back, already feeling pleased with himself. This was a walk in the park. "Nuh…nnn, oh, it's a split digraph, isn't it, with the E on the end? Is it ‘nice’?"
"Splendid, Jamie!" the Doctor smiled broadly, and Jamie returned it. Why would the Doctor try to humiliate him? Jamie could only read because of him. It was practice.
“What’s a yan, Doctor?”
“Must be the animals they have here,” he said.
"Nice yan of the day... oh, and there's the wee fella himself," Jamie said, looking at the small picture pinned below the accolade. It looked similar to a cat, only with a smaller head and bigger paws. Its fur was dappled like a newborn deer, mimicking the dotted sunlight of a forest floor. “Why should it only be for a day, though?”
“It’s because the days here last for… well, I’d say… perhaps a week?”
“Oh, aye, you mentioned,” Jamie said, able to join in, to understand. “The suns don’t set very often.”
“It’ll mean you’ll have to pay attention to when you’re tired, Jamie. Humans are meant to have their sun to tell them when it’s time to sleep and time to be awake.”
Jamie went cold. It only took half a second of silence for the Doctor’s eyebrows to shoot up, mortified. “Oh, Jamie, my apologies. I didn’t mean- oh dear, that was a very silly thing for me to say.”
“No, but you’re right ,” he mumbled. He had always felt tired and disoriented in the warehouse. He’d missed the sun with his entire body. “Um, I'll pay attention, like you said.”
“There’s a good lad,” the Doctor said, and once again the praise lifted a weight on Jamie despite it all. “We’ll go and see where we’ll be staying, in a bit.”
“You don’t want to go back to the TARDIS?”
“What, up that whopping hill? No thanks,” he said playfully, rocking back on his heels and exhaling with a great big smile. “I’d much rather enjoy this planet while we’re here, anyway.”
Jamie nodded. So did he. Was that okay? Was he allowed to enjoy it too?
The Doctor certainly didn’t seem like he wanted to pack Jamie away and explore on his own. He suggested they look around the village, and Jamie assented, sticking dutifully by the Doctor’s side as they took in the natural beauty of their surroundings, mixed with the unobtrusive and inviting Stokkseyrian architecture. They even saw a few yans, stretched out in the perpetual sun; the Doctor tickled one of them under the chin.
The Stokkseyrians had been so gentle up to now that Jamie almost felt silly when they were eventually directed to their accommodation and he still expected a cage. Instead, though, a sweet innkeeper whose head-stalk was squat and thick like an oak tree took them up several flights of stairs, climbing the very side of the valley itself, until she trusted them enough to find their own way. “Straight down that corridor, final door on your left,” she pointed, before departing with a tilt of her head.
"They didn't think I was your slave, then?" Jamie asked, once he and the Doctor were alone again.
"You're not my slave, Jamie," the Doctor corrected, trotting down the hall. "And no. You won't find any slaves here. I think they, ah, well-”
As he spoke, he unlocked the inn door with a click and entered, revealing the double bed sat lavishly at the end of the room. There were even yellow oval-shaped petals dusted along the pillows, glowing peacefully.
“Yes, well, that's what you get when you don't clarify things,” the Doctor muttered, mostly to himself.
Jamie's stomach was doing flips. The Doctor would take him now for sure. The opportunity was too perfect.
“Let me see…” the Doctor continued as he strolled into the room, oblivious to Jamie's sudden panic. “Aha!”
“Wait, D-Doctor,” Jamie began, wondering why he was even bothering to bargain with him - he should have swung at him already, the Doctor’s back was turned and this was the perfect time to hit him, and he was only hesitating because he was rotten and cowardly and stupid. Had it all been a trick, then? Had everything been leading up to this? It seemed ludicrous, but then the old Jamie would have considered life on other planets ludicrous, too. “I won’t-”
“Yes, this will do,” the Doctor interrupted, having seen something terribly interesting around a corner. When Jamie hesitantly stepped after him, he saw the Doctor staring at a handsome blue sofa that stretched across the far wall. The right hand side of it was normal enough, with two wooden legs supporting it, but at some point it warped into a far more earthen structure, growing into the very wall itself. The end result actually looked very comfortable, as if it had been slept in a great many times and had grown to cradle a body perfectly. To demonstrate, the Doctor flopped down and breathed an exaggerated sigh of contentment, crossing his arms behind his head just to complete the picture. “Lovely. You can have the bed, Jamie.”
“I…” Jamie was stumped. There was nothing to fight off, currently, and that left him feeling strangely lost. “You mean, you won’t…”
The Doctor shook his head calmly. “No. I won’t ever do that, my boy.”
“Okay, because, because if you try anything I’ll cut you down, you hear?” Jamie said, trying to keep the wobble out of his voice. Never mind that he didn’t have anything to cut the Doctor down with. Never mind that the longer he stayed with him, the more the thought of hurting the Doctor turned his stomach.
The Doctor nodded seriously all the same. Jamie had the unshakeable feeling that he was being humoured. “I know. It won’t come to that, don’t you worry. Why don’t we see if we’ve a nice view from up here? Certainly walked up enough knobbly staircases to deserve one.”
Jamie exhaled, feeling a little more secure. He just wouldn’t sleep. He’d be alright - he’d gone without sleep many times before. The Doctor nudged open a door that led to a small balcony. He wanted to look out at Stokkseyri, and Jamie did too: already he longed to be back outside, now that he’d tasted it. He’d forgotten how wide a space could be. How he had to turn his head to look at the sky from end to end.
Jamie also wanted to lighten the mood. His time being outside so far had consisted of one dizzying high and now that they were back in a bedroom everything felt precarious again, and he was so sick of being on the backfoot and trying to plan for a thousand different scenarios and fighting off old memories. He wanted to fill his senses with this new sky world and get along with the Doctor.
Yeah, he did, didn’t he?
Ugh, god. Jamie couldn’t stop chasing those highs even though he knew, he knew, that the fall would hurt worse than ever.
The Doctor and Jamie stood side by side on the balcony, and Jamie barely noticed that he was copying the Doctor; his deep breaths, his hands on hips, his shoulders back and face to the sky. He suddenly thought he might cry. He had dreamed of this every night in his cage. It felt so bittersweet to have it and still be someone’s property.
After a minute or so, the Doctor broke the silence. “I was wondering, Jamie, and I hope you don't mind me asking…” Jamie looked over, waiting for him to continue. “I was a little concerned that you'd not like the inhabitants here, given that they're aliens too. A-Although, I'd never let anyone hurt you, you understand.”
It was a fair question, but any reference to the warehouse, even as indirect as this, made him feel vulnerable. Seeing the Doctor was suddenly too painful, and Jamie instead stared back out, to the climbing valley and the fields of those stony little plants with their colourful fruits.
“It was all aliens at the warehouse, aye, but they were all aliens in the cages as well. If they took other humans I never… I never saw them.”
“Ah. Yes, yes of course, Jamie.”
“And I don't recognise these ones. Never seen them before.”
“That's good. That makes sense. You won't have seen, well, over ninety-nine percent of all alien life.”
Jamie hummed his agreement. The Stokkseyrians were very pleasant indeed. There must be so many other planets like this one, or not, but other planets that were uniquely friendly and interesting and pleasing to the eye. In another life, maybe, Jamie would be able to-
“You know, Jamie,” the Doctor said “Did you notice anything funny about our little bullies, back there? Anything not quite right?”
“Yes,” Jamie said, happy to be asked and to have the subject changed. He caught the Doctor’s eye and held it. “The one with a sword was holding it all wrong. Had one hand wrapped around the other. Looked like an eejit.”
“And that one closer to us, his gun wasn’t even calibrated properly,” the Doctor mused.
“Why would that be?”
“What do you think?” the Doctor asked gently.
Jamie leant back, folding his arms and thinking. “Ketill said they’ve been here plenty of times before. Maybe… maybe they don’t need to bother with a proper show of strength, anymore? I mean, this lot just handed their crops right over.”
The Doctor planted his elbows on the balcony edge and held his face up. “Hmm. I wonder.”
A knock on the hotel room door made Jamie flinch and the Doctor turn around. “I’ve brought you some food,” came the innkeeper’s voice, to Jamie’s relief and the Doctor’s joy.
And so, dinner was served. The Doctor and Jamie settled back down on the balcony, the Doctor cross-legged on the floor and Jamie with his legs stretched out in front of him so as not to show up his kilt. It didn’t take him long to discover that he could fit his legs through the bars of the balcony railings, and dangle his feet in the air; so he did just that. The food, it turned out, was a plate of their crops, exactly as they grew in the ground (flecks of dirt still clung to the bottom of them). They were served unceremoniously on a large dish, with two small bowls balanced on the side.
“Oh, I say,” the Doctor commented happily. “This looks exciting.”
“We can see what all the fuss is about,” Jamie said, making the Doctor laugh.
The Doctor somehow seemed to know instinctively how to serve the strange plants - one small bowl was handed to Jamie, the other balanced on the Doctor’s knee, and then he went across each stony plant, his fingers carefully plucking the colourful blobs and sharing them equally between their two bowls. This close up, Jamie could see that the blobs were fuzzy and had a bit of squish to them. Like raspberries, he decided.
Once they both had five pieces of fruit, the Doctor sat back a little and popped a red one into his mouth. “Plenty more there, Jamie, so you can have as much as you like. But give them a try first, and see if you like them.”
Jamie chose a yellow one and chewed it warily. “Hm, they’re good, Doctor.” He tried a few more in quick succession. “Oh, they’re all flavoured a wee bit differently. These green ones are the best, to be sure.”
The Doctor hmph- ed in acknowledgement, motioning for Jamie to pass his bowl over so he could refill it. Passing it back, Jamie noticed that the Doctor had given him all the green ones. He smiled to himself.
The little fruits were surprisingly filling, and the light of the twin suns extremely hot when you weren’t under much shade: the Doctor and Jamie drifted inside on autopilot, and soon both found themselves half-asleep on the floor, the Doctor propped against the sofa and Jamie against the bed. There was something about the Doctor’s little legs with his trousers that went all the way up his waist that Jamie found very endearing. His eyes brushed over them absently as they lay there. “So hot,” the Doctor huffed.
“We’ve no head stalks like the Stokkseyrians. They must get plenty shade from them.” It seemed a plain enough comment to Jamie, but the Doctor gave him a delighted grin.
“That’s smart, Jamie. Very smart.”
Jamie’s heart did a funny little turn, a small burst of light shooting out from it. He realised he didn’t know what to say. It didn’t matter, however. The Doctor had idly picked up one of the rocky plants, picked clean and now sporting lots of small blob-sized indents where they had been growing. “Those were tasty,” the Doctor murmured. “But perhaps they’re better if you’re an Avolan?”
“Aye, probably,” Jamie said. He forced himself to keep his eyes open, no matter how much they were drifting down, heavy and compelling. He couldn’t fall asleep, he couldn’t, because he would trip and stumble into another nightmare - and the nightmares were fine, well, they were awful but they were as daily and unavoidable as water - but they made him loud. Loud and annoying. The Doctor would have to decide whether he wanted to keep Jamie awake or whether to put the gag in - either way, Jamie knew he couldn’t tolerate the noise of it.
Jamie was sure he’d choose the gag. He seemed to prefer Jamie rested rather than sleep deprived, and the gag was the only way he could cope with sharing a room with him (oh god, they were sharing a room - the realisation seemed to only just hit him with its full force). The thought of going back to that state, reduced to animalistic grunts and moans, drooling, made him feel nauseated and scared.
It was inevitable unless Jamie could stay awake, but here he was, not even a day in. A small part of him pleaded that it was hardly surprising: he had run for the first time in years, and he was on a new planet, a sky world after all this time, and he had met people and spoken to them and tried their food and walked among them. All of that had left his weak body tired.
He didn’t know what to do. If he told the Doctor, he’d- Jamie wiped a hand down his face, hating it, hating the flashbacks that sent convulsions through his body. If he did something so stupid as advertised to the Doctor that he was about to lie down and lower all of his defences, he was going to get fucked. Perhaps the Doctor would see what all the other aliens at the warehouse saw, and he’d not be able to resist. The thought of the Doctor seeing Jamie asleep made him sick; still and vulnerable, his legs easily pulled apart, perhaps even blissfully silent in the short time before his nightmare started. Jamie would wake up to it, taking a few seconds to realise that this wasn’t another dream, this was real, the pain was real, the look on the Doctor’s face was real as he cooed and shushed him and told him to go back to sleep.
Jamie’s breath hitched at the painful thoughts. When had he closed his eyes again? He tried to open them, to come back to reality, but instead he felt paralysed by what he was seeing in his mind’s eye. He knew it was stupid to feel as if he were any more vulnerable here than in the TARDIS, where a bell would only have announced that he was about to get raped rather than give him any time to stop it ( stop it, how funny, Jamie had never been able to stop it). He was stupid for thinking that this wasn’t going to happen eventually, for thinking that this might be like all the things he dreamed of in his cell, where he was able to go up into the stars and explore and be free from his body. This wasn’t that. Stokkseyri was unbelievably beautiful, and the people were kind, and Jamie wanted to help because that was an instinct in him that went deeper than his two years and three months, but he wasn’t that same young man anymore. Jamie couldn’t escape himself and he existed to be fucked, and humiliated, and he was the Doctor’s living property, a sex toy that walked and talked when his owner allowed it. He had never felt the pain of having to remind himself that when he was in the warehouse; this was new, because he kept forgetting himself, kept drifting away with silly thoughts and hopes and every time he crashed back down, it hurt worse, because each time he was falling from a greater height.
That isn’t true, a voice said. How many times do you do this to yourself? How many times do you keep pulling away?
Jamie wanted to listen, but there were others talking to him too, louder and more upset, with rougher voices because they had been sampled recently and it hurt his throat to cry that much and that loudly. Jamie owed it to them to be sensible, and guarded, and not forget what he was. He hadn’t spent all that time being taught it to forget it now.
But, but, but. But the Doctor said he was smart. The Doctor let him run. The Doctor gave him the green fruits - and that almost made him laugh, because Jamie really was a silly creature. The Doctor was going to help the people on this planet. Why did Jamie’s head have to split in two at every junction? Why was everything so confusing? Why did the urge to trust the Doctor never go away, and why did Jamie wish for him whenever he was hurting or afraid?
It was against this ugly backdrop that Jamie slipped into unconsciousness; like he was trapped under a sheet of ice and sinking into the darkness.
. . .
It didn’t take long for the Doctor to realise Jamie had fallen fully asleep and been greeted with another nightmare. It started with small isolated movements, shifting and twitching his head, half-hearted kicks, emotions flitting across his face. Then there were the noises, mostly small grunts and gasps. His mouth opened and closed as if trying to speak without any air.
Soon he was fitting dreadfully, his head banging into the bedframe, his legs kicking wildly against his attacker, unseen to the Doctor but very real to Jamie, and he was forming words now. Begging to be left alone. “No,” he moaned, “no!”
The Doctor brought himself over and knelt beside him. Jamie was exhausted, but the Doctor couldn’t bear to listen to him suffer. Did he have nightmares every night, the Doctor wondered? Was this how he always cried after the Doctor said goodnight?
The Doctor grasped his shoulder and spoke to him, low and firm. “Jamie, wake up. You’re dreaming. It’s okay. It’s just a dream.”
Jamie opened his eyes and immediately swung a fist at the Doctor with a horrified gasp. The Doctor caught both of his arms as gently as he could, wrapping his fingers around the skin there, below his healing wrists. “Get off,” Jamie snarled, but the Doctor could feel telepathically that Jamie was still trapped in his nightmare. He wasn’t seeing the Doctor, and what he was seeing wasn’t the Doctor’s business.
“It’s me, Jamie, it’s the Doctor,” he urged, as Jamie writhed beneath him. His thoughts were wild and catastrophic; the Doctor felt like a deer caught in a hunter’s trap, its desperate pulling only rending its own skin further. He felt- Jamie felt- completely, utterly hopeless, but unable to let his body go limp.
“No, no! Get the fuck off me, I’ll kill you!” Jamie roared, and the Doctor’s fingers against his skin could feel more and more fear pushing up like bile. Right on cue, when Jamie next spoke his voice cracked. “No, let me go…”
The overwhelming, swirling certainty of Jamie’s thoughts made the Doctor’s head spin. For a second, the Doctor knew, as surely as Jamie knew, that he was going to be raped. He blinked away tears and pushed back to reality.
“It’s me, Jamie, and I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.” Or to receive another punch, but the Doctor kept that to himself. Jamie’s eyes focused on him, and he stopped pulling. As the Doctor carefully unwound his fingers, Jamie pushed forward, just a tiny bit, so that their skin was still touching; the Doctor’s palms supporting his arms.
“Doctor…?”
“You were having a nightmare, my boy. I couldn’t sit by and let- well, yes. So I woke you up.”
A knock on the door made them both turn sharply. Jamie pressed himself another hair’s breadth into the Doctor. The break in the tension was enough of a reminder for the Doctor to force the telepathic link closed.
“Doctor? Jamie? Is everything okay? Should I get help?” The voice was the innkeeper’s. The Doctor supposed not many people would be in their rooms in what was still the middle of the Stokkseyrian day. Even less would be shouting and scuffling.
Jamie’s eyes widened in horror. The Doctor opened his mouth to reassure him that he’d not said anything bad or, or embarrassing, but perhaps that was the wrong thing to say, after all he had nothing to be embarrassed of in the first place. Amidst the Doctor’s internal dithering, Jamie spoke first.
“Don’t- please don’t tell them what I am.”
No amount of telepathy would help the Doctor understand how Jamie went from A to B, sometimes. But there were injuries to Jamie’s mind that made him assume the worst kinds of betrayal and cruelty in every scenario, and that was where the Doctor needed to focus his efforts.
“I won’t tell them a thing. Don’t worry. I’ll speak to her- would you like to go back to sleep?”
Jamie shook his head. “I’ll just have another dream. I don’t sleep f-for long at a time.”
The Doctor suddenly had the strongest urge to brush a thumb across Jamie’s cheek, to soothe him in such a simple, human way. He wanted to cup Jamie’s face and look into his-
There was another knock at the door. The Doctor sprung away from Jamie and hurried over, dispatching the anxious innkeeper with a few confident words and a charming smile pitched just right. When he returned to Jamie, the young Highlander was rubbing his eyes incessantly. The Doctor took a risk and put a hand to Jamie’s, coaxing it down; Jamie let him do it. His eyes were desperately red-rimmed.
The Doctor regarded him for a second. He still had his fingers laid over Jamie’s. All of Jamie’s earlier rage had dissipated so fast once he’d woken up properly. Was that a good sign? It seemed like one from where the Doctor was standing. “You have to sleep, Jamie.”
“I’ll sleep later, honest.”
Well, that was probably true. The Doctor looked at him with sad eyes until he sensed that Jamie was feeling unnerved, and with some effort, he forced himself to look anywhere else.
. . .
Jamie couldn’t fall back asleep, but he still felt wrecked; he was grateful when the Doctor didn’t suggest going back down into the town. Was it for his sake? He wasn’t sure, but he felt like it was technically their night-time, by now. Jamie was still lying against the bed, his eyes occasionally falling closed, somehow clawing back a little more energy without slipping under the ice.
The Doctor had magicked up a book from somewhere (when Jamie next looked over it had materialised in his hands) and had his strong nose stuck in it, either calmly reading or doing a great impression of it. Jamie had a feeling that the Doctor was never truly at ease, though. He always seemed to have something on his mind, or need something to do with his hands. Failing that, he hummed. He wasn’t humming now. Jamie wished he was.
Jamie had had a bad dream, and it was bothering him.
“What are you thinking about, Doctor?” he asked.
“Mostly, I’m thinking about those Avolans.”
“Aye?” Jamie just about kept the tremor out of his voice.
“Yes. I think- I think I have a fair idea of what they’re all about, and, ah, how we might send them on their way for good.”
That didn’t soothe Jamie’s fear the way he’d hoped it might. “What if…” Jamie's fingers teased the hem of his kilt, smoothing the material across the pad of his thumb, “the Avolans had me? To, uh…”
To placate them? To get them on side, so they could be reasoned with? Jamie didn’t know, really. If he knew then he’d know why they’d all wanted to fuck him at the warehouse, but he never figured it out.
The very thought of it made him sick and embarrassed, but he was sure the Doctor was considering it. Bringing it up first at least gave Jamie a tiny bit of control over how the conversation went. Because you told me not to, the Doctor had said in the TARDIS. Could that apply here? Could Jamie say he didn’t want to do it?
“No, Jamie,” and the Doctor's voice was very clipped, very stiff. He didn’t look up from his book, but he stopped turning the pages. “It's a perfectly silly idea. I won’t hear it.”
“Why not?” Jamie snapped, surprised at his own edge. “You must have thought about it. Just because I’m saying it first, that’s no reason to play dumb with me, Doctor.”
“I haven’t thought about it once. It’s completely ridiculous, a-and foolish, and I know you can do better than that.”
“You don't know anything,” Jamie said like a petulant child, suddenly quiet again. He didn't seem to be able to keep his rage going as long as he used to with the Doctor. It was all so pointless, really, wasn't it? If the Doctor wanted to whore Jamie out, then he would, and what was three more aliens on top of all the rest? And why was Jamie still so scared, why did he always have to get so scared?
He wished he'd never brought it up. Anticipating it wouldn't help him and he was- well, he was ridiculous and foolish, wasn't he. To ever think otherwise.
The Doctor looked up and caught Jamie's eye. Jamie expected them to be burning after Jamie's insult, but they were soft the way they always were, and Jamie's attention was drawn to the swoop of his lower eyelashes: strangely prominent, and quite becoming of him. His crow's feet were creased with sympathy.
“I know that I would never let something like that happen to my friends.”
“We're not friends,” Jamie spat, then regretted it immediately.
“Alright. I’d never let it happen to anyone. That’s why I took you away from the warehouse.”
It made so much sense, too, when he put it like that. Jamie frowned. “If you- if you try and surprise me with it later…”
He couldn’t finish the sentence. Idle threats were pointless and Jamie was so seized with crushing regret that words eluded him. We’re not friends. Why had he said that?
Jamie stared out into the world. He could only see the peak of the valley from where he was, and it could have been Scotland, if he squinted. It could have been the moors he knew so well, and down below there wouldn’t be rocky plants with colourful fruits, but a village, and hastily dug graves for all the Redcoat’s victims, and stray dogs, always stray dogs.
. . .
It was late afternoon the next day (Jamie guessed, and it made him wonder if the Doctor would ever give him a watch, teach him to tell the time) when the Avolans returned. Ketill came running into the town square where the Doctor and Jamie were sitting - the former pointing to letters printed in a book and the latter naming them - exploding onto the scene like a hurricane.
“Those fuckers are back,” she shouted, with a sort of dogged strength that Jamie admired. He’d not heard Ketill swear before and despite all the sudden nerves, it made him feel better. All around him, people were preparing to starve again, if the Doctor couldn’t make good on his promise to help.
Speaking of the Doctor, he sprang up and clasped his hands together, grinning down at Jamie. Ketill might have well announced that there were tea and biscuits up for grabs.
“Ah, Jamie!” he said impishly. “Here we go, hm?”
He proffered a hand to help Jamie to his feet, and he took it. “But what are you gonna do, Doctor?” He’d asked plenty of times before, but each time the Doctor had avoided the question, somehow drawing Jamie down another route of conversation. The old thoughts always occurred to him - if the Doctor didn’t like him asking, why didn’t he just smack him, teach him not to? - but given the Doctor’s proclivity for mischief, he was starting to wonder if it was because the Doctor simply wanted to keep his plan a surprise.
This time, the Doctor tapped his nose, his eyes twinkling. “I’m going to do my best.”
Jamie rolled his eyes, wanting to laugh but not quite managing it. They were almost out of the village before Jamie realised with a jolt that he was still holding the Doctor’s hand; he withdrew it gently, that strange regret washing over him again. We’re not friends. Ugh. The memory of that wouldn’t stop bothering him. Another for the pile, he thought grimly.
An astonishing crowd had gathered to witness the meeting between the Avolans and the strange little man who had arrived out of nowhere, bringing an even littler, beaten-up thing along with him. Were the three Avolans the same three as before? Jamie couldn’t tell - they all looked the same in their heavy spacesuits, anyway. Ketill glanced up at the Doctor, and he nodded to her.
“You’ll have to trust me on this,” the Doctor murmured to Jamie. “Can you do that?”
But before Jamie could answer, the moment arrived, and the Doctor stepped grandly out from the crowd to face the Avolans.
“And you are…?” the middle one, apparently the leader, asked. Jamie watched on. Could he trust him?
“I’m the Doctor.”
When he didn’t say anything else, the Avolan probed. “Well?”
“I’d like to make it very clear to you that the good people of this village won’t be giving up any of their crops.”
The leader scoffed, reaching for his gun and lifting it weightily into his hands. “I don’t think you realise what you’re saying.”
Jamie’s teeth set on edge. He had heard that phrase plenty of times before. And there was the weapon if the Doctor didn’t obey. The most logical conclusion flashed before his eyes.
But he isn’t like you, a voice said, and Jamie couldn’t be sure if it was reassuring or mocking him.
“Oh no, I assure you that I do,” the Doctor said, cool and calm, swinging his weight a little on his heels while the Avolans towered over him, ramrod straight. “And I’d be ever so curious to find out what you plan to do about it.”
Jamie stiffened. Beside him, Ketill flexed and clenched her fists, over and over, hardly blinking as she watched on.
The Avolans behind their leader seemed rattled: their shoulders hitched up; they gripped their weapons a little tighter. Hadn’t they encountered resistance before? The Doctor was being bold, sure, but they were only words.
Their leader bounced his gun on his palm a few times. “What’s stopping us from taking the crops anyway?”
“My friend here says that you need her and her good neighbours to prepare the fields for your harvester. Well, I say we shan’t do it. We may even decide to- to have a picnic in that particular field!”
The Avolan in front scoffed at this, and even behind his helmet, black as night, Jamie felt as if he could see his mouth curling into a sneer. Slowly, almost gracefully, he raised his gun and let the barrel rest against the Doctor’s forehead, right in the crease between his heavy eyebrows.
Jamie’s stomach lurched. This had gone too far. Jamie had done well, waited patiently for the Doctor to unveil his great plan, had even placed quite a lot of faith in him without consciously realising it, but could it be that it had all been a facade? Was the Doctor really so confident in his own charms that he thought he could persuade the Avolans with simple words? Rude words, at that. The slavers hated rudeness. They were so quick to anger, lighting up with it in an instant as soon as Jamie dared to speak.
Jamie’s pulse skipped, quickened. He knew where this was going as surely as he knew his native tongue. Before he’d learned the consequences of defiance in the warehouse, he’d learned how far words got you on a battlefield when up against guns and soldiers. He saw the Doctor lying dead in front of him, saw his face. He almost choked, coughing instead, and Ketill glanced at him strangely. The vision vanished but the horror of seeing it lingered.
The Doctor didn’t even flinch at the gun. He simply turned his head up a little, his eyebrows raised with a distinct air of indifference. “And what do you intend to do with that?”
“I plan to kill you,” came the reply. Jamie looked anxiously between the Doctor and the Avolan.
You’ll have to trust me on this. On what? On allowing the Doctor to goad and push and provoke until he was shot down like a dog? Jamie suddenly felt a burst of anger inside of him. He had seen too much death in his life already. He hated it. And he had enough scars ripping through him from head to toe as a reminder of what happened when you talked back. This went against everything, everything he knew.
“Be my guest,” the Doctor challenged.
A few hitched breaths could be heard among the crowd. Jamie felt like a wild hound on a far too flimsy leash.
The Avolan slid one hand up the gun, towards the trigger, a finger extending to wrap around it.
Jamie tried to tell himself that it wasn’t concern for the Doctor, the man who owned him and whom Jamie should detest, but for the man who was his only way home. Right? He only cared because if the Doctor died, he’d be stuck on Stokkseyri forever. We’re not friends, he’d said.
But despite what he told himself, he couldn’t deny the sickness that ran through him at the thought of the Doctor’s dead body.
Jamie’s resolve broke. He couldn’t trust the Doctor and that was that. Hadn’t that been the case ever since he first stumbled through the TARDIS doors? And yet there had been those funny doubts for a while now, all the small moments of peace between Jamie’s rages and nightmares and inescapable fright. Learning to read. Playing his pipes. Eating every day. No restraints, no muzzle. The colossal, unavoidable fact that the Doctor had never used him. Yet, said a voice. Yet, you stupid boy.
Thinking about it only made Jamie’s head spin, so he focused on the here and now, and the gun aimed above the Doctor’s nose.
Ketill jumped with fright when Jamie ran forward, letting his anger power each step. “Get away from him! Fuck off!” he roared, having no plan beyond doing what he always did: baring his teeth and refusing to take anything lying down. Even after years away from the battlefield, his hand still reached to his belt, for the knife that was no longer there. The Doctor turned, surprised. The Avolans all took a hasty step back, thrown off by Jamie’s sudden furious charge, but the leader seemed to collect himself just in time before Jamie could reach him and start swinging.
“Fuck,” the Avolan cursed, sufficiently startled for his gun to slip down from the Doctor’s face. In a second, he had gestured for his lackeys to fall back and reaffirmed his grip on the gun.
“Come here,” Jamie snarled. “You’ll be shooting nobody today.”
The Avolan turned to the Doctor, barking out something about this being the Doctor’s doing and how he wouldn’t get away with it, and when it looked like the Doctor was about to move too, he swung his gun and hit the Doctor across the face with it as hard as he could. Jamie’s emotions went into overdrive and he let off a tsunami of foul abuse in the Avolan’s direction.
The Doctor staggered, crying out in pain, and Jamie grabbed him before he could fall to the ground.
“We’ll be back, you understand?” the Avolan spat, already following his comrades back to their spaceship. “And we’ll be taking extra for this!”
They departed in a thunderous flare of smoke, thick and rolling, and dirt scattered everywhere, leaving Jamie holding the Doctor, and Ketill and her kin stood behind them, silent, confused. Slowly, hesitantly, the questions began, laden with despair.
Jamie didn’t hear a word. The Doctor was in his arms, barely conscious, blood pouring down from his temple and oozing into his shirt collar, his coat, Jamie’s hands. The world stood still. Despite what the Avolans had promised, he knew he’d done the right thing.
The Doctor was safe. Jamie had saved him.
He could worry about what that meant later.